FWFW 3 - 61 (Patreon)

“Heart-song Artisan, hmm?” Morgan mused, taking another bite of Alec’s “famous” meatloaf. He’d managed to get Issa to come up for air and a bite to eat before deciding for sure what Class refinement to take. They sat in a rear booth at Green’s Tavern, eating the special of the day. It had been rather hard to resist Alec’s new hire—an infectiously jovial Cadwalli that had wandered into First Landing looking for work. He’d claimed to be from west of Tarn’s Crossing from a village near the “Great Marsh.”

“That’s right. It says my experience ‘putting my heart into my chants’ combined with my Artificer abilities and knowledge has opened this path for me.” The corner of Issa’s mouth was smeared with grease and Alec’s now-famous ketchup, and Morgan smiled at the earnest, excited look in her eyes when she spoke about the class option.

“God, you’re cute,” he said, receiving a scowl in response.

“Be serious!”

“It sounds like the best option, Issa. I don’t see a downside, at least. I mean, you’re going to receive more attribute points from a legendary Class, and I can only imagine the amazing things you’ll learn to do.”

“I know, Morgan! I already know so much! The things I learned from Vormendion’s Class tome and then from the two abilities . . . it’s like I have a million things going through my mind that I want to go work on all the time. I’m struggling to sit still here and eat this delicious loaf!”

“Well, that’s wonderful, Issa, but please don’t tell me you’re going to turn into some sort of mad scientist in your lab, forgetting about your boring old husband and children, right?”

“Husband? I don’t think I have one of those . . .” Issa laughed at Morgan’s stricken expression.

“Seriously! Let’s talk about that for a moment. Do you really want a traditional wedding based on my culture? What about yours?”

“Weddings are small affairs among my people—a family ceremony that’s not binding in any sort of legal sense. I wasn’t really interested in the whole thing at all until Bronwyn teased me about when the wedding was.”

“Bronwyn!” Morgan growled jokingly, smacking a fist into his palm.

“Hah! It’s a good thing she did so because when I started asking her about your traditions and then when I spoke to some other people here, I realized that I simply couldn’t live without a big ceremony!” Issa laughed, licking her fork as she studied Morgan’s face for a reaction.

“That means we need to invite your friends and family,” Morgan said, his face turning serious. “You must have some cousins or distant relatives, no?”

“Yes, of course. I have fourteen people I’d like to invite from Tarn’s. That’s enough, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll struggle to come up with that many. You know I don’t have any family here, right?”

“Oh, nonsense! Half of First Landing will want to come to see you married!”

“Yeah, I guess. Should we do it outside? We can have the reception in the tower.” Morgan looked up, his eyes going glassy as he imagined the scene—big pavilions, lots of music and dancing, magical fireworks. He laughed and shook his head, “I’m getting excited now. This will be great, Issa.”

“Of course, it will! Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, though. We have a lot of planning to do, and I still need to have a dress crafted. Oh! Maybe I can make it myself! Of course, it’ll need to be enchanted, so I don’t look pregnant!”

“Oh, God! Who told you that? You can look pregnant if you want!” Morgan sighed, planting his forehead into his palm.

“No one did! Don’t you think I know what looks good in a dress?” Issa tsked and shook her head, wiping her face with her napkin. “Now, silly man, I’m going to go somewhere quiet and take this class refinement, and then I’m going to begin work on my first project. Can you guess what it will be?”

“Something nice for the man that loves you?” Morgan grinned.

“In a way. I’m going to help the poor spirit that’s been ensorcelled to help you in the tower. I’m going to craft her a body with more capabilities. I’ll include her, too, Morgan! I’ll let her tell me what she wants.”

“Really? You’re ready for something like that already?”

“I have the skills and knowledge to do it, yes. I hope my new class refinement will give me further tools to make it even better.” She slid out of the booth and stood up, leaning to give Morgan a kiss on the cheek. “Come visit the workshop later. I’ll tell you all about it.” Morgan wanted to say he’d go with her, that he’d keep her company while she took the class refinement, but he got the feeling she wanted some peace and quiet for the process, so he just smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be up in a few hours, all right?”

“Perfect! That’ll give me time to interview Tiladia. By the way, will you stop and get more meat for the children?”

“Yeah. Already, hmm?” Morgan knew she was talking about Ykleedra and her sisters.

“Yes, they prefer small game to fowl,” Issa said over her shoulder as she made her way out of the tavern. Morgan sighed and motioned for Grus, the new Cadwalli server, to come over. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, but he could go for another helping of meatloaf.

#

“Before you ask,” Tanna ap’Cilla said as Gella walked into her workshop, “I’m almost finished. Another day and I’ll have the final ward stone.” Gella took a moment to compose himself before he replied. He looked around the workspace, noting the long bench behind Tanna covered with all manner of crafting paraphernalia and debris. He saw smelting pots, snips for cutting metal, fragments of carved stone, and a hundred other remnants from her activities.

“Do you think they’ll work?” Gella asked for the hundredth time. He knew it irritated Tanna, but he couldn’t help it. Everything was riding on this operation. He’d been getting increasingly hostile communications from ap’Gravin, and he knew he’d be ruined if he didn’t return to Gelica in success.

“You didn’t ask me that again, did you?” Tanna asked, glaring at him over the top of her workbench. She didn’t look any better than Gella felt—her hair was pulled back in a sweat-stained leather band. Her eyes were red and bleary, and the white apron she wore while working on projects was stained with oils, food, sweat, and Ancestors knew what else. She’d been toiling night and day for nearly a week on these stones.

“I’m sorry, but you know what ap’Gravin’s like. I just finished speaking to him, and, I’m telling you, we’ll all be working in the mines if we don’t pull this off.” The memory sent a shudder down Gella’s spine. Ap’Gravin had been livid, as usual, but his threats had been far more specific than the norm. He’d even brought up Gella’s son in Persi Gables and how he relied on the apprenticeship that ap’Gravin had arranged.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tanna said softly while she carefully carved a rune into the side of the slate-like gray stone before her. “Airship captains aren’t so hard to come by, but a tier-four Storm Sorceress with ten levels of rune carving experience? I think I’ll pull through this alright, even if you bungle everything. As for my colleagues, they can rot, especially Finneal. That man has been nothing but a hindrance.” She blew some stone dust away from where she was carving as she finished speaking.

“If I bungle? I wouldn’t be so sure about things, Tanna. Haku-dak is convinced that ap’Gravin will be the least of your troubles if your wards don’t hold that man in his tower.”

“Perhaps this isn’t the best plan, then. Perhaps we should be working on taking him unawares—killing him outright?” Tanna smirked because this conversation had already played out a dozen times among the tier-fours and Gella.

“You know it’s too risky. We don’t know enough about him, and he’s had his guard up ever since that dinner. He rarely even comes out of that tower, and when he does, it’s in the middle of the day, and he’s constantly looking around like he’s hoping someone will do something untoward!” It was true—Gella had people watching the tower, watching for Morgan at all hours. Just the other day, they’d seen him sitting in the sun, then, according to reports, he’d erupted into flight, jumping through space with his potent Energy as though responding to some sort of threat. Gella’s man had claimed that Morgan had traveled from the hilltop to his tower faster than a person could count to five.

“You mean Finneal and Haku-dak are afraid to fight him openly. Don’t mince words with me, Captain,” Tanna said, standing up to roll her neck with a sigh. “Halfway done with this side.” She gestured to the slate she’d been carefully carving.

“May I?” Gella asked, moving around the bench to look more closely at her work. She rarely spoke about what she was doing, and he’d taken the statement of her progress as an invitation of sorts. He knew it was hopeful. He knew she would likely scream at him for encroaching on her space or curse him for ‘rushing’ her again. Still, his heart was a demanding master, and it often put him into compromising positions—why would that stop now?

Over the weeks, he’d come to learn that Tanna ap’Cilla’s bark was a lot worse than her bite, and, while she’d openly tell Finneal to get away from her, she rarely dismissed Gella—she was acerbic, yes, but seemed to tolerate his presence much more than the others. Was he deluding himself? Did he think he had some sort of a chance with the woman? Perhaps, but he was a man who enjoyed his delusions. It was conceivable, he mused, that in her exhausted, stressed state of composure, he might win some favor by uttering something as simple as a softly worded compliment. “Your work is exquisite!”

Gella leaned over the dense, black slate, admiring the glittering silver-red runes that Tanna had been carving in neat, tiny lines upon its surface. She stayed still, not pulling back from his nearness, and she even let her arm linger on the bench when his, every so slightly, brushed up against it. The faint touch was like an electric shock to Gella, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck in his excitement. Bloody Ancestors, he wanted so badly to reach out and grasp her hand, to pull her into his embrace. His fear of her reaction, his fear of her, kept him still, though, hardly daring to breathe while he stood next to her.

“Well?” she asked, breathing the word next to his ear so that her hot breath tickled over his flesh.

Gella panicked, then, wondering what she was referring to, and he sputtered, trying to think of the proper response, “Um, well . . .” he began to babble, and then, to his horror and his abject glee, she ran a warm, pale-blue finger over his hairy forearm, and again, it was like lightning ran through his body, and he felt all of himself respond to the touch.

“Well?” she asked again, this time speaking so close to his ear that he felt her lips brush against it.

“Um, well, what?” he choked out, barely able to form the words in the shudder of anticipation that ran through his body.

“Well, are you going to do anything about this?” she asked, pressing her lithe, warm body against his side as she spoke into his neck, her hot breath making his flesh contract and convulse in pleasure. Gella gripped the workbench, his muscles tingling and spasming as blood rushed into his ears in a thunderous avalanche, and, when he finally managed to speak, he realized she’d moved away from him to the door and was giggling as she slipped out, leaving him there, shuddering with unspent urges.