Aleria descended the creaky stairs from her modest living quarters above the clinic, a roll of parchment clutched tightly in her hand. The main chamber below was mercifully quiet for a change, the once incessant stream of the sick and injured having slowed to a steady trickle in the past few days.
Haddy, ever the diligent assistant, busied herself with straightening the sparse furnishings and sweeping the floor. She paused in her efforts as Aleria's footsteps announced her presence, lifting her gaze questioningly.
"I'll be stepping out for a short while," Aleria informed her, holding up the rolled parchment as evidence. "There's something I need from the market."
Haddy's brow furrowed slightly at that, a brief look of concern flickering across her round features.
"Do you need me to go instead?" she asked, already moving to set aside her broom. "I can make the trip if you'd prefer not to trouble yourself, m'lady."
Aleria felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips at the younger woman's eagerness. It was endearing, if a tad overbearing at times. She shook her head.
"No, no, that won't be necessary," she assured Haddy, unable to entirely hide her amusement. "This is something I should handle myself."
Haddy opened her mouth as if to protest further, but Aleria lifted a hand to forestall her.
"I have an idea that might help lighten the load here a touch," she explained, giving the roll of parchment a meaningful show. "At least when it comes to the more minor cases, when I'm busy or not around."
Understanding dawned in Haddy's eyes then, swiftly followed by a look of keen interest. Aleria could practically see the questions forming behind the younger woman's gaze, but she remained blessedly silent for the moment, simply nodding in acquiescence.
"Very well, if you're certain," Haddy conceded, unable to entirely mask her curiosity. "But don't be going too far, mind. I'll need you back here soon enough, I've no doubt."
A wry chuckle escaped Aleria's lips at that as she turned towards the door, already feeling the faint tug of anticipation.
"Have no fear on that count," she tossed over her shoulder, unable to resist the urge to tease her well-meaning assistant. "I've no intention of abandoning you to the wolves just yet, my dear."
Aleria pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she made her way through the bustling streets of Last Gate, the chill morning air nipping at her exposed skin. The market square was a riot of sounds and smells, vendors hawking their wares with the usual enthusiastic aplomb as townsfolk milled about in search of goods and provisions.
She moved through the throngs with practised ease, her sharp gaze scanning the various stalls and shopfronts intently. It wasn't until she neared the far edge of the market that she finally spotted what she'd been searching for - a stout wooden building bearing a faded sign depicting a hammer and anvil. The unmistakable markings of a smithy.
Squaring her shoulders, Aleria altered her course to approach the open doorway, the sound of ringing metal growing louder with each step. She paused on the threshold for a heartbeat, peering inside to find the interior dimly lit and swelteringly warm from the banked forge.
A large man stood bent over an anvil; hammer raised to strike the glowing metal clenched in a pair of tongs. As Aleria watched, the figure straightened, lowering the hammer to wipe at its brow with a soot-stained forearm.
It was then that she caught her first clear glimpse of the smith's face - a visage that was distinctly non-human. Sharp, angled features and a pair of pointed ears marked the man as having clear elven heritage. And yet, small tusks peering from his lower lip, and sienna hue to his skin just as plainly betrayed orcish blood as well.
Aleria studied the smith's features intently, unable to prevent a slight narrowing of her eyes as she took in the unmistakable evidence of his mixed heritage. Half-orc, half-elf - a rare enough pairing at the best of times, and one that had likely grown only more difficult in the years since the onset of the Demon War.
Orcs had been a relative rarity within the borders of the Allied Kingdoms even before the war, their tribes keeping largely to the harsher, more isolated regions. But when the Demon King's forces had swept across the lands, sowing chaos and destruction, many of those orcish clans had thrown their lot in with him - either out of fear, or simply a desire for the conflict and plunder that the war promised.
Those few tribes that had refused, instead fleeing south in search of refuge within the kingdoms' boundaries, had found little more than persecution and suspicion awaiting them. Judged guilty by simple association with their warmongering brethren, they had been shunned, if not outright attacked on sight in some cases.
A pang of sympathy tugged at Aleria's heart as she studied the half-breed smith, unable to shake the notion that his mixed heritage must have made his life... difficult, to say the least. The elven delicacy of his features may have eased that burden somewhat, lending him an undeniable, exotic handsomeness. But the orcish blood would always show through, marking him as an outsider no matter where he tread.
The smith's voice, a deep, smooth baritone, pulled Aleria from her musings.
"Just a moment, please. I'll be right with you."
True to his word, the half-breed deftly finished his current task, quenching the glowing steel in a nearby trough with a hiss of steam. He then set the freshly tempered metal aside with care before turning to face her fully, brushing his hands off on a well-worn leather apron.
Up close, Aleria could make out more details of his unique features. Angular cheekbones lent his face a chiselled, almost severe aspect that was offset by full lips and a strong, squared jawline. Flecks of green seemed to smoulder in his eyes, vivid pinpricks against the dark brown of his irises.
"Welcome," he greeted, offering her a slight incline of his head. His manners were impeccable, the lilt of his voice cultured and refined in stark contrast to his rough surroundings. "How can I be of assistance today?"
Aleria found herself momentarily taken aback by the smith's courteous demeanour, her earlier misgivings fading somewhat. Clearing her throat, she lifted the roll of parchment clutched in her hands.
"I require several items to be forged from these designs, if you would be so kind," she explained, her own tone polite but brisk. Professionalism had become something of a well-practised mask for her over the years. "They're meant to aid in my... work."
One of the smith's thick brows arched upwards a fraction at that, curiosity glinting in his strange eyes. But he simply nodded once more, extending a calloused hand to accept the proffered parchment.
The smith unrolled the parchment with deft movements, revealing the design sketched upon its surface - a disk covered in an intricate array of runes and sigils. His brow furrowed slightly as he studied the pattern, tracing the shapes with one blunt fingertip.
"An interesting design," he murmured, glancing up to meet Aleria's gaze. "What material did you have in mind for its construction?"
"Iron," Aleria replied without hesitation. "Solid iron, nothing more."
The smith's mouth quirked in a faint smile at that, as if her answer had pleased him in some way. He inclined his head once more.
"A sturdy choice," he rumbled in that deep baritone. "Though I must confess, I find myself curious as to the purpose of these... talismans?"
His eyes flickered meaningfully to the runes adorning the disk, one brow arching in silent inquiry. Aleria felt the briefest flicker of trepidation, an old habit born from years of keeping her abilities closely guarded. But there was no hint of suspicion or malice in the smith's demeanour, only open curiosity.
"I am the town's new healer," she explained, keeping her tone level and matter of fact. "An enchanted stock of items such as these would allow me to store minor healing spells, to be used as needed."
Understanding dawned on the half-breed's features at her words, the furrow in his brow smoothing out. He nodded slowly, seeming to mull over her explanation for a moment.
"Ah, I see," he said at last. "Word did make its way around the market of a new medic arriving in Last Gate."
A faint, lopsided smile quirked the smith's lips then, one tusk peeking out to lend his expression a slightly endearing quality.
"Though I must admit, I had not expected one quite so... unconventional in her methods." He gave the parchment a meaningful look. "I am Bran, my father and I run this forge. It will be my honour to craft these trinkets for you, mistress...?"
Aleria inclined her head in a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Aleria," she supplied, offering the smith her name in turn.
Bran's smile broadened a fraction at that, the expression seeming to lend his rugged features an unexpected warmth. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Aleria."
His gaze drifted back down to the parchment still clutched in one large hand, studying the runic design with a contemplative air.
"If I may?" he began after a moment's pause. "Do these need to be disk-shaped?"
One broad shoulder lifted in a half-shrug as Bran glanced back up at her, his expression open and inquisitive.
"I have a few small metal plates already forged in the back," he explained. "About the size you've outlined here, but more rectangular in shape. It would save some time and effort, if the specific form does not hold any significance for their intended purpose?"
Aleria felt her gaze drift downwards at Bran's words, fingers unconsciously rising to trace over the contours of the iron pendant hanging about her own neck. The runes etched into its surface almost worn smooth from years of idle tracing, their meaning known to her alone.
"No, the shape bears little importance," she confirmed after a beat, giving her head a slight shake to dismiss her reverie. "So long as the material is pure iron, and the runes properly inscribed, a simple flat plate would suffice just as well."
Aleria watched as Bran nodded in acknowledgment of her words, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a slight turn of his head, he called out towards the back of the dimly lit forge.
"Pa, join me for a time?"
There was a brief pause, the only sounds the crackle of the banked coals and the faint ringing of metal as it cooled. Then, from the shadows of a back chamber, a hulking figure emerged - a full-blooded orc by the looks of him, his muscular frame dwarfing even Bran's sizeable stature.
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