Rynth: Four Beats

| 5th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

Dwarven architecture—prided upon for not just being super-functional and rugged, but also containing enough complexity that even a scholar with a degree at the finest colleges would be gasping at the sheer degree of uses even the most simple of artifacts held. A simple stone chair might suddenly start floating, twirling midair, or even spewing out fresh hotcakes at the press of a button or mouthing of a command phrase. All dwarves were gifted with the ingenuity of their patron god Deryuskar himself, and with said ingenuity the race of once rock-dwellers took to creating glorious citadels of stone and metal that stood even the test of multiple Cycles.

Or so Raoul’s textbooks often liked to say. Reality was not all that farfetched from that particular piece of literature. Comfortably seated on one of the many iron and steel chairs dutifully rocking back and forth completely autonomously, his gaze immediately caught on a set of buttons docked to the side of the right armrest. Pressing the farthest one, the rocking of the chair soon smoothed to a full halt, leaving him fully stationary within seconds.

Urfrey coughed up a proud laugh at his exploring. “Baha! The boy’s never seen dwarven artificing for himself, has he? Never picked up Severis in your classes?”

“No,” Raoul shook his head. He fiddled with the rest of the buttons, sighing and leaning back once he found the one that resumed the rocking. “We were never hands-on with magic. More… theory.”

“I pity you, boy. Out of the four, Severis is the one my people regard as the one that best suits us. And with good reason, too.” The dwarf cut himself off, moving to retrieve a small, unassuming iron dagger. He held it high enough to catch some of the light that reflected off the flickering lightbulb on the ceiling. “See this? It’s a reject, that’s what it is, but even then it’s twice as good as anything your synthesizers topside might be able to create. And that’s from the beating of a hammer, not the fancy wards and enchantments Rynthians rely on nowadays.”

Idri quickly raised both her hands in a calming gesture. “Ahaha… Grandpa Urfrey just means he’s really proud of the work he does.”

Raoul narrowed his eyes, focusing on the tip of the dagger. It wasn’t entirely reflecting the light, but also sapping away some of the energy the bulb was giving off every few seconds. With each passing flicker and lighting, the dagger grew even brighter, as if storing the light.

“Pride’s handy when you’re a dwarf. If you can’t even be pleased with yourself, then you’re just going to want to keep on forging ‘til you either break yourself or your hammer. Try this, hishak.”

Urfrey’s grip tensed. “Hyah!” he shouted, throwing the dagger in Raoul’s direction. Contrary to how a normal dagger traveled when thrown, the speed at which it raced through the air almost made it seem like it was teleporting.

Still Idri reacted, attempting to catch the dagger before it flew too far. She failed, almost tripping.

Raoul’s senses warned him right at the throw’s crescendo, but any sign of danger immediately dissipated once his eyes scanned the dagger’s trajectory proper. Even the orange was nonexistent; the dagger simply flew past, narrowly missing the headrest he was leaning on and planting itself hilt-deep into the wall behind.

“Ah…! Grandpa Urfrey, what was that?!”

He howled, sitting back in his own chair. With a swift flick of the wrist, the dagger hummed, pulling itself out of the stone and returning to his grasp without so much as a sound. “Hoho… Didn’t even flinch. Don’t worry, Idri. I was just testing the boy.”

“For what?” she frowned, crossing her arms as she slumped back. “And what if he got hurt?”

“He wouldn’t ‘ave. Reject or not, magnum or parvum opus, I know all my artifacts by heart and mind. Ain’t nothing malfunctioning unless Deryuskar wills it so.” Urfrey sighed, noting Idri’s growing frown. “Ah, guess I made the mood sour. Fine, here.”

Urfrey shrugged, gently setting the knife down. Like it had a will of its own, the blade slowly drifted through the air before settling itself into Raoul’s open hand. A soft glow emitted from its surface, warm and open.

“Take it as a gift. It’s worthless when it comes to actual blade-fighting, but you’ll find it handy in dire situations. I sense there’s also something ya wanna request of me. So go on, say it. I’ll do my best to fix it. I would hate to feel Little Idri’s gaze on the back of my skull any longer, blind or not.”

Idri nodded, and then favored Raoul with a coaxing look. “I just wanted to say goodbye to you because we were leaving, but now that you say that… the arm, Raoul! Maybe Grandpa can identify it.”

His singed eyebrows, shaved and burnt from the years of close proximity to an open fire, raised in interest. “An arm, you say? Show me.”

A hesitant look fell on Raoul, but he nonetheless obliged and retrieved the prosthetic arm from his backpack. The moment it was revealed, Urfrey couldn’t help but burst up from his seat, startling Idri who was beside him with an ‘eep!’. He was at the opposite end of the room, mouth agape as he analyzed the arm with such an evident interest that even Raoul felt awkward from the close proximity.

“Hmm…! Hmm…! Where did you get this, boy?”

He shrugged, mind immediately working to conjure up a reasonable lie. He was a blacksmith, someone of the trade, but also someone who often got his hands dirty during his work. Any shallow falsehood would be seen through in a heartbeat—and as such, the best option was to depict the location as somewhere far removed from his line of work. “In the Goldstone Gang’s vaults. It was one of their treasures.”

A tilt of the head from Idri. Urfrey didn’t seem to catch it, and merely nodded as he slowly pried the arm off Raoul’s hands. His pupils dilated as he brought them mere inches from the arm’s metal surface, dragging across its entire pliable surface with a trained eye. Every so often he would nod in approval, sprouting some offhand comment about the material or craftsmanship, many of which went out one ear and out the other of the inexperienced Raoul.

When all was said and done, he finally pulled off and handed the arm back to Raoul with a slightly envious look. “You got lucky, boy. You just chanced across an artifact that even I don’t know the location of. Usually, I’d be able to pinpoint the kind of hand and place that forged this beauty, but not this time. It’s made entirely of Fiensium, a rare alloy that’s often called the “metal of the gods”. Why, you ask? Look at its name. Ensi’s the golden blood of the gods, only ever told about in ancient texts, and Fi is said to be the only natural metal that can even fuse with the golden blood without being destroyed by its volatile nature.”

He continued. “An artifact’s already plenty tough simply ‘cause Severis puts Jati in it, but Fiensium absorbs the energy so well it may as well be pure Jati sealed in a metal shell. And that ain’t all too,” he reached over to press the button, and the four glass vials slid out with little resistance. “The vials here are melted Ensi that was blown into the four. There’s a few enchantments on the insides that work to gather magic both from the wearer and outside sources. See how they end just before the palm? All you’ll have to do is hold your hand outstretched and it’ll automatically suck up up to four different spells. As for what tier they’re able to eat, that’s up to you to test.”

Raoul held out his own left arm. “I still have my left arm, though.”

“Ah. Well, that’s your problem. You want me to take it off your hands, then? I don’t have any artifacts this good lying around, but I can give you a few that’re half as good.”

“...No,” Raoul replied, shaking his head perhaps a bit too quickly. It was a product of their first dungeon delving, so giving it away felt a little wrong. "I think… I’ll keep it. Thank you, though.”

“Hmph, suit yourself.”