Grumpy

Zane nearly skipped down the dirt path, humming a jaunty tune as he basked in the glow of his recent success. "Sylphie, this is what you call a pitch for the ages," he said, throwing his arms wide as though addressing an invisible audience. "Smooth, efficient, and no begging involved! A rare triumph in my illustrious career."

"I'm happy for you, Master," Sylphie replied with a small smile, trailing a few steps behind him.

As they continued, she suddenly stopped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Master! I seem to have forgotten my purse back at the elder's."

Zane paused mid-step, slowly turning to face her with an incredulous look. "Do you even have money?"

Sylphie shook her head earnestly. "No, Master. I'm already two months overdue on my salary."

"Of course you are," Zane muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why am I not surprised? Fine! Fine! Go grab your nonexistent purse. I'll head home and try not to wonder how I ended up with such an exemplary employee."

"Thank you, Master!" Sylphie chirped, bowing slightly before heading back toward the elder's house.

Zane shook his head as he watched her retreating figure. "I need a raise just to pay her," he muttered to himself, turning back toward the direction of their modest home.

Meanwhile, Sylphie reached the elder's office, pushing the door open with a polite knock. The elder was seated at his desk, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. He looked up as she entered, his sharp gaze flicking over her with a mix of curiosity and something more cautious.

"The matter of my master using magic—" Sylphie began, her tone calm but firm.

"I know, I know," the elder interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "You don't have to warn me. I have no intention of letting the information leak. It's not my business, and I doubt anyone would believe me anyway."

Sylphie's eyes narrowed slightly, her usual cheerful demeanor fading like the morning mist. "But what about you?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sharp edge. "How long are you planning on hiding who you really are?"

The elder froze, his quill hovering above the parchment. His eyes darkened as he met her gaze.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that."

Sylphie stepped closer, her cheerful mask gone entirely. Her blue eyes glinted like shards of ice as the temperature in the room began to plummet. Frost crept along the edges of the wooden desk, and the glass of water sitting atop it crackled as it froze solid.

"I hope we can keep our cooperation clean," Sylphie said, her tone dangerously soft. She bowed slightly, but the motion felt more like a predator lowering its head before a kill. Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the room, her movements calm and deliberate.

The elder let out a slow breath, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the frozen glass. He picked it up, the chill biting into his fingers as he studied the icy surface.

"She really is something else," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. His mind flashed back to a battlefield, to the sight of Sylphie standing atop a mountain of corpses, her eyes cold and unyielding as frost coated the ground around her.

With a sigh, the elder pushed the memory aside and stood, his expression hardening. "I guess I'll get started as well," he muttered, walking toward the back room where a series of old tools and blueprints were neatly arranged.

Outside, Sylphie stepped into the sunlight, her cheerful mask back in place as though nothing had happened. She glanced in the direction Zane had gone, a small smile curling her lips.

"Master," she whispered, her voice almost affectionate. "You really are clueless."

With a soft chuckle, she adjusted her shawl and began walking back toward their home.

----------------------------

A week after sending out the proposal to the blacksmith, the much-awaited messenger finally arrived at Zane's modest village. The blacksmith, a man named Baggid, had agreed to assist with Zane's ambitious project.

However, the messenger's carefully chosen words hinted that Baggid wasn't entirely thrilled about the arrangement. Zane could tell from the strained smile that the message had been "edited for politeness."

"Whatever, let's go, Sylphie," Zane said, waving a hand dismissively. He wasn't going to let a grumpy craftsman ruin his momentum.

"Yes, Master," Sylphie replied cheerfully, following Zane to the carriage the elder had prepared. The wooden contraption looked sturdy enough but lacked any semblance of comfort. As the horses began their trot, the journey to the neighboring village commenced.

"How long will it take to get there?" Zane asked, already regretting climbing into the jostling death trap.

"It should take a little less than a day, Master," Sylphie replied.

Zane nodded, then winced as the carriage hit a bump, sending him bouncing awkwardly. "Maybe one day," he muttered, gripping the edge of his seat, "I'll just build a car."

"A car?" Sylphie tilted her head curiously.

"Not just a car," Zane replied, attempting to maintain his composure as the carriage rattled along the uneven path. "Maybe a helicopter… or even an airplane."

"I don't know what those are, but they sound amazing, Master."

"Of course, they are—blegh—" Zane couldn't hold it in any longer. Leaning out of the window just in time, he emptied his stomach onto the dirt road.

Sylphie patted his back sympathetically. "Oh, Master…"

"This is going to be a long ride," Zane groaned, flopping back into his seat, pale and utterly defeated.

After what felt like an eternity of nausea, discomfort, and questioning all his life choices, the carriage finally rolled into the blacksmith's village. Zane stumbled out, looking like he'd barely survived a battle.

"Master, are you okay?" Sylphie asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Of course… not," Zane replied, steadying himself. His hair was disheveled, and he looked like he'd aged a year in the past few hours. But the project couldn't wait. He straightened his posture and forced a grin. "We need to meet this blacksmith. Baggid, right?"

"That's right, Master," Sylphie confirmed, following him as they made their way through the bustling village streets.

As they approached the blacksmith's shop, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal grew louder, ringing through the air like a battle cry. Each strike seemed to invigorate Zane, his steps growing firmer with every echo.

When they finally reached the shop, the hammering abruptly stopped. Zane peeked inside, squinting against the dim light filtering through the open windows. The place was cluttered but organized, with tools and half-finished projects strewn across workbenches.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Zane called out, his voice echoing in the quiet.

No response.

"Did you go out to take a piss?" Zane muttered under his breath, glancing around.

"Brat!" A booming voice rang out, startling Zane.

"Who's calling me a brat?!" Zane turned left, then right, his head swiveling like a confused owl. "I didn't even do anything yet!"

Sylphie leaned closer, whispering, "Master… look down."

Zane blinked and finally tilted his gaze downward to find a stout, burly figure glaring up at him. The dwarf standing before him had a beard so majestic it deserved its own title. His arms, thick as tree trunks, were crossed over his barrel-like chest, and his face was a permanent scowl carved out of granite.

Now this is fantasy, but aren't dwarfs supposed to be the best of the best. Maybe this fantasy works differently.

"Well? Are you done gawking, or do I need to hit you with a hammer to get your attention?" the dwarf growled.

Zane blinked again, then smirked. "Oh, sorry. Didn't realize I'd walked into the set of Snow White. Which one are you—Grumpy or Bashful?"

Sylphie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Master!"

The dwarf's scowl deepened, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. "Grumpy? Grumpy?! I'm Baggid Ironstone, the best blacksmith in this kingdom, you twig! And you're the so-called lord who wants me to build a stove? A stove?"

"The best? But the Elder said you were mediocre at best." 

"..."

Zane chuckled, leaning down slightly to meet the dwarf's piercing gaze. "Yes, I am the lord and you're the so-called blacksmith who's about to help me. Assuming you can follow directions without getting your beard caught in the forge."

For a moment, Baggid stared at him, his scowl unchanging. Then, to Zane's surprise, the dwarf let out a booming laugh, the sound bouncing off the shop's walls.

"You've got guts, brat," Baggid said, smirking. "Alright, show me what you've got. But if you waste my time, I'll turn you into a set of fireplace tongs."

Zane straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Ironstone. I've got more than enough to make this worth your while." With that, he pulled out what he had been working on for the last week, a proper blueprint for the magical stove he was envisioning "Let's talk business."

Sylphie sighed, her worry momentarily replaced by relief. "Master… you really have a way with people."