Bushes rustled.

Tumbleweeds continued on their way.

Lizards mulled around as they always had.

Off in the distance, a towering stone structure continued to spew out smoke, debris, and the deafening blasts of the forges beneath. Like other things, it had simply become part of the landscape. No one questioned the dull metal cacophony, either the sparse wildlife, or the people that lived five feet from it. That was Bastok. People simply learned to accept the fact that raw industry was what brought the nation to its competitive state with the older regimes of the world for control of a vast world. And, those people were the ones that would help it stay that way. Most of them, anyways.

Grawp sat hunched over the iron desk, its legs rusted from years of misuse. The Galka leant forward, struggling to grasp and flip the pages of a small book with his hulking fingers. Another crash tore through the small room, causing him to drop it. Grumbling, he fell back in his chair, glancing over as the heavy metal double doors on the far side of the room creaked open. A pair of dirtied, lightly-dressed Humes stumbled out, dragging toolboxes with them.

"Are you done!" Grawp yelled.

"I don't know, are you dumb!"

"Are you DONE!"

"Yeah!"

"Then get out!"

"What? We're not out yet!"

"GET out!"

"About? No, I said we're done!"

"Just scra-" Grawp paused as the roaring around them pitched up again. "...PACK YOUR THINGS UP AND LEAVE!"

"Okay, okay, just coulda said so." Both men hoisted their tools over their shoulders and left via the doors on the other side of the small chamber. The doors fell shut again with a loud crash, causing the telltale anvil-emblemed Smithing Guild sign on it to fall off. Grawp sighed, leaning back again and seizing his novel. Quickly covering his face with it, he started to focus again on the words in front of him.

A barely-noticable knock came from the other side of the entrance. "We're not open." Grawp barked.

To no avail, the door slowly opened once again. Grawp growled to himself, looking over to see who his visitor was this time. The door cracked open, and slowly he squeezed through. Grawp pushed himself to his feet. "We're NOT OP-" He suddenly closed his mouth, blinking.

"...not open?"

In front of the desk stood a standard-issue Tarutaru - 3 feet, dressed in simple, worn green clothing designed more for loafing than adventuring/traveling of any sort. Blinking his hazel eyes, he scratched through his similarly-brown hair as he examined a pamphlet in his other hand. "Smithing guild."

Grawp sat back down. "Sororo's Scribery isn't in this building. Exit this building, take a left, and..."

The halfling grinned ear to ear, nodding "..'kay, I got the right place then! You can help me out, right?"

"Listen, we don't sell scrolls here, we beat metal until it gets in the right shape. Now scram." Grawp grunted, holding his book up to his face again.

"I don't want a freaking spell." the customer replied in a similarly-annoyed tone.

Grawp sighed. "So tell me what a little runt like you is doing here. Need some metal reagents for your little magic show?"

"I get enough crap like this on the road. I'm just looking for somewhere to temper a sword, and hopefully get some more practical education in smithing under my belt."

Grawp glanced down, chuckling. "...really."

"My name is Blitzen, I'd like to join your smithing guild for the time being."

"...hah." Grawp paused, reading his book for another moment before falling back in his chair. "...AHA! HAHAH! HAHAHAH! HAH... heh... ah, what's this now, you'd like to join our fine smithing crew, son? Come back when you ditch the 90 body fat, and by that, I mean obtaining muscle mass of over a gram."

Grawp nearly fell backwards as Blitzen reached up, slamming a large, wide-bladed bastard sword down onto the desk, causing the surface to buckle. Grawp ran his fingers over the keen-edged blade, which was easily longer than the Taru was tall. "I'll say it again. You let me use your forge for an hour tops, and I'll SHOW you exactly where my muscle mass is."

"And where in high hell did you obtain that, might I ask?" Grawp growled. "Weapons like that are not meant to be leant out."

Blitzen pointed at the blade again, his lips firmly following his words. "Mine." He lifted it off the table, effortlessly sliding it back into a sheath on his back.

"Swingin' around a big heavy blade is one thing, knowing how to use it is another, and tempering it is yet another matter entirely." he stood from his chair, following Blitzen as he marched to the door in the back. Blitzen hurled the door open, stepping into the orange mists beyond. Grawp followed cautiously. They both descended the stairs that lead down to the floors of the workshop beneath. Several furnaces were still lit from previous activity.

"Thought you were closed." Blitzen said cooly, grabbing a vastly-oversized air mask off the ground.

"There's always a bunch of guild members that wanna craft crap of their own in their spare time... lunatics." Grawp spat. He followed Blitzen up to the nearest furnace, donning a face protector of his own. "Don't get me wrong here, I intend fully to kick your scrawny little behind out of here when you're done, but I'm a little intrigued to see exactly how you intend to mend a sword with those baby hands of yours."

"Done and done." Blitzen snarled in response, jabbing the sword deep into one of the furnace's orifices, holding it as the fires crackled below.

Grawp continued to watch. This is ridiculous... he's not even using mitts! Or tongs, for that matter! Would do the little freak good and ignite himself, It's not like this place is gonna burn down... "A'right, you're taking too long, you gotta take the sword out and begin tempering for a bit..."

"I know what I'm doing." Blitzen dropped the sword down onto the closest anvil, climbing on top to grab a hammer from the rack of tools directly above it. He shot a glance back to Grawp. All at once, his expression took a 180 - and with a disturbingly happy grin, he wound up and took a great pound at the sword, causing sparks to fly in all directions. Grawp could do nothing else but stare in disbelief as Blitzen strategically wailed at the weapon, its shape already becoming noticably stable.

The dancing fires and rythmical crashing of metal didn't impress the veteran blacksmith by any means.

But today, he could do nothing but stare on in amazement.

Blitzen leant forward onto the sword, brushing his brow. The sword had been blessed with new life. What nicks had been in its sides had vanished, and the sword itself gleamed with what little light the lamp on the celing of Grawp's office generated.

Grawp leant his chin on his hand, continuing to look the weapon up and down for any remaining imperfections. "...I don't really know what to say. What you've done here is quite impressive."

"I aim to please." Blitzen sighed. He pulled up a chair to Grawp's desk, leaning the blade against it as he climbed up to sit down. "...well, anyways, how'd I manage?"

"You say you came here to seek education in the ways of smithing... but you already seem quite adept at it. Nowhere near as so as me or some of our more religious members, but I am surprised. But... I'm still seriously wondering, why is it that-"

"Why are you talking to a Tarutaru smith." Blitzen nodded.

"...well, I was wondering a little, yes..." Grawp folded his hands. "...I can't say I haven't seen a display of any sort of strength of Tarutaru hands in recent history... you've seriously come to this guild to focus on bettering your smithing?"

"Well, yeah," Blitzen ran a hand through his ruffled hair. "...you know, I was hoping I could become a guild contributor... I heard there's a lot of metalworkers in Bastok, and demand for more, and I'd like some experience before I go looking for some serious employment..."

Grawp frowned. "Well, there is a big demand for talented metalworkers for construction projects and processing of ore mined here, yes, but... I can't help asking... wouldn't it be a lot easier on a Tarutaru to find employment in Bastok's research guilds? I hear they're always looking for people to help with scribing and deciphering texts, and mage recruitment in the military in the past weeks has been steeping lower than even in San d'Or-"

"No." Blitzen said firmly.

Grawp twitched. "...I don't understand."

"No magic." Blitzen repeated. "I came here with a sword for a reason. A sword is what I wield. If that's not orthodox enough for you, I can just leave right now."

"You are truly strange." Grawp shook his head. "Now you're a Tarutaru and you aren't gonna give me some fireworks, eh?" he reached over, nudging Blitzen's shoulder - he was forced back as Blitzen shoved his arm away in a surprising display of strength. "...uh.. yeah.. anyways, I'll tell you what... if you'd like an apprenticeship here that badly, you come back here tomorrow, and I'll introduce you to some of the guys, and maybe we can get you started on some batch copper jobs, how about that? Start off easy for now and we'll bump you up to full capacity in a bit? You're gonna make some money and learn the ropes at the same time?"

"I'd like that." Blitzen smiled.

"Alright, run along now, runt." Grawp laughed. "We'll beat you into in shape... moreso."

Blitzen nodded, bundling up his sword. Grawp grinned as he went back to idling.

Who knows, this one might be different.

"A week and two days have passed," Blitzen said to himself smugly. Reaching up, he pulled his green-tinted goggles into place, marching out into the open workshop. Tugging his signature dull-brown apron into place, he made his way over to his appointed furnace. A galka nodded to him as he passed by, which Blitzen returned. "...I think everyone here has gotten over the fact that they're working with a Tarutaru... I'm pretty certain everyone here has gotten some sort of glimpse at the kind of smithing I do, and I don't get any of the 'just make one with magic' crap that I was expecting... and whenever someone argues, I just show 'em Big Bertha."

Blitzen strolled into the subchamber, the red mist suddenly densening. He glanced to the sword that hung from its sheath on the wall, still shining as bright as ever. As he moved to his assigned hole in the massive oven, he waved to the Hume and the Elvaan that shared his station. He picked up a nearby clipboard, reviewing the raw material orders for that day. "So what's up for this shift?"

The Hume wheezed as he shoved in a massive metal plunger on the side of the furnace, forcing air into it. "...we've already managed to finish our first order, we've got 80 copper bars, 40 bronze and 20 iron on the outgoing pallet, but I asked Grawp and it looks like our third order's been cancelled, so we just gotta finish up this set of iron and we'll be outta here."

"Nifty." Blitzen paused, staring into the nova-white light within the stone chamber. "We should be able to wrap this up in an hour then..." he lifted up a small cart of ore, dumping it off a nearby ledge and into a small smelter. "Whatcha guys got planned?"

"Grawp and some of us are hitting the Steaming Sheep after... I hear a lot of guys are finishing up their loads early today, and we got paid besides... you pick up your gil yet?"

"Planning on it, I should be able to pay off my housing now."

"That's not what you're supposed to say," the other Elvaan mumbled. "...hey, I got money, I'm going to hang out with the guys, huh?"

"Really, that's okay," Blitzen sighed. "I kinda need to get home, and... I-I'm not much of a drinker, and-"

"Because you're a Taru, exactly, and you've never done that sort of thing."

"...you could say that."

"Oh, shaddup," the Hume muttered. "You know you're one of the guys by now... you know, it makes me wonder what a Taru would be like smashed out of his mind, let alone one like Blitz."

"Uhh..."

Half of Blitzen was genuinely afraid.

The other was eternally grateful.

...of course, it never particularly occured to Blitzen that 'Grawp's gonna buy your drinks, newbie' equalled 'Grawp'll buy drinks out of your yet-to-see-your-hands paycheck'. By the time festivities had started, it was too late for Blitzen to back out, if not because his coworkers wouldn't let him, it was the fact that his own money was being thrown to him in the form of single shots and cocktails. Blitzen sat at the table farthest from the bar, tucked behind a second-floor support. Grawp was the only person at his table, as the other two-dozen people began to mingle with both the regular drunkards and a group of unlucky Mithra that had stopped in the last time the Jeunoian airship touched down.

"...meh." Blitzen slurred. "...I've heard the horror stories that start like this, I think I'll lay off the alcohol now... eh, Grawp, I didn't go too overboard, did I..."

"The fact that you asked should give a promising answer," Grawp droned. "But what you DID have, you drank like a fish."

"...meh." Blitzen sighed.

"Okay guys, last round, gimme a sec to prepare this..." one of the more sober smithies placed a wide variety of liquors onto the bar as the silver-haired Elvaan female behind the counter handed them over. One by one he added the drinks to a medium-sized glass. "...one shot of San d'Oria Fine, two of Buburimu Distill, one of rum, and the special ingredient..." he reached into his pocket, unveiling a small eyedropper of pitch-black liquid. "...one drop of slime juice..." he carefully (as carefully as a half-sloshed overworked heavy laborer could, anyways) administered the single drop of machine lubricant to the mixture, which floated harmlessly on top of the drink. "...I would call it the Smokestack, dedicated to Blitzen who is anything but."

Grawp nudged Blitzen. Blitzen twitched. The rest of the restaraunt raised their drinks.

"Now, Blitzen can just light this and he can rest assured that he's gonna be a true smithy of Bastok, that right!"

Blitzen stared at the glass of sickly-purple liquid as it was slammed down on the table in front of him. "...with what?"

"...you know, you got some fire up those sleeves, right?"

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"...uh.. raise your hands... light that fire of yours..."

Blitzen stood up, taking his glass with him. His face suddenly darkened, causing the entire group to go deafeningly quiet. "No. No magic. I don't have any magic. Why the hell can't you people just get that through your thick skulls? I am a smithy, I run around waving a sword, I live in freaking Bastok! Just LEAVE me alone, I'm not going to wiggle my nose and fly around on a broomstick and ignite things from 200 yards away because I happen to be a Tarutaru... the sooner we all understand this, the better, okay!"

"...uh.." A man in the back scratched his head. "...okay, I guess we'll.. keep that in mind."

"Thank you. Let's finish up then." Blitzen sat back down, rubbing his hands against his face as everyone sheepishly went back to their drinks. Grawp reached up, taking a candle out of its holder on the wall and pressing it against Blitzen's glass. The oil on top ignited in a cloud of smoke, leaving the rest of the drink intact.

"...okay, Blitzen..." Grawp said quietly. "...please don't mind me asking, but you seem to get pretty agitated whenever someone brings up the subject of magic... now, we're in a good social setting here... and, er... I just wanna know what about it makes you spaz out like that."

Blitzen remained quiet for a second, before taking a long drink from his glass. He slammed it down again, his long ears stiffening. Coughing and wheezing, he slowly regained his composure. "...alright, normally I'd just tell someone who asked me that to get bent, but to be perfectly honest... now that I've managed to demonstrate my skills in front of people, and those people have accepted me for who I am, I think I'm entitled to talk."

"Shoot." Grawp took Blitzen's unfinished drink, passing it to another barmaid as she collected empty glasses from neighboring tables.

"...as you've probably assumed by now, I've moved to Bastok recently... I don't have a lot to my name, and I was looking for a job that would let me afford some basic necessities, and that I would have been able to hone on the road. The sword I haul around, that was the first thing I bought when I left home, and I've had to spend every last gil I made keeping it in shape... I get attacked on the road a lot."

"So you've seriously foughten with that thing."

"Definately. No such thing as an open road with beastmen on the prowl."

"Hang on." Grawp droned. "...no, you couldn'tve foughten beastmen."

"What if I have? It's not like I provoke every wild animal I came across..."

"I find it incredible that you've foughten beastmen in this state, I mean, you're-"

"Blitzen, you're a Taru, you could never have survived fighting big-ugly-musclebound-battle-hardened-beastman-recruit-number-24153153." Blitzen sighed. "...I had to learn fast, being on the road on my own."

"Where did you come from?"

"Where else?" Blitzen stared at Grawp with sore eyes. "Windurst."

"Windurst." Grawp stared off into space. "Y'know, I was always thinking I'd like to retire there when those fools in Engineering put us out of business with mass-produced cermet." He chuckled, staring back down at the table. "Tell me, what could compel a Tarutaru to move from a quiet, peaceful Windurst where his success in life was virtually guaranteed as long as he could light a fireplace and heal wounds with his mind?"

Blitzen stared at the ground. "...I've always heard... that Bastok was a republic of oppritunity. You know, all that advertising people in the Presidency put out. It was believable, definately - you and I know that this nation rose and thrived on industry alone; military, diplomacy and pride were secondary factors... compared to Windurst, the world is your taco, or something along those lines."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what you thought when you first saw me. Tarutaru, magic, scroll shop is thataway. That's what a lot of people think of Windurst, actually. You have those Mithra making up their own little private suburb, but in the end, Windurst, 5 magic schools, Taru, Taru, Taru, magic, magic, Taru, magic, Taru, etc. In Bastok, people start shops, pursue medicinal studies, study alchemy, mine, turn mined stuff into trinkets, well, on the whole it's just a lot more interesting than Windurst. You know what happens in Windurst? Two Tarutaru fall in love, have children, and those children are going to learn magic, learn it well, and go work for the Star Sybil, 'cause once you work for the Star Sybil, you've got it made, you've made your parents proud, and you've done everything that makes you Tarutaru. It's a vicious cycle."

"So what about that made you leave for Bastok?"

Blitzen glanced to the window. It was getting extremely late, and besides the smoke continuing to spew out of the Metalworks, the sky was perfectly clear. Stars were beginning to flood out. "...I did poorly in magic school."

"...and?"

"When I did poorly in magic school, I was no longer Tarutaru."

"Huh?"

"I was disowned by my parents. All my relatives wanted ME to be the Mastermind of the Millenium, someone who'd blaze through school and play second fiddle to the heroes of old, like the retired professors, the hero summoner, even the Star Sybil herself. Just like every other Taru out there. When my grades fell to the point I was expelled from the academy, I was expelled from the family."

"What happened then?"

"I left for Bastok."

"...wait, how long ago was this!"

"I left Windurst eight years ago. At the age of 13."

Grawp's eyes bugged out. "...when you were forcibly removed from Windurst culture, you left Windurst."

"I looted some valuables from my parents' home and sold them. I knew I was inferior enough to not be able to depend on magic... I needed to make due with a weapon. A powerful weapon, one that wouldn't be magic, or magic in nature."

"You survived on your own, and you trained yourself in the blade in that manner."

"I took odd jobs here and there in towns I came across, but in the end, yeah. I lived by the sword... I've experienced battle... probably more physical pain, labor and hardship in these years than most Tarutaru take in their entire lives... and I've gotten plenty of surprised people like you, some likin' me for it, some not." Blitzen glanced back at Grawp, flashing a toothy grin.

Grawp smiled. "Good to hear. As long as you like Bastok and have found a niche to live upon, that's all that matters. But there's something I'd like to know..."

"What's that?"

"What do you intend to do with your swordsmanship?"

"...eh... I don't know." Blitzen shrugged. "I don't know what I COULD do with it, to be honest..."

"Smithing pays the bills, kid, but to be honest, it ain't the most exciting thing. Or babysitting smithing, for that matter. You know, I think if you hit the right chords you could probably enlist in Bastok's Musketeer forces."

"W-what?" Blitzen stammered. "Okay, it's one thing that a Taru knows how to beat a piece of metal properly, but I really don't think I'm cut out for MILITARY service..."

"Oh, c'mon, think about it, if you've survived on your own for this long, you probably have what it takes to do sentry duty in Bastok... and trust me, the pay and benefits are a hell of a lot better. But, you know, you're always welcome to continue working in the Metalworks, I hear the managers are extremely impressed with your performance to date... might even snag a raise in due time. And considering you've been here a week or so... that's saying something."

"...hm, I'll think about it..." Blitzen stood up. "...for now though, I need some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Grawp."

Grawp nodded to Blitzen, watching as he left for the door. "...hey, Blitz."

"Yeah?"

"...show me some of that swashbuckling tomorrow... who knows, your audience might be bigger than you think."

Blitzen laughed. "I'll plan on it. Night." he pulled the door open, slipping through it and out into the night.

Bushes rustled.

Tumbleweeds continued on their way.

Lizards mulled around as they always had.

High above Bastok, a dark-armored Galka stood atop the edge of the Metalworks, his fingers drumming on the stone barrier in front of him. His pale face remained set in stone. Iron Eater, he thought. A fitting name. It didn't seem like biting anything would change the frown engraved on his face. "...come out."

A woman in red-plated armor stepped out of the shadows, assuming very much the same position as Iron Eater. "...you should be getting some sleep."

"Quadav don't sleep." Iron Eater said flatly. "Not since Palborough."

"We are well aware they have continued their tunneling operations since the incident. These recent developments change nothing. They have always had a direct opening to Bastok via the conduits, though the government refuses to acknowledge it. Analysts have already declared it as an expansion, nothing more. They would not risk a direct attack on Bastok."

"I am not out for vengeance like some of my brothers," Iron Eater sighed. "But I do see some cause for concern."

"The Musketeer forces have grown enough in light of foreign power to handle surveillance of the Quadav... for now, we must remain at our posts."

The Galka nodded slowly. "As we have..."

"...since Palborough."

"Since always."

"You seem to doubt the government on a lot of things."

"I cannot voice my opinion." Iron Eater replied.

"Then I shall."

"I don't get my point across very often... being Galka. Many people are discontent with the agenda of the government, being Galka. They are demanding more attention be paid to the workings of the Quadav, and while a lot of their clamoring may be irrationality on behalf of events in the past, they cannot go on being ignored much longer, I'm afraid."

"I would say that I would bring it up with the government, but you hear enough of that, don't you."

"Quite."

"Good night."

"I will see you soon, Ayame."

Iron Eater waited until Ayame had moved away before sighing. "In an age of adventurers, this should not be happening. Maybe it is they that need the attention..."

Blitzen could feel a chill in the air.

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