Aleria gestured vaguely back the way she'd come.
"Well, as you might have noticed, the old clinic is looking a bit... dilapidated these days," she said delicately. "I was hoping perhaps you and your crew might be able to breathe some new life into the place."
The dwarven foreman grunted, his expression growing contemplative as he mulled over her words.
"New life, you say?" Oriv rumbled, giving a slow nod of understanding. "Aye, I can see how the place might need a bit o' spit and polish, that's true enough."
"Specifically," Aleria continued, "I was hoping we might be able to open up the second floor a bit. The long-term patient rooms up there feel dreadfully cramped and gloomy, almost like... well, like prison cells, truth be told."
Oriv's brow furrowed slightly at that, though he made no move to interrupt as she elaborated further.
"My thought was that perhaps we could knock down some of the interior walls, create more of an open floor plan," she explained. "Add a few more windows as well, to let in some natural light. It would go a long way towards making the recovery space feel... brighter. More welcoming."
The dwarven patriarch was silent for a long moment, seemingly mulling over her suggestions with that same intense, furrowed look. Finally, he gave a slow nod, his craggy features splitting into an approving grin.
"Aye, I think that we can do, mistress," Oriv agreed with a rumble. He shot her a sly wink then, the gleam in his eye unmistakable. "An' if there's any particularly stubborn walls needin' a firm hand to knock 'em down, well, you just let old Oriv know. I've got a way with convincin' stone an' timber to mind their manners, you might say!"
Aleria couldn't help but laugh softly at the dwarven foreman's boisterous words, shaking her head in mild bemusement. Even so, she felt a sense of relief wash over her at Oriv's easy agreement.
"But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves just yet."
The dwarven patriarch blinked, his exuberant grin faltering somewhat as he peered at her with those keen, dark eyes. Aleria offered him a placating look.
"For the moment, I was merely hoping to get a rough quote from you on the potential costs," she explained calmly. "I'm afraid I don't quite have the funds for full renovations just yet."
Understanding dawned on Oriv's craggy features at her words. He gave a rumbling grunt of acknowledgement, nodding slowly.
"Ah, I see," the dwarf replied, his earlier boisterousness fading into a more businesslike demeanour. "Just wantin' to get a sense of what sort of coin it might take, then?"
"Precisely," Aleria confirmed with a dip of her chin. "Bernard did mention to me that I can put in a request with his office for just about anything to do with the clinic's upkeep. A quote from you on the potential renovations would most certainly help strengthen my case when I do."
Oriv's brows hiked upwards at the mention of the mayor's name, his ruddy features splitting into an approving grin once more.
"The old warhorse himself, eh?" he chuckled, giving a respectful nod. "Aye, that Blackfist of ours is a canny one, I'll give him that. If he says to put in for it, like as not the funds'll be found."
The dwarf shot her a sly wink then, his grin widening.
"Leave it to me, mistress," Oriv rumbled, puffing out his barreled chest importantly. "I'll have the lads put together a right proper tally for you - one that old Blackfist won't be able to turn his nose up at!"
Aleria felt her own smile widen at the dwarf's boisterous assurances, giving a small dip of her head in gratitude.
"You have my thanks, Master Oriv," she said sincerely. "I look forward to seeing what you and your crew come up with."
The dwarven foreman waved a calloused hand in a dismissive gesture, letting out a gruff snort.
"Think nothin' of it, m'lady," he boomed in that gravelly roar. "Just you leave the numbers to us - we'll make sure your clinic gets sorted out proper!"
With that, Oriv gave Aleria a gentle pat on the wrist, his calloused fingers surprisingly delicate against her skin.
"You helped my boy out, mistress," the dwarven patriarch rumbled, his gruff tones taking on an uncharacteristically sombre note. "An' to us dwarves, a debt like that ain't soon forgotten."
Aleria felt her brows hiking upwards at the weight behind Oriv's words, the unexpected solemnity in his gravelly voice. She opened her mouth to respond, to brush off his gratitude as merely her duty, but the dwarf wasn't yet finished.
"Way I figure it," Oriv continued, fixing her with that intense, piercing stare, "you've as good as earned yourself a place amongst the clan with that kindness, mistress."
The dwarven patriarch gave a firm nod then, as if confirming some unspoken decision. When next he spoke, that familiar boisterous bravado had returned full force to his gruff tones.
"Aye, you just consider yourself one of the StoneDelvers from here on out!" Oriv boomed with a broad, gap-toothed grin. "We dwarves, we look after our own - an' that includes you now, make no mistake!"
For a moment, Aleria could only blink, taken aback by the unexpected declaration. Part of her wanted to protest, to demur at being so readily accepted and all the implications that carried.
But then her gaze fell upon Oriv's weathered features, lined with the hard-won creases of experience and bearing that unmistakable glint of dwarven pride. She found herself unable to refuse such an earnest gesture of kinship, no matter how foreign the notion felt to her.
So instead, Aleria simply inclined her head in a show of gracious acceptance, quirking a small smile in the dwarven foreman's direction.
"I am honoured by your generous offer, Master Oriv," she replied, keeping her tone respectful but allowing a hint of warmth to bleed through. "And humbled to count myself amongst your esteemed clan, however unofficially."
Oriv's broad grin seemed to widen even further at her words, crinkling the corners of his dark eyes in an unmistakable look of approval. The dwarven patriarch gave a rumbling chuckle, thumping a meaty fist against his brawny chest.
"No need for all that 'Master' nonsense anymore, lass!" he boomed in that gruff bellow. "We're kin now, you an' me - you just call me Oriv, you hear?"
Aleria couldn't quite suppress the small quirk of amusement that tugged at the corner of her mouth. Even so, she inclined her head obligingly, feeling an unexpected sense of...belonging wash over her at the dwarf's boisterous words.
"As you say... Oriv," she replied simply, allowing just the faintest emphasis to linger on the use of his name.
The dwarf let out another rumbling guffaw at that, giving an approving nod of his craggy head. His dark eyes seemed to glitter with some unspoken emotion - pride, perhaps, or even a hint of paternal fondness.
Aleria watched with a small, bemused smile as Oriv seemed to suddenly remember himself, the short man clearing his throat gruffly. A faint flush crept up the weathered planes of his ruddy features, and he gave an abrupt nod as if to punctuate the tender moment.
"Aye, well then!" Oriv rumbled, his gruff tones regaining some of their usual bluster. "Best be gettin' back to keepin' this unruly lot in line, I reckon."
With that, the dwarven foreman turned on his heel, waddling off towards the nearby construction site with heavy, purposeful strides. Aleria watched his broad back recede for a moment, unable to quite smother the soft chuckle that bubbled up from her chest.
Sure enough, no sooner had Oriv rejoined the bustling knot of workers than his booming bellow rang out, the gentle paternal demeanour he'd shown her utterly evaporating.
"You slack-jawed gawkers!" the dwarven patriarch roared, rounding on a cluster of young dwarves loitering nearby. "What in the blazes are you all standin' about for? This frame won't raise itself, you lazy runts!"
A flurry of frantic activity erupted in the wake of Oriv's furious bellow. The group of idling dwarves scattered like startled rabbits, scrambling to grab tools and scurry back to their assigned tasks. Aleria watched with undisguised amusement as the dwarven foreman continued to berate the workers, his meaty fists planted firmly on his wide hips.
"An' you there!" Oriv's gravelly roar singled out one particularly unfortunate young'un. "Where in the nine hells did you learn to swing a blasted hammer, boy? Even a snot-nosed whelp could do a neater job!"
The dwarven lad in question flinched as if struck, his shoulders hunching as Oriv's scathing tirade continued to wash over him. Nearby, several of the older dwarves chuckled knowingly, shaking their heads in wry commiseration for the youth's plight.
Despite herself, Aleria couldn't quite stifle the soft peal of laughter that slipped free at the comically blustering display. Even from this distance, she could see the tips of Oriv's ears flushing a dull red as his ire mounted further.
Aleria turned to make her way back towards the clinic, her steps carrying a lighter cadence than when she'd first arrived in Last Gate. The unexpected kinship extended to her by Oriv had stirred something within her - a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in far too long.
Her gaze drifted idly over the bustling township as she walked, taking in the half-repaired buildings, the makeshift shacks cobbled together from salvaged materials. Everywhere she looked, Aleria could see the unmistakable fingerprints of a people striving to rebuild, to carve some semblance of home and hearth from the ravages of war.
Last Gate itself was a perfect encapsulation of that indomitable spirit, a town quite literally built upon the bones of the war's last great battlegrounds. Aleria couldn't help but feel a strange sort of kinship with the soul of the place, an almost visceral connection to its very essence.
Just as the folk of Last Gate were slowly stitching their lives back together from the tattered remnants left to them, so too was she attempting to rebuild her own existence in the wake of that all-consuming conflict. The thought brought an unexpected pang to her chest.
Aleria's mind turned towards Bernard and the trust he had placed in her by offering this chance at a new beginning. From the moment his letter had found her, he seemed to have anticipated her acceptance with an almost preternatural certainty. As if he'd simply known that she would grasp onto this fragile thread of hope like a lifeline, no matter how apprehensive or undeserving she might feel.
It stood to show just how well Bernard truly knew her, even after all these years. The gruff old man had seen her at her worst, witnessed firsthand the sheer scope of how far she was willing to go in the name of vengeance. And still he extended this olive branch.
Aleria felt her steps slow to an unhurried amble as she neared the clinic's weather-worn facade. Her emerald eyes drifted over the building, with a weary sort of fondness. Despite the peeling paint and sagging shutters, this place had already become so much more to her than a mere source of refuge.
No, the simple fact was that this rundown little clinic - much like Last Gate itself - represented something far greater. A chance at redemption, perhaps, or at the very least some small sliver of atonement.
A chance to find her way home at long last.
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