A Consultation with the Smith
Silak spent most of the previous afternoon and evening being lovingly interrogated by his mother. She checked him from head to toe, her worried eyes searching for any sign of injury or ill effect from his seclusion with Senior Gahumdagat.
To appease her and lighten his own guilt for causing her such anxiety, Silak answered her questions patiently, even sharing the fact that he had received a precious inheritance from the guardian beast.
He skillfully navigated the conversation, however, to avoid the true reason for the forest's turmoil and its accompanying, world-ending secrets. For now, it was far safer for his family to believe the threat was merely an unknown demonic beast expanding its territory. The truth was a burden he would carry alone, for now.
The next morning, Silak rose with the sun. Before he could allow himself to be consumed by the mysteries of the Eclipsing Maw, he needed information. The news of the Vareth Dominion was a loose thread he couldn't ignore, and Dwalin was his best chance at understanding the situation his father had walked into, given that he travels a lot to acquire rare materials as a blacksmith.
"Mother! I'm going to visit Senior Dwalin before he leaves for home!" he called out.
From the living room, Iskra's voice replied, warm but with a hint of lingering concern. "Go ahead, son. Take care of yourself, and please, don't make me worry again."
"I won't, I promise. I'll be back before dinner," Silak replied confidently. 'There shouldn't be any more world-shattering surprises today, right?' he mused wryly as he opened the door and made his way toward the trading district.
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As he approached from a distance, he saw that the district was a hive of activity, seemingly untouched by the fear that gripped the residential parts of the tribe. In fact, it seemed to be thriving. The streets were packed with merchants hawking their wares, stern-faced mercenaries checking their gear, and adventurers of all stripes sharing rumors over cheap ale.
Silak navigated the chaotic crowds, his mind analyzing the scene. 'It makes sense. The threat of a beast tide drives the desperate away, but it draws in the opportunistic. For those who trade in danger, this turmoil is a gold rush.'
After a few minutes of squeezing through the throng, he finally saw the familiar, plain signboard of The Gilded Thorn. He'd been in a rush last time, but now he took a moment to truly observe the inn. It stood with a quiet dignity, feeling completely out of place amidst the rough-and-tumble chaos of the remote trading post.
He pushed open the heavy oaken door, its surface worn smooth by countless hands. As he entered, his eyes were drawn to the inn's emblem, mounted on a polished slab of dark wood above the grand hearth. It was not mere decoration but a declaration of the inn's very essence.
The symbol depicted a sturdy shield, its contours suggesting an ancient, unyielding defense. Cradled within this promise of sanctuary, a single, perfect rose bloomed, its petals meticulously detailed and gilded with the muted luminescence of aged gold. This was a place of refined elegance and hidden value.
This beauty, however, was not defenseless. Unnervingly sharp thorns, also gilded, coiled around the stem—a subtle warning and the inn's namesake. Crowning the entire shield was a vibrant, stylized flame, rendered in the same burnished gold. It was not a raging inferno but a contained, gentle flicker that seemed to ward off the chill of the outside world.
The emblem promised peace but hinted at a deep, underlying power—a silent, unyielding force that protected those within its embrace. It begged the question of why no one, regardless of their strength or status, ever dared cause trouble here.
Silak's gaze shifted to the bar counter, where he saw a man concluding a conversation with a one-eyed cat before taking a key from the feline and heading upstairs. Silak blinked. 'Wait… did that cat just hand him a key? And was it… talking?' The first time he was here, he'd been so focused on Dwalin he'd completely missed it. A talking cat acting as the innkeeper. Of course.
After the man disappeared up the stairs, Silak approached the counter. The one-eyed cat was nonchalantly licking its paws, seemingly without a care in the world.
"Excuse me," Silak began politely. "Do you know if Mister Dwalin Firebeard from Khaz'Zorak is still here? I am his friend, Silak."
The cat paused its grooming, its single golden eye swiveling to give him a lazy, appraising look. "Hm. The dwarf? Aye, he's still here. Grumbling about packing. Room 4, up the stairs."
Silak was not in the least bit offended by the creature's casual indifference; he was just trying to process the reality of the situation. Being snubbed by a magical, one-eyed cat was far too absurd to take personally.
"Thank you," he replied, carefully avoiding any pronouns. No need to risk offending his only source of information by misgendering it and turning his attempt at politeness into sudden rudeness. He turned and headed for the stairs, locating the door marked with a simple, carved '4'.
Knock! Knock!
"Mister Dwalin? This is Silak. Are you in there?"
He heard the sound of clanking metal and a gruff sigh from within. "Silak? Aye, just a second, lad!"
A moment later, the door swung open to reveal the stout dwarf, his beard slightly askew. "Didn't expect to see you today, lad. Come on in." He ushered Silak inside before closing the door. The room was cluttered with crates and travel packs. "I was just getting my goods sorted for the long road home."
"I apologize for dropping by unannounced, Mister Dwalin," Silak said, getting straight to the point. "But I have an urgent matter I need to consult you on, concerning a kingdom called Vareth Dominion. I was hoping to purchase some of your time and knowledge." He made it clear with his tone: this was business, not a boy asking for a favor.