A New Flame

[Thank you to Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar for the collab!]

The large oak doors stood imposingly before Milo, their yellow paint dull in the grey weather. Perhaps it looks better in the sunshine, the dwarf mused to himself. The trees and vines, which must look beautiful in springtime, stood bare, and the grass in which they grew was wet and muddy from the morning's rain. In the centre of one of the doors a proud bear gripped a brass ring in its mouth. Milo gripped the ring and three times swung it down to make contact with the connecting plate. While he waited he admired the craftsmanship - this wasn't one of his, and he wondered idly who it had come from.

The door opened smoothly, and a wave of warmth and sound washed over the smith. The sounds of lessons, laughter, the padding of feet - even, from somewhere near the back of the building, a collection of instruments being played with cheerful, discordant enthusiasm.

The wide eyed face of the young Tiefling who opened the door looks up at him.

“Hello.”

"Hello young man!" He gives an affable smile.
"I'm here for a chat with the master of the house. Is he in?"

The boy - he can’t be more than eight years old - blinks for a moment, brows drawn down in concentration as he appraises Milo. Seeming to find the dwarf acceptable, he gives a serious nod.

“I’ll get Mr Allenby.”

With that he turns on his heel and scampers off up the hallway, leaving a bemused Milo standing on the doorstep. A moment later, an assured male voice can be heard, cutting through the babble.

“Very good. Well, where is he then?”

A moment passes.

“Black gods, don’t leave him on the doorstep lad. Go and fetch him in.”

Seconds later the young tiefling Hare’s back into view, skidding to a halt in front of Milo.

“Mr Allenby’s in his study, mr. He says to bring you up” he recites rather breathlessly, before turning around and heading back the way he came, pausing briefly to make sure Milo is following.

As he’s lead down the long, tiled corridor, Milo can see through the many open doorways into bunk rooms, classrooms, playrooms - even a small library. Everything is simple, yet sturdily made, and there is an unmistakable air of care about the place.

The boy leads him up a flight of stairs and knocks on a heavy door that stands party ajar.

“Come.”

The door is pushed open to reveal a small but well appointed office. Behind a mahogany desk sits a distinguished looking man, white hair carefully combed and a neat beard adorning his chin. He looks up as Milo enters, fixing him with sharp blue eyes. He stands, smiling at his visitor.

“Welcome. You must be Master Brightmane, the smith. I’m Frederick Allenby. The old boy told me you might drop by. Please, sit.”

Milo takes the offered seat, grateful for the small fireplace after the cold walk across town.

“So. You’ve agreed to apprentice one of our children. Capital, capital. I have a few suggestions, but why don’t you tell me what qualities you think they’d need first.”

The dwarf rubs his rough hands together, encouraging some blood flow now that he's in the warm. "What makes a good smith? Hmm. A willingness to get their hands dirty for one! They'll never quite be able to get the coal dust out from their nails. I can't imagine those who are fussy about their appearance make good smiths. Perseverance, I'd say. Smithing isn't quick work, even when it goes right, and it doesn't always go right. Creativity. That's the difference between an ironmonger and a smith, though they'll have to do their fair share of the former - it isn't all gilded rapiers and the like."

He pulls at his beard thoughtfully. "What makes a good apprentice though? Willing to learn would make a good bloody start! Listening and learning, they've got to be open to it. Everything else comes from that."

Allenby nods, pursing his lips in thought.

“Of course. I think I have just the girl. She came to us only recently, says her name is Nemeia, but the other children call her Nem. Sharp as a tack, and very determined. Stubborn, even - though I suppose the stout folk know a thing or two about that. Come, why don’t I introduce you?”

"Please. Lead the way!"

Milo pushes himself a little reluctantly out of the comfortable chair and follows the human back out onto the landing and down the stairs. As they walk, Milo casts a sideways glance at his host.

"I have to say, an orphanage doesn't seem the obvious place to find someone of your background."
The dwarf noted again the immaculately pressed shirt, the shining buttons, the purposeful, even gait as they made their way through the halls, left right left right.

"I'm guessing military?”

His host gives a short nod.

“How did you end up working for Varis?"

Allenby barks a laugh without breaking step.

“Gods man, I don’t work for Nailo. No no, I was brought on by the Duchess. The Grandmaster came up with the idea and provided most of the funds, but we were the ones who actually saw the thing through. The boy’s a soldier - damn fine one too - but he wouldn’t know the first thing about building a place like this, let alone caring for the children once it’s done. Ah, here we are.”

He pushes open a heavy door into a room filled with floor to ceiling bookcases. There are a few large armchairs, and several side tables are piled high with an eclectic collection of tomes - fables, histories of Faerun, even a few books on the sciences.

Perched in one of the chairs is a young woman with pale lilac skin and bright red eyes. Two curved rams horns wind their way back from her forehead through a tangle of brown curls. She looks up from her book as the two men enter the room.

“Nem, this is Master Brightmane, a smith. He wanted to speak with you a little. Is that alright?”

The girl looks between the two of them cagily for a moment, then nods and closes her book, fixing her eyes on Milo. Allenby gives him an encouraging look.

The dwarf sits across from the young tiefling so he can get a full look at her, and she at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you Nem. I've heard good things." She continues to watch him, her expression neutral, waiting for something to react to. Milo nods toward the currently abandoned book. "What are you reading?"

She picks it up and turns the cover so he can see it. It’s a collection of adventure stories.

“I’m reading about heroes” she says, matter of factly. “So you’re a smith, are you? You lookin’ for a ‘prentice then?”

Milo smiles at her directness.

“That I am. Think you might be up to the task?”

The girl considers for a moment, then meets his gaze and nods.

“I’m not the biggest - that’s Val - and I ain't the smartest neither - that's probly Tillik - but I do alright. Got quick hands. Like makin’ stuff. Plus, look-” she turns to the candle on the side table and holds her hand in the flame. Allenby makes an exasperated noise, and she throws him a mischievous grin.

“Fire don’t hurt us Phlegs. That’s gotta be pretty handy for a smith, dunnit?”

She watches Milo for a reaction, opening her mouth to add something more, then thinking better of it. She seems a little nervous, perhaps anxious to impress him, perhaps just uncomfortable around strangers. Nonetheless, her enthusiasm seems genuine.

Milo nods. "Pretty handy indeed. I think you'll fit right in at the Hammerfall. Are you free for a tour of the place?" He glances back at Allenby. "Or do you have lessons?"

Allenby smiles warmly.

“For this, I think your lessons can wait.”

Nem bounds out of her seat, an excited grin splitting her face from ear to ear. Then suddenly, she hesitates, looking momentarily bashful. Allenby seems to read her mind.

“Shall we send Val with you? Just to keep you company on the walk?”

She nods, darting for the door.

“I’ll go get her” she calls over her shoulder.

With a wry smile, Allenby turns back to Milo.

“A little shy still, but she’ll be fine once she gets to know you.”

His voice becomes serious for a moment.

“Take good care of her, Master Brightmane. You know where to find us should you have any problems.”

He extends a hand for Milo to shake. His grim is firm and dry.

“Congratulations. You have an apprentice.”