Shieldmeet

Milo nursed his tankard in the midst of the music and laughter that filled the Three-Headed Ettin. He swirled it around, staring into it as if it were providing some dark divination.

His train of thought was broken by Gety Ambershield loudly falling back into his seat and slamming down another tankard for himself, and one for Milo. His wild grin slackened a little as he saw Milo's remaining half-pint. "Gods man, I thought you'd have finished that by now! It's Shieldmeet, what's wrong with you?"

"Shieldmeet's the problem! I... no, it's nothing, I'm fine." Milo upended what was left of his first drink, misjudging the amount so some ran down the sides of his mouth into his beard. "See," he wiped at his mouth with a sleeve, "I'm fine." He reached out for the new drink Gety had brought.

"Ah ah ah," Gety pulled the tankard away. "You don't fool me that easily you moody bastard. What's going on in that thick head of yours?"

Milo rubbed his eyes in frustration. "You're from Waterdeep, Gety, you wouldn't get it." "Oh yeah? Try me."

The smith stared at his friend, who pointedly held tight to both tankards and raised his eyebrows at Milo. "Fine!" Milo cried, throwing up his hands. "Fine. I just can't help wondering what I'm doing here, is all."

"What you're doing?" Gety looked confused. "You're helping the town. Every town needs a smith." "I'm not the only smith here." "Aah, but not a dwarf smith, blessed by Moradin himself!" Gety smiled, as if he'd solved the problem, rather than making it worse. Milo slumped.

"Moradin's word brought me here, sure. 'Go to the new continent', he said, 'and protect the people there.' But who did he mean? The settlers? The natives? Everyone? I can't protect everyone Gety, I'm only one dwarf, and there's more people here every day. I feel like I'm just killing time, waiting for some great revelation that might never come."

"What's so wrong with that? Isn't that what we're all doing? Not everyone needs a grand destiny, Milo, nor does everyone get one."

"I don't need a destiny." Milo sighs, adding "but I thought I had a purpose here. And now I'm not so sure."

Gety waits for more, but Milo is staring around the tavern hall without seeing anything. "You haven't been getting enough air Milo, you need to ventilate that cell of yours. And tell me what you meant about Shieldmeet."

Still peering around the room absently, Milo mutters "Need to minimise uncontrolled airflow" before turning back to Gety with a scowl. "And it's not a cell. And don't think I missed what you're trying to do, bringing up Shieldmeet." "It may as well be, you hardly leave it these days. And you're the one bringing up Shieldmeet!" the black-bearded dwarf grins, the silver beads shimmering in the low lamplight. "Go on, what did you mean?"

"Agh, you're such a nag! Okay, it's... I'm from Citadel Adbar, right?" Gety nods in acknowledgement. "Shieldmeet is an important time for us. The King chooses a dozen craftsmen to go to the Everfire at Sundabar, and spend a year making a single piece. It's the greatest honour, and a chance to truly show your skill. The arms and armour that come from those years are considered almost legendary, and they're given only to the greatest defenders of the Citadel." He pauses, returning to staring at his beer. "This year would have been my year."

Gety scratches the side of his nose. "But I thought the king chooses on the day. How would you know if you'd be chosen or not?"

"The king can't know every craftsman in the Citadel!" Milo say impatiently. "He has advisors, and some very reputable dwarves had put my name forward. It's four years between Shieldmeets, there's time to find out if you're on the list or not. And I was. And now I'm here." He swirls the beer a little more, before taking a huge gulp. "And I'll never get the chance again."

The bejeweled dwarf opposite looks bemused for a second before stating "Well I don't see the problem. Just make your 'legendary' piece here." Milo shoots him a frustrated look. "Do you know how much that would cost? Tens of thousands, hundreds! I could spend another 200 years here, the rest of my life, and I wouldn't save up that much, not from knocking out nails and, and hinges and the odd sword."

Gety taps thoughtfully on the table. "These adventurers seem to bring back a fair chunk of change. Dragon hoards and buried treasures and the like. You did that for a while, why not start up again? It looks like easy money."

Milo shakes his head. "I don't do that anymore. Not after that mess with the fey Games. Everyone getting swept along for the amusement of creatures from a different plane - if that's what being an adventurer gets you, you can count me out. Plus you know I nearly got killed by a werewolf, I don't fancy trying that again."

"So what was that trip you took out to Port Ffirst a few weeks ago, coming back with tales of demon knights and tree angels?" "That was just helping out a friend..." Milo says, but severely lacking in conviction. The friend in front of him smiles, seeing the hidden truth, and decides to nudge a little. "Why not try it again, just for a few months? Get out there, see what you can find, and if you don't like it you can knuckle down on doing the best work this continent has ever seen!"

The dwarf with the fiery hair considers. "I suppose... it could be worth a shot," but before he has even finished his sentence Gety has sent up a huge cheer, "Yes! That's what I'm talking about! Milo the Adventurer! Watch out world, hahaha!" He holds out his tankard waiting. Milo smiles, then clanks it with his own tankard. "Milo the Adventurer," he repeats.

"Another drink for my friend the famous adventurer please!" calls Gety. "Besides, only 200 years left? You're older than I thought, you'd better get a move on before you crumble away." "Shut up."

(This thread doesn't have to be for just me. If others want to describe their Shieldmeet plans, you can add them below.)