“Screw that old hag!” Irene kicked a barrel as she stomped through the night market alley. The alley she was currently walking through was the path to the only bar currently open that was close to the currently closed-off slums. All the common people came to this bar. 

She pushed open the door and welcomed the sight of other patrons eating and drinking and the smell of food. Her long skirt flowed to match her rough leg movement as she stomped her way toward the table she always sat at with her friends. Her work belt tapped her waist every so often. The various needles and scissors tightly packed into her belt never moved though.

“Someone looks like a ray o’ sunshine, huh?” 

Irene sneered at the teasing comment from the blacksmith apprentice in name only, Griolda. The blacksmith apprentice was from a noble family from the east who moved here to get more experience in inventing over smithing. Of course, no one here wanted a woman as a blacksmith let alone trusted a device built by a woman.

“What’d the madame do this time ‘Rene?” 

Irene sent Jean, the apprentice chef, a knowing look. Even while sitting, the effeminate man was taller than her. People thought that for his size, he would be aggressive and noisy but Jean moved as quietly as a mouse and had the most delicate hand movements in the kitchen. She looked at him in his beautiful hazel eyes and sighed.

Irene plopped down and huffed. She snatched the ale Jean handed to her and downed it. 

“What else but the usual. Taking credit for my designs or work and refusing to promote me to the floor as a front shop representative for the millionth time.

Irene’s two friends nodded their heads in understanding. They were in similar, if not identical, situations.

Griolda had notebooks atop of notebooks coded in her own language full of devices she wished to create or new methods of smithing she would never be able to try because of the conservative mindsets of blacksmiths and inventors in the capital. Griolda came from the eastern duchy. Her family had a long tradition of supporting the once Ice Kingdom Royalty now Eastern Ducal family with weapons and blacksmiths generation after generation. And unfortunately, this generation’s firstborn was a girl who had an adventurous mindset and could not stick to tradition. 

“Everyone in the capital is backward. Backward I tell ya!” Griolda chimed in. The woman grumbled. Her slacks were overly large and slid off her shoulders often. Her gloves were in her front chest pocket and her ice blue hair was up in a ponytail.

“Honey I do not know why you left your comfy heiress position to come to the capital.” Jean patronized. He sat with his long legs crossed chewing on a chicken skewer with a distasteful frown on his face. It was obvious to both women his frown was at the food and not them.

“Don’t start boy! I came to the capital for inspiration! But what do I get? Treated like a dainty damsel!” She growled.

SLAM!

Griolda might look like a damsel but it was a known fact that people from the east, men and women, were abnormally strong. 

“I shouldn't ‘ave to be a man to be able to use the smithy or have credibility behind my designs! And I sure as all ‘ell won’t be using a family name.”

“Why exactly?” Irene asked. This was the usual for this group.

They get together, eat dinner, talk about their awful jobs, and joke around. And it was only recently that they learned Griolda was technically a noble.

The eastern duchy woman sighed as she poked around her potato mash. 

This is absolutely disgusting. How is the chicken over seasoned but the mash dry as all ‘ell?

“Because it’ll be them recognizing ma family name instead ‘o me damnit.” Griolda growled, “This is settin’ a point that only men and nobles are recognized for their work which ain’t right. Especially now that I done seen what’s going on behind the scenes.”

Jean and Irene looked at each other before looking back at Griolda. They had always wondered why she hid her identity and continued this fruitless venture. But now they knew why.

She’s doing it for us… Irene felt tears prick the back of her eyes but she brushed them away.

“Screw it. It's Tierra and none of us work tomorrow.” Irene chirped up.

Jean sat up a bit straighter with dewy eyes and nodded,  “Let’s drink our hearts out!”

Griolda looked up from her plate to see her friends smiling faces and the mug of ale and glass of whiskey they each lifted up. 

The tipsy and angry woman chuckled before joining them.

Jean was next to begin his complaints about the working conditions of the restaurant's kitchen. A highly acclaimed restaurant in the center of the capital was stingy with ingredients and lazy with cleaning. And Jean was slowly losing his mind day after day.

"I simply cannot bear to cook in that space anymore. Would it kill them to keep a clean workspace?" Jean bawled in a drunken stupor. "They can't even cook. The least they could do is keep the pots clean!"

The group of three continued their Tierra night drinking and ranting. Other customers were in similar situations and enjoying their own private conversations. This was the precise reason none felt the ominous aura approaching the hidden tavern between the slums and marketplace.