(Initiated by, and in collaboration with, Mystigon )
In between the sound of metal on metal, Milo hears a polite knocking at the door to the Hammerfall. A voice calls out in Dwarvish "Good day Master Milo! Can I come in? It's a bit rainy outside." In response he shouts "Come in! No rain in here," then nods at the damp figure that enters the smithy.
"Ah, Mystigon! It's good to see you. Dry yourself by the forge while I finish this off - just one minute." The mage walks over to the glowing fire, removing a number of scarves and using them to wipe away the droplets of water that have settled in his hair and on his clothes. As he does so, tiny crackles of electricity follow the path of his hand before dissipating.
He watches Milo finish hammering the top of some bulbous tool, and catches sight of a small piece of metal caught inside, the end of which is being flattened. Milo upends the tool and taps out the finished nail, tossing it into a box that is already over half full. He smiles at the mage.
"I'll have done about 500 by the end of the day. This place never stops growing! Anyway, how are you? How have things been since our trip into the woods?" (See 'Shadows and Peril')
Mystigon continues holding up his cloak to catch the warmth of the forge, but turns to speak. "Quite eventful! Full of excitement and disappointment in Vorsthold." (See 'Delicacy and Tact')
"Vorsthold?" Milo perks up at the mention of the dwarf city he's heard a little about. "I'd love to go there some time, see what it's like compared to home." He looks about the small smithy wistfully. "Though I suppose this is home now." He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "So, excitement and disappointment? Not too much of the latter I hope."
"Well, my curiosity let me find out some interesting facts." The mage drapes his cloak over a low chair. "But I managed to annoy the dwarves there, and attack Baine." Mystigon looks down, intently studying the space between his feet, ashamed. "I should have behaved better, and not retaliated."
Milo frowns at that news, and crosses his arms. "That doesn't sound like you. You've been through a big change, I can understand that, but you've not attacked a party member before, even in retaliation. Maybe you should talk to Baine, get things straightened out."
"I'm not sure he would speak to me." There is a pained look on the heavily scarred face. "I was dragged into a tent by cleric dwarves when they found my familiars checking out why we were pushed out from helping to heal them. But they spoke to me in private and explained the secrecy. I apologised and left, and the moment I went out I find a beefy fist in my face!" Visibly distressed, Mystigon exclaims "I tried to hold back with my magic, but so much you can't do!"
"It sounds like he lashed out because he thought you'd jeopardised mission," the dwarf says, sitting down on the edge of the anvil. "Perhaps he went too far, but that's on him. The only person who controls your actions is you." A stubby finger jabs towards the mage. "He may not want to speak to you, but I think it's worth trying at least. Then you'll have done what you can. A tiny spark that's not quenched can burn down a whole town, and the same goes for arguments."
Mystigon looks down briefly, saying "You definitely are a lot wiser than I am," before returning his gaze to Milo. "I am heading to K'ul Goran tomorrow possibly, I will see to get some of their favourable Hiroliki. And go start an apology when I am back."
"I'm sorry," Milo says, raising his hands. "You didn't come here for a lecture." He pauses a second. "Actually, you haven't said what you did come here for! Anything I can help with?"
With a light smile the mage says "Actually I was just planning to come and properly give my many thanks for helping me and saving my life. But you did inspire me to farther better myself too." Then swinging off a shield hanging from his back, he continues "I do have a small favour to ask as well." He props the shield on the floor before patting the end of his arm, where a wrist would have become a hand before the events which resulted in it being torn away. "I want something to clip on my arm here and maybe a leather strap for holding it tight. Before I head off tomorrow. Do you think it's possible?"
Milo strokes his beard thoughtfully, examining the shield and the now pointless handhold riveted to its back. "I don't see why not. Some sort of padded mitt or sleeve to fit your, uh..." He tries to think of a better way to say 'stump' before returning to "...arm. With a strap to tighten it. Yes, easy enough. Can you collect it tomorrow morning?"
The smile widens as Mystigon says "Thank you, tomorrow morning will be absolutely fine. Would you like anything special from K'ul Goran, when I am there?"
The dwarf scratches what of his chin he can reach through the hair. "I can't say I know enough about the place to know what to ask for! Minotaurs and elemental folk is all I know, from chatter in the Ettin. Must be an interesting place." He smiles suddenly at a thought. "I'll be they have some fascinating designs for arms and armour there. I'd be grateful if you'd bring me back some ideas or designs. I'm always looking for new challenges."
"I can definitely bring you something of the sort when I am there."
"Please don't go out of your way for me!" Milo says, raising his hands again. "A quick sketch, or just a description even. But it should certainly be interesting."
"Don't worry Master Milo, I will see what I can do."
"Well, that's very kind of you."
The smith looks happy about the future possibilities of K'ul Goran designs, then his gaze falls on the box of nails next to the anvil, and his features become uneasy and embarassed. "Um, you're welcome to stay a while, but I have at least another 100 of these to do before I can even think about your shield, and I can't promise any sparkling conversation while that's happening."
"No worries, I have taken enough of your time," says the mage, "and I have to be in Port Ffirst in two hours anyway. Take care my friend." He extends a missing hand, at which Milo briefly feels pity, imagining the affliction has been forgotten, before a leafy fern-shaped cuff unravels and extends to form the shape of four fingers and a thumb. He shakes the fragile looking hand cautiously. "And you. I'll see you in the morning."
As Mystigon collects his cloak and scarves and heads back out into the light rain, the same tiny sparks which had trailed behind his hand earlier reappear, coalescing before cascading out from him and building the shape of a bright, flickering horse. Mounting it, Mystigon puts on a wooden mask, pulled from some pouch or pocket, inscribed in a number of different languages, before saluting the dwarf stood in the dry of the doorway. The glowing horse rears, then canters down the street and disappears about a corner.
Milo stands with his hands on his hips, and shakes his head. "There always something with him."
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(See here for a video of someone forging a nail.)
