…Is it the Jolly Ninny smith… Andvari asks, crossing his arms from within the fire.

I’m afraid so. 

2 more pups leap out of the cave, called out by their sister’s howling.

Bark! Bark!

They too run straight towards the poor dwarf, pawing at the ground with tails wagging hard in the air.

Ugh..

Andvari frowns, testing the area outside the fire-pit by poking a foot out, then hurriedly pulling it back in when a wolf pup licks his toes.

Lady, would you happen to know the root cause of this- this occasion?

I twiddle my wings in front of me, knowing what the answer was.

Yep. You have a charm skill now. 

Ah…I see. Andvari cradles his head in his hands for a moment. Birds continue to sing above us in the morning light as the silence stretches on for a while.

Well, silent and peaceful in the forest.

My head was positively ringing.

-FECKEN GOMBEEN!! A RIGHT GOWL GOD! HOOR! PUP! AWFUL SCUT! PÓG MO THÓIN!!

Curse words were being bellowed straight into my brain, the noise and colorful imagery bouncing around like a sped up dvd loading screen.

Andvari was still going. It really was too bad we were connected mentally, because even if he was holding it in from exploding outright, I could still hear the many colorful curse words echoing in my head. My head couldn’t keep up with all the new vocabulary I was suddenly learning, which came conveniently with their respective meetings as Andvari continued to have his rage-fest in his head.

Tapping my head a few times seems to help lessen the ringing.

Ahem!

The dwarf waves his hand in my direction.

You were saying, Lady?

Wait, give me a moment.

Shaking my head until the very vibrant curse words fade somewhat from my memory, I shoo away the pups. But even though I flap my wings at them, they ignored me, yipping at Andvari to come out of the fire.

That was no good. Capo had already given me a long lecture on the inner workings of a Pack, and the need of the Alpha to stay dominant. If the pups didn’t obey me, then it would affect the whole pack.

Waddling between the pups and the fire, I try again this time, using my {Call Mimicry}.

WOOF!

I make sure to match my body language the way Capo would have done, with body leaning forward, wings splayed wide, and beak open.

One wolf pup flops backwards on its bum, soft ears flicking back, while the others scamper to hide behind it.

Run along now. Andvari and I have things to talk about.

There was no need to use {Skill: Dominance}. The pups understood quick enough once I barked at them.

Poor Andvari. We may have drawn the short end of the stick on this one.

Andvari.

You know…I can hear you right.

The dwarf’s face gradually turns away from me. Did his jolly red cheeks look even redder now?

Don’t mind me. You were saying?

Come out of the fire and put this on first. I tell him, flying into the cave to retrieve a fur and dropping it into his outstretched arms. It was the Subterranean Rat fur that we’d collected, finally being of use. The size of two whole clean furs was good enough to clothe the dwarf's stocky frame, leaving his arms bare.

Thank you, Lady. I hadn’t meant to burn my old tunic off.

With braids in his brown hair and beard and body covered in grey fur, wiry muscled arms crossed in front of him, Andvari now looked like a wild, but very kind jolly blind dwarf.

I know you didn’t, Andvari. I tell him, patting him on the knee. It feels right for your slave clothes to burn off with your evolution. Now you’re Andvari the Jolly Ditty Smith, of our Unkindness.

And now as a Jolly Ditty Smith, I see the skill you have now is called Modest Charm, but it seems more than modest?

Andvari blinks, the furrows between his eyebrows growing deeper. 

What do you mean you can see my skill?

What about it? I can see it. I’ve appraised your Modest Charm skill and it says this:

{Modest Charm: A skill any noblewoman is willing to die for. Even the ugliest cow can momentarily capture their target’s attention. Your voice entreats to listener to stay longer, your scent reminding them of their fondest memories. } 

I read aloud the appraisal window to Andvari, whose expression grows darker with each word I tell him. This time, he mutters the curses under his breath instead of bellowing them in his mind, which I was thankful for.

Saved my brain a lot of pain.

But the sound of cheerful whistling coming from the forest surprises both of us, interrupting Andvari mid-curse.

A good morning to you, Esteemed Lady! Andvari! Pups!

The pups woof in response, glancing at him then going back to staring towards Andvari and I with big, puppy dog eyes.

Crixus bows with a gentleman’s flourish, a large lumpy cloth sack clamped between his strong jaws. Water dripped off the ends of his slicked back mane, the human half of his dark body glistening in the sunlight from his morning bath.

Without the sound of his whistling, I probably won’t have heard him coming until he was close enough for me to see emerge from between the trees. The vines were twisted into a more cohesive arm-like shape today, though still too small to match the rest of his body. Hanging limply at his sides, it was strange to not see their customary undulation. He was still dresses in a simple loincloth, only because none of the armor we’d got from the possums fit him. His chest was too thick and wide to fit, while his legs were not human to begin with. 

Good morning, Crixus. You’re up early today.

Yes, well, there’s a great many things needing to be done today. He replies, chipper than ever.

What’s all the gloom? I come with a gift for your Becoming! Crixus grins, releasing the sack from his grip with a heavy thud.

Oooh! For Andvari? How sweet of you! Lemme see! Throwing my body up into the air, I immediately dive towards the sack, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside.

Was it shinies?? Food??

Crixus shakes his head, stepping between me and the sack. 

Faring my wings wide open, I go into a hard stop, landing on Crixus’ shoulder.

With me flying straight towards him, it gave me deja vu about the last time I’d done this. I’d gotten a straight up flying kick in the chest.

Eeeek!

Not yet, my Lady. This is for the dwarf.

He tilts his head, pondering. The large curled horns atop his head shine bright, the beautiful gradation of color to the tips drawing the eye.

And perhaps the goblin too.

Andvari, Crixus says it's for you! You should open it! Opeeen it!! I could hardly contain my excitement, wiggling atop Crixus’ wide shoulders.

Andvari doesn’t even move towards Crixus to receive the gift.

That’s all good and well, and I thank you for the gift. Later. Now Crixus, tell the lady about your skills. Can you see them? Andvari interrupts, pulling at a strand of his beard. 

No. You can see them, Esteemed Lady?

Crixus asks, eyes widened in surprise. Andvari nods, as if that was the response he'd expected.

Yes?? Is that strange? It’s written in the air for me. I tell them, gesturing in the direction of the appraisal windows still open.

Very strange. 

Both of them nod, mulling over my words.

What about the fact that I can see your race, titles, all your abilities?

You can do that?? Andvari asks, mouth opening in shock.

My head swivels between the two of them. Crixus kept looking at me like I has suddenly grown horns or something. Judging by their reactions, this wasn’t normal.

Yes, it's always been this way for me. How do you guys know your abilities then, your skills, titles?

Our abilities come to us naturally. Because they are either earned or natural, there is no need to ‘see’ it as you have described. I am versed in many weapons, because that is what I needed to learn, to survive in the Arena. Crixus tells me, picking up the sack with his jaw once again and walking towards Andvari.

What about titles then?? I ask, blinking in confusion.

I was confused why Andvari and Crixus had such different experiences from mine.

Titles are usually earned by being recognized by others as deserving of such. 

Or by achievement. Andvari adds.

Then how do you know your own titles?

We don’t. Unless we go look at a Book of Titles. That’ll display the titles of whoever touches it. But only the humans have those… Crixus whuffs hard, jaw clenching as he remembers something. And they're very precious. They only let me, a gladiator touch it once to confirm my worth.

As if we could trust anything made by a human. Andvari scoffs.

Then.. do you want me to tell you the titles you have now?

I ask the both of them, one wing in the air ready to bring up appraisal if they ask for what each title does. But I’m caught off guard by their heads shaking in denial.

We are thankful for your offer, but there is no need. We experience the effects the same, whether we know the title or not, so it matters not to us.

Or for any non-human race, for that matter. Andvari nods, still frowning. I still don’t understand how you can ‘see’ our status. How do you know it’s accuracy??

I don’t. I shrug, raising both wings for drama. But it seems to be correct.

Hmm..

Andvari continues to rub his beard, while Crixus dodges my attempt to peek inside the sack again.

The two were as stumped on this as I was.

Would you like your gift now? If not, I am craving some fresh dew soaked grass. Crixus asks, shaking the sack at Andvari. 

Eat your break-fast now then.

What! No opening the presents yet!? Boo!

I hide my crest-fallen expression, fluttering my wings at Crixus’ side. 

Andvari begins adjusting the knots at his shoulder which ties the fur tunic together.

I appreciate the gift, Minotaur. Let me forge something first, my fingers are itching to feel the reverb of a hammer.

Doing a little dance, I can’t help imagining the fun time ahead.

Ooooooh!!! I didn’t mind this interlude in the least! It was my chance to watch a dwarf in his element, smithing!

What are you planning to make? Crixus asks, while I fly up and do a leisurely circle around the clearing to calm my happy nerves.

A sword.

A SWORD! WOOHOO! I was going to watch a dwarf make a sword!!

I land, taking deep breaths to calm my excited hyperventilation. My heart kept thudding against my ribcage, excited to see what awesome weapons would be built.

Man, if I could show baby Raven where we were at now!

I couldn't wait to see the art Andvari would produce. Dwarves were the ultimate smiths, known by all as the best at their craft, and now I had one right here, smithing a sword!

A sword!

I couldn't wait!

 

---

Whoaa~

It was perfection!

Andvari hold up the sword with both hands, striking a mighty pose. Now this, this was a dwarf smith!

Light glints off the golden bronze of the sword Andvari holds up in the air, exuding a powerful aura. A broadswords that looked powerful enough to cut a tree in two reached high into the air.

Until it loses it's stiffness and wilts, pointy end flopping down towards the ground.

THE HELL IS THIS!!!!

BY HROTHGAR’S FIRES!! DAMN THIS!!!!

…I’d spoken too early..

From the safety of my perch, I watch as a stocky dwarf storms around the forge, shaking his head and ranting, hard enough that his hair was starting to look like a hard rocker’s after a good concert.

WHAT IS THIS!!!!

Andvari roars, shaking a bronze sword into the air. Too bad the sword, instead of poking straight up into the sky, flops about as he shakes it, the length of it elastic like a rubber sword. 

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Crixus cradles his belly with his vine hands, shaking in laughter as tears leak out of the corner of his eyes.  He continues wheezing, even as Andvari sends a fierce look in his direction.

HAHAHAHA! Chaos erupts in the clearing as the minotaur continues to laugh, slapping his knee as the dwarf rants, desperately trying to make the sword stand up again.

SHUT UP!!

On closer inspection, it was only a rough metal block in the shape of a sword..but I have never seen metal grow so- so flaccid.

Hiding my presence in the trees, I quietly appraise Andvari’s sword.

[Named Snakebronze Sword: The Flaccid Tickler]

Pfft!

It even had it’s own name.

I have to clamp my beak shut to keep from barking out a laugh in this atmosphere. That’ll definitely piss off Andari more if he knew what the system was calling it. Crixus continues to laugh, not flinching even when Andvari kicks him hard in the shins.

Mine never that soft. 

A familiar voice pipes up.