The true scale of Rov hadn't quite sunk in. From miles away, it had been close up, and as Iris drew closer, led by the intractable Ser Tallis, it only grew larger. By the time they were within two miles of the fortress-city, she had to tilt her head upwards to see the top of its colossal walls. Its size defied sense, her mind clawing at what little scraps of rationality it had left- and came up blank. She couldn't help but gawk, her jaw hanging agape as they drew nearer.
Rov sat upon an island within a body of water more inland sea than lake, a massive bridge fording the gap. Iris had driven along and over the Mississippi river plenty of times in her career, and this river utterly dwarfed it. The bridge she and Ser Tallis crossed was nearly a mile across in and of itself, and nearly the same in length. It was swarming with people, lined up in all manner of queues. Throngs of people stood shoulder to shoulder with wagons drawn by horses, oxen, and even stranger creatures. Iris nearly jumped out of her skin when a lizard, double the size of any horse she had ever seen, turned one of its eight eyes in her direction. She hurried along after Ser Tallis, eager to be away from the disturbingly intelligent scrutiny of the lizard-beast.
Presenting a badge of office, the older man cleared them a path through the crowd. Iris jostled a man out of the way as he stepped in front of her- grunting as his stony elbow caught her in the sternum. He turned on her unhappily, revealing a face like a chiseled granite block. He was like a statue given life, from his mottled grey skin to the thick dreadlocks of gemstones that made up his hair. Iris kept walking, trying not to stare at the myriad wonders presented to her. It was all a bit much for her, in truth. By the time she and Ser Tallis had crossed the bridge, she had seen far more than she ever could have imagined. Stocky, barrel chested men with thick, pleated beards, elegant women built like willow trees with skin so smooth and pale they seemed like caricatures. She had even sworn she had seen a woman who, instead of legs, had the body of a tiger, but she chalked that up to exhaustion.
"The Perdition Gates," Ser Tallis said gruffly, the first words he had spoken in several hours. Iris' gaze was directed towards the unfathomably massive gates carved into the wall of Rov. Made of dark steel, they stretched upwards for nearly 600 feet, and were half as wide. Carved into them were the likenesses of two men, blindfolded and bearing scales of judgement in one hand, and swords in the other. Iris ogled them, barely noticing Ser Tallis carrying on before he caught her attention with an impatient 'harumph!'. She hurried after, unable to tear her gaze away from the gates.
"How did they built this? I...How?"
"No one remembers. Rov has simply always been."
His answer was thoroughly unhelpful, and Iris frowned. That didn't make a lick of sense to her, but she didn't have time to think it over before they were plunged into the crowd once more. She and Ser Tallis were forced to shoulder their way through the masses, as they slid through the slightly ajar Perdition Gates. 'Slightly ajar' in this case was a gap of several hundred feet, but the sheer overpowering presence of the half-closed doors was not diminished. By the time they had made it through, Iris was exhausted, and thoroughly bruised. As she looked up, she chewed her lip.
Rov was even bigger on the inside than it had appeared from the outside. It was its own urban ecosystem, its streets and districts rolling like artificial hills. Far in the distance, opulent manses and vast estates rolled across the land, whilst closer up she was presented with streets lined on either side by all manner of shops, bars, taverns and inns. Signs hung from poles, dangled from chains, and floated in mid-air, promoting all sorts of things. She allowed herself to be led by Ser Tallis, eyeing each thing she could. She saw advertisements for different eateries, inns and shops- from distilleries to carriage rentals to potion shops. The only image that evoked in her mind was a cackling, green-skinned, rather offensive stereotype laboring over a cauldron. She and Ser Tallis wandered for a spell, before he directed her towards a large building in the center of the street. It was fenced off, with a wrought iron gate allowing for some manner of privacy. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, over which peaked large, green-leafed trees. Ser Tallis pressed a hand to the gate. In response, it a light flared to life on the back of his gauntlet. Iris stared in astonishment as, with a gesture like turning a key, Ser Tallis opened the gate with nothing but a gesture.
Leading a nonplussed Iris through the now open gate, Ser Tallis was silent as they climbed the steps to the mysterious building. He stopped by the door, leaning against the wall, and looking up at her.
"This is the headquarters for the Adventurer's Association. If you're lost, they can see you get home safely," he explained. Iris wasn't quite sure what to say, so she sat herself down on a conveniently placed bench, and ran her hand over her face. Napkin chirped encouragingly, pressing her face into Iris' cheek.
"I'm not quite sure if I'll be able to go home," Iris said morosely. Everything she had seen, and felt, and heard, and smelled...it was nothing like Earth. And nothing like a dream, either. She wanted, quite desperately, to believe that she would just wake up and be back in her truck, back to her normal life. But she had had plenty of opportunities to wake up by now. Dreams did not stretch on for days. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, letting out a long, distressed sigh.
"Say I can't. What do I do then?"
Ser Tallis observed her quietly for a few moments, running a hand along his well-trimmed beard. His eyes were like chips of flint, set deep within their sockets. The way they glimmered so darkly was, frankly, rather intimidating. Everything about the man was severe.
"You could always become an Adventurer. A big, strong lass like yourself. You'd be able to make some easy coin. How well can you fight with that hammer?"
Iris looked down at said hammer.
"Not at all? Never used it. I've only ever been in the occasional bar brawl, I've certainly never used a hammer. This was just for show," she shrugged helplessly, and Ser Tallis grimaced.
"You'll need training then. They offer that."
Iris took in what he said, trying to wrap her head around it all. What did being an Adventurer entail? She presumed plenty of, well, adventuring, but she didn't quite know what that meant. Would she delve into old tombs? Look for lost treasure? It didn't sound all that bad, but she wasn't exactly cut out to be an explorer. Iris was a one trick pony, she was good at getting something from Point A to Point B- on time, no hassle. That was what had made her such a great driver for the long haul jobs, the ones that took her cross-country and away from home for months at a time.
Not that she had much of anything to return to, even before all this.
"I guess..."
Iris reached up to scritch Napkin under the chin. The tiny cat purred happily, arching her back and stretching her legs out. She was quiet for a long while, not really thinking of anything. Just...existing. Try to digest what all of this meant. It wouldn't do for her to just sit about and doing nothing- Iris loathed inaction. She had been clinically incapable of sitting still her entire life, and she wasn't about to start the sedentary life now. Not when everything she had ever known (except for Napkin) had been torn away and flipped on its head. She ran her hand along her face once more, noting that she was in dire need of another shave, before she rose to her feet and sighed.
"Alright. I've got no better choice..."
The interior of the Adventurer's Association headquarters was a riot of noise. Like the rowdiest of bars on the night of a big game turned up to eleven. It was packed with an eclectic assortment of oddities. People dressed just like Ser Tallis, armored knight-types who soberly sat at round oak tables and drank from tall steins. They rubbed shoulders with all sorts of people. She saw more of the stout, barrel-chested people, both men and women bearing luxurious plaited beards and bushy eyebrows. It made her feel a little better about the five o' clock shadow she was beginning to sport. Iris caught glimpses of the willow, smooth-skinned people, sitting alongside people with the heads of animals, and others with the lower bodies of animals. A woman no larger than Iris' hand flittered past on wings like a hummingbird's, and all the while she did her best not to stare.
She failed miserably.
Ser Tallis corralled Iris towards the large counter at the back of the grand hall, and he leaned forward to speak to the well-dressed young man behind it.
"Got a new prospect, Regill," he said in a low voice.
'Regill' looked up, forced to crane his neck to meet Iris' eye. He was a young man with harsh, angular features- no older than eighteen, Iris guessed. He nodded to Ser Tallis, and flipped open a large ledger. Dipping a quill into an inkwell, he once more turned his attention to Iris, clearing his throat.
"Name?"
His voice was raspy, like he gargled gravel for fun, which totally countered his youthful appearance. The closer she looked at Regill, the more wrong he felt. He blinked, and she found herself staring at four irises within two eyes.
"Er, uh...Iris Neumann," she finally managed, shaking her head. He ignored her staring, writing down her name.
"Place of origin?"
"Uhm...Phoenix. Arizona."
He quirked his brow at that, but wrote down her response anyway.
"Locales named after monsters are bad omens. Can't say I have ever heard of it. Please place your hand upon that stone, there, it will appraise your attributes," he gestured to the smooth, round stone to her right, and Iris anxiously ogled it. Ser Tallis impatiently gestured, Regill doing much the same with his eyes, and Iris eventually did as he had asked. It was oddly warm to the touch, and only grew warmer as time went on. On the opposite side of the counter, two of Regill's irises began to glow a soft blue, and his lips pursed. His eyes flickered back and forth like he was reading something, and after several minutes, the warmth in Iris' palm dimmed, as did the light within Regill's eyes.
"You are not a registered Adventurer...?"
"No? Why?"
Regill quirked his brow.
"You just have the look. Anyway..."
He cleared his throat, shuffling some papers.
"In three months, you will undertake your entrance exam. In that time, lodgings will be provided, as will training. You are expected to attend training every day it is scheduled. Meals are provided in the mornings, afternoons and evenings. I have noted your Negligible Affinity ranking...which means you will need a conventional key, rather than a magic-"
"Magic? Did you just say magic?"
Iris couldn't help but cut Regill off, nor could she keep the incredulousness from her tone.
"Yes..." Regill added after a momentary pause, giving her a wary look. Iris swallowed, steeling her expression. She couldn't help but feel like she had made a mistake of some sort, given the way that the clerk looked at her.
"Lady Iris is from somewhere quite distant, as she told me. I would reckon things may be...different," Ser Tallis chimed in, coming to her timely rescue. His armor wasn't exactly shining, but she would take what she could get. The explanation was enough for Regill, and with a half-hearted shrug, he resumed his explanation.
"I'll give you a conventional key for your room. In your room, you will find basic accommodations- a washroom, a bed, et cetera. If you have need anything additional, it can be seen to, so long as it isn't ridiculous," he deposited a small bronze key into Iris' outstretched hand.
"Third floor, room thirty-nine."
The frigid water of the shower was a welcome reprieve after days of trudging through the wilderness. Iris pressed her palms flat against the wood panels of the cramped shower, head resting between her hands. She let the water run down her back, sighing softly. The tension drained out of her with every passing second. But no fatigue. She should have felt exhausted after such a journey, but the feeling just wasn't there. She was tired, sure, but in a more psychological sense than any physical tiredness.
She stood in the shower for a few more minutes before turning it off, and stepping out. She dried her hair, then her body, and leaned on the countertop to look at herself in the mirror. She was met with the same face she had seen every day of her life; her cold grey eyes, already creased with crow's feet, her sharp jawline bristly with stubble, her short-cropped hair, black but already going grey at the roots. Iris ran her hand along her face, scratching at her jaw for a moment, before pushing off the countertop and out of the washroom. She dressed herself, pulling a baggy shirt from the wardrobe alongside a pair of thick cloth pants. Her boots were still plenty good, though. She wasn't keen on swapping those out. She cast a forlorn look at her torn overalls and ragged plaid top, but pitched them into a ball in the corner after a moment.
The new belt she'd acquired that morning, plus the hammer that accompanied it, was in a heap on the writing desk pressed against the wall. Hesitant, but curious, Iris picked up the hammer and inspected it. She'd held her hair share of hammers- but never anything like this. It was something built for killing, not for construction. The one thing she couldn't get over, though, was how perfectly it fit in her hand. Like it had been specially crafted, just for her. It didn't feel like a tool- there was more to it, much more. A natural feeling, as if it were an extension of herself.
You have awakened a new Intrinsic Trait!
- Hammer Proficiency - You have a baseline understanding of how to properly use hammers and hammer-adjacent weapons.
Iris' brow creased as the text appeared before her. It was easy enough to understand, but she couldn't wrap her head around how the knowledge had just...appeared. As if she had known it all her life, and suddenly remembered. It unsettled her deeply. She continued to turn the weapon over in her hands. It was simple, a lump of steel on a solid stick of wood. One side for bludgeoning, and the other for piercing. Her eye caught something, however. Emblazoned on the side of the blunt head was a symbol. An anvil, with a small flame hovering above it. She hadn't the slightest idea what that could mean.
You have awakened new Intrinsic Traits!
- Smithborn - You have a baseline understanding of blacksmithing, ore refining and equipment maintenance.
- Progeny of the Anvil - ???
"The fuck does that mean...?"
Iris squinted at the additional text. Having new knowledge about smithing, that she could understand. But the three question marks the came after the second trait- that did nothing but plant the seeds of anxiety deep in her gut. She set the hammer down, gently, and took a seat on the edge of her bed. It was small, a bit too small, as she had found that her feet dangled off the edge. But it was somewhere to lay her head.
Napkin, of course, had taken over the pillow. The tiny, rumpled cat was snoring soundly. Her breathing made her look like a used paper towel being ruffled by the breeze. Iris leaned over, and gently ran her fingers through her fur. Not rousing, but stretching in her sleep, Napkin responded only slightly to Iris' touch. Leaving her cat to her rest, Iris crossed back over to the desk. Taking the belt, she looped it through the beltloops of her pants, then slid the hammer into its dedicated loop after that.
Giving the sleeping Napkin a final look, she opened the door to her room and stepped out. She wanted to get a feel for this city.
Iris found Rov to be a very busy place. Stepping out of the Adventurer's Association building, she looked around at the throngs of people milling to and fro. She slid into the crowd, letting herself be pulled along by the social current. She did her best not to stare at the odd sorts she came across, and managed to keep her gaze mostly downcast. The last thing she wanted was to start a fight- she was a stranger here, she know nothing of, well, anything.
"You heard?"
"Heard o' what?"
"War's on the horizon, so I 'eard. The Yotun Conclave's gearin' up again."
Iris' eyes flickered towards the two gentlemen in front of her. They carried themselves confidently, swords at their hips. They rattled on about the situation with the 'Yotun Conclave,' not that Iris had ever heard of such a thing. She figured she would ask Regill, or Ser Tallis when she had to opportunity.
Soon enough, she slid out of the crowd, finding herself in a wholly new district of the city. The sound of hammers on steel and the crackling of roaring fires dominated the air. Everything smelled strongly of oil and grease, the tang of burnt metal rounding it out. Iris stepped forward, looking around. Her eyes flickered from shop to shop- before settling upon one with an oddly familiar sigil.
An anvil with a small flame hovering above it.
She rested her hand on her hammer, and set off towards it. If there was somewhere she might find some answers, it would probably be there.
The building was two stories, made primarily of dark grey stone. Whilst most of the building looked like a conventional rustic cottage, one side swept out sidelong, with a huge stone furnace dominating the wall. Beside it was a long trough of water, and sitting in the center was a large, heavy anvil. Stepping into the work area, Iris began to look around. All manner of tools were strewn about- and the knowledge of their function suddenly, uncomfortably jumped to the fore of her thoughts.
Ball pein and cross pein hammers, vices and tongs, drifts, slitters, center punches- she had never lain eye nor hand upon any such tools before in her life, yet she knew intimately how they functioned. Not to the degree of a master, far from it, but it was as if she were a newly learned student, flush with knowledge but no practical application. She was just reaching out to touch one of the hammers when a voice called out.
"Oi! Hands off!"
Her head snapped up, her hands raising in surrender. She turned towards the source of the voice, and her brow creased.
The woman standing before her was short. Amazingly short. No taller than four feet tall, yet she was as solid as a pallet of bricks and just as wide. Her biceps were as big around as Iris' thighs, and the way they were crossed only served to enhance their size. The woman's face was blocky and rough-hewn, with a large, hooked nose and a heavy brow. Much of her lower face was obscured by a large, plaited beard decorated with all manner of rings and trinkets. Her skin was a deep bronze, and her hair the deepest black.
"Thief! Think ye can just snoop around me shop in the openness o' day!"
The heavyset woman trundled forward, growling, clamping one hand around Iris' wrist. Her grip was like a vice, squeezing with the force of an industrial press. She gave Iris a solid tug, as if expecting Iris to stumble forward, and Iris expected much the same! But, to the contrary, Iris didn't even move an inch. Twice more the angry bearded woman tried to tug Iris away, and twice more she failed.
"I, uh...wasn't trying to steal," Iris managed to mumble.
"Just got too curious..."
She stepped forward, and out of the workspace. She turned around to face the craftswoman again.
"Sorry, I'll go-"
"Wait a minute!"
The craftswoman's tone was urge, as she stepped forward and pulled Iris' hammer from her belt. She turned it over in her hands, one of her eyes flaring to life with an ember-orange glow. As she inspected it, her expression went from one of anger, to surprise, to delight.
"Would ye look at this craftsmanship...And the sigil..."
She looked up at Iris, forced to take a few steps backwards, and even then she had to crane her neck.
"Yer a follower o' The Forgemother?"
Iris blinked, her mind racing.
"Er, uh, yes," she lied, unsure of what else to say. In response to that, the craftswoman's face brightened as she handed a thoroughly flummoxed Iris her hammer back.
"Well yank my beard an' call me a ninny! I've never seen another follower out this way! Let alone one who wasn't Kin!"
The entire demeanor of the stranger changed on a dime. Within a few minutes she and Iris were sat down near the forge, sipping cold iced tea. The craftswoman introduced herself as Chanda, and proved to be quite the passionate conversationalist. She and Iris talked back and forth, with Iris admitting she was very new to the worship of The Forgemother. Since she had just made it up. But Chanda didn't seem to mind, in fact seeming quite eager to display the breadth of her knowledge regarding her faith.
"Worship of The Forgemother is very common in the Ironwrought Isles! That's where I'm from," she'd said with a giddy grin, before launching into a description of her homeland. According to Chanda, the Ironwrought Isles were a stretch of island chains to the south-east of Rov, a land of industry where the air sang with the clang of hammers upon anvils, day and night, as the Kin called out praise to their goddess. Iris sat and listened, unable to get more than a few words in- not that she minded. She had little to say, and she found Chanda's enthusiasm both endearing and infectious.
"Did you make this hammer yourself, Iris?"
Chanda asked, tapping the hammer. Iris had laid it out between them, to allow Chanda to inspect it.
"Yeah, I did," Iris said between sips of tea. She figured that since it had appeared out of thin air, on her person, that she may as well have made it. So she rolled with it.
"Fascinatin'! I've never seen a hammerhead like this a'fore! Usually it's one or two blunt ends, but one blunt end with a pick on the other? That's innovative!"
Chanda grinned, and Iris returned that with a small smile of her own. She had felt cornered at first by Chanda's energy, especially given they had met with Chanda trying to drag her out of her shop. But in the hour following, Iris' anxiety lessened. She explained to Chanda how she had come to Rov; waking up with in the middle of nowhere, with no clue how she had arrived. She left out any mention of the screens, or any of the other oddities only she could see, apparently.
"So you really remember nothin'?"
Iris shook her head.
"Only my name, my cat's name, the fact I know how to work a forge and swing a hammer. That's all I recall," she shook her head sadly.
"That's awful! But I'm glad ye found some help! Tell ye what, eh? Swing by tomorrow, and maybe I could help ye out! Come work for me for a spell, get some coin in yer pocket an' s'more experience under yer belt!"
Chanda clapped her huge, calloused hands together, rubbing them eagerly. Her enthusiasm was undeniably, and Iris found herself nodding in agreement before she even realized it.
"Perfect! I'll see ye then!"
Chanda saw Iris off after a final glass of tea, which they enjoyed in blissful silence. Iris, thoroughly confused by how this had all come to pass, left in a daze- Chanda waving her off.
It was only when she returned to her room and fell into her bed, Napkin crawling onto her chest to sleep, that Iris realized.
She'd made her first friend.
Iris arose early the next morning. She fed Napkin, then picked her up and placed her upon her shoulder. Descending to the ground floor of the Adventurer's Association building, she was greeted with the scent of fried eggs and sausage. Her stomach grumbled, and she was already gravitating towards the buffet table, lined with all manner of foodstuffs, by the time she heard someone call out to her.
"Hey! You!"
She ignored them, for the moment, snatching a plate and piling it high with strips of something that wasn't quite bacon, a hefty helping of eggs, a piece of thick, crusty bread and- offering a prayer of thanks to who was apparently her new goddess, coffee. Taking a seat, she began to dig in- which was when the voice called out again.
"I'm talking to you, newcomer!"
She looked up, blinking. Before her stood a rather pompous looking fellow with pale skin and straw-blonde hair. He looked down his nose at Iris, hands on his hips. He held himself like he thought the world owed him something, an attitude that caused Iris to dismiss him offhand, and she returned to her meal without a word. As she was taking a sip of coffee, she was interrupted by a chair being pushed out, as the young man took a seat. He sneered at her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
She gave him a deadpan look.
"I'm eating," she mumbled between a mouthful of eggs. Swallowing, she took a sip of coffee, and began to mop up her egg yolk with the piece of bread. All the while, the young man fumed as he was ignored.
"Well, I'll have you know, this is my table!"
"Didn't see your name on it," she said.
His face reddened with fury, and he launched from his seat. Resting a hand on the sword at his hip, he pointed a finger at Iris.
"I demand you rise from your seat this instant, you ingrate!"
Iris took another sip of coffee, and did just that. She stood up, all the way, until it was her turn to look down at the man who had decided to interrupt her breakfast.
"You so angry 'cause you're so short?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Iris shrugged, picking up her plate. She turned away from the man, dumping her garbage into the trash, and cleaning her plate off to put it with the rest of the used items. She was making for the door when she stopped, frozen by the sound of steel being drawn from its scabbard.
"I will not stand to be insulted by the likes of you!"
Iris slowly turned around. She'd known enough pouty rich kids to know one when she saw one- they always liked to pick on people like Iris. The people lower on the social ladder. She was used to it. And used to fighting to put kids like this in their place. But she'd never been in anything more than a fist fight- nothing like a god damn sword fight. People had pulled knives on her before, of course. But most of them didn't know how to use them.
This man seemed like he knew what he was doing, not that Iris was fit to judge.
"Put that away, kid. Don't do something stupid over a table," Iris said drily. She made no move to reach for her hammer, her hands resting at her sides. The room was in a tizzy, a small ring forming around the two. The young man, sword drawn stepped forward.
"I am Glen du Compe! Son of Duke du Compe! You will refer to me-"
"Glen? Seriously?"
"I beg your pardon?" He practically shrieked, visibly affronted.
"That's a stupid name, for a stupid kid. Put your fuckin' toy away, before you get hurt," Iris growled. Glen, on the other hand, seethed, grip tightening on his sword.
And then he pounced.
Like a bowstring gone taught, he sprung forward, faster than Iris would've thought possible. He was a blur, and he was well within her guard before she could react. His sword arced in, glittering like a jewel as its polished blade caught the light, and Iris moved her forearm to intercept it.
With a sound somewhere between the shrieking of torn metal and the sing-song tinkling of shattered glass, Glen du Compe's sword broke apart against Iris' forearm. He gaped, open-mouthed, at the fractured remnants of the blade, before Iris cocked her fist back and drove it into his face. She'd expected Glen to simply crumple- instead, he flew backwards, careening into the crowd several feet back, leaving Iris standing alone amidst a halo of shattered steel.
She clenched and unclenched her hand a few times, the knuckles popping. A quick inspection of her forearm revealed...nothing. Not even a scratch. She masked her surprise, looking up as the crowd began to disperse. Muttering spread like wildfire through the dining hall as a trio of figures cut through the throng towards Iris. At their head was a severe looking woman with wrinkled skin and silver hair pulled back into a severe bun, her eyes narrowed at Iris. She was clad in a suit of armor that seemed too massive for her frame.
At her right was Ser Tallis, who looked between Iris, Glen du Compe, and the shattered remnants of the ducal heir's blade with undisguised shock.
And to her left was Regill, the man with the strange eyes and tired demeanor. He wrote something down in the thick ledger he was always consulting, and gave Iris a look she couldn't decipher.
"Initiate Neumann," the severe woman said, her voice like iron.
"If you would please come with me..."
