Author's Note: This story is almost a prequel to my other story, Pretty Features Hid The Rotting Corpse. Almost, meaning you don't need to read it first, or this first. I'd like it if you did though.
Sparks flew through the air as Izual entered the blacksmith's shop. He stopped to watch Baal pound the steel thin and then quench it before he coughed softly to alert the smith to his presence. As usual, Baal did not look up from his work. Izual sighed, shaking his head as Baal ignored him.
"Baal." He received no answer. Or maybe the answer was in the form of the smith shoving the thin metal into the blazing heat of the forge.
Izual tried again. "Baal, Tal Rasha has told me to give you the message that you will be sharing this …" Izual glanced around the shop with obvious distaste and continued, "work shop with a fledgling." Baal looked up instantly. "Good morning, Baal, so glade you decided to join us," Izual said smiling at the other Ancient's astonished expression. "As I was saying, Tal Rasha has ordered you to make suitable accommodations for him."
Baal eyed Izual, trying to tell if this was some kind of test.
"He has told me to tell you to have them ready by tomorrow."
It wasn't. He felt rage rise in his body at the thought of having to share his shop with a mere fledgling. The others didn't know how much this space meant to him. And the thought of having to share…
Izual watched as Baal looked down at the anvil in front of him. "Tal Rasha wouldn't have you do this unless it was important. You know that. Despite what you think, he does know how much this work shop means to you." He paused as Baal's head dropped low enough that he couldn't see his face. "Baal?"
Baal looked up and Izual jumped back, startled. Baal's left eye had changed. It no longer had a gold iris like its neighbor; instead it had changed into a pit with a fire that blazed like a forge with white flame. It always did when Baal could not hold on to his anger. He never raised his voice or showed any other signs of rage or hatred, just this flame that engulfed his left eye from within. After some time it would die and he would feel better. Almost as if the flame's fuel was his anger and once that was gone, so was the flame.
Izual took a step back and said quickly, "That's all." And then he turned and fled the smithy.
As Baal watched his flight and sighed, his eye returning to its normal state. He started to clean up his work. Hanging the hammers up on pegs, he sighed again. He had just started to work on what he wanted to just that day. The war was almost over. He was glad that he would see the end of it, but he still felt that it had been an unnecessary price for not much.
Baal was unique. For an Ancient or Hylden or blacksmith, only two of which he was. When he was born, his parents had noticed the greatest difference about their child at once. He had been born with two birth abnormalities. His wings were lower than the average Ancient. They jutted out from his back about a third way down from his shoulders. This meant he could flew for longer distances without tiring as they supported his weight more evenly. The second was a second set of wings. Smaller than the main ones, they extended just below the first set, in the middle of his back. No one had ever been able to beat his speed. This had become an issue when Baal refused to fight. He stayed out of reach, and normally out of sight as well, until Tal Rasha called off the hunt and allowed Baal to make arms for the battles to come. It was later when his parents had noticed the strange occurrences when their child was angered.
Despite all the differences their child had, Baal's mother and father loved him deeply. Not that it mattered anymore; both had been killed in a cross fire in the War.
After cleaning up his most recent project, Baal started to move around the tables and stools to make room for his guest.
Izual made his way to Tal Rasha's quarters doing his best to clam down. Baal was a good friend and he had seen him get mad many times, but it always scared him in a way that only his God could compare to.
He made his way up a ridiculously long flight of stairs before reaching an equally long hall. Izual stopped to glare slightly up to the last case of stairs before starting to climb those as well. Tal Rasha always did like to put a challenge between himself and those who wished to speak to him. To see if they really wanted to hold court with the man.
'No, not a man. None of us are,'
Izual thought to himself as he finished the ascent to the master's rooms. He knocked and was received. 'Never. Not a pitiful man.'Tal Rasha did not turn his head to Izual, but he did address him. "What does Baal say?"
Sighing, Izual said, "Nothing. But he did seem…" He stopped to find the right word, "Willing enough to cooperate with us."
"Good, very good. I would not have been pleased if I had to speak to the lad myself." Tal Rasha turned then and Izual bowed his head in respected. Tal Rasha was the oldest of all of the Ancients and was very well respected for it. His hair had long ago turned white, but he kept it well trimmed, unlike Izual and Baal. They preferred to have hair that, according to Tal Rasha and the other Ancients, was "far too long for any practical use, whatsoever".
Tal Rasha took a step towards Izual and smiled, displaying the fangs that had grown when the curse set in. Their adversary, the Hylden, had bestowed a curse that they had of yet to find what it did as a whole. The blood thirst was -- had to only be the tip of the iceberg. The Hylden had more of a sense of humor than that.
Izual straightened and asked timidly, "Has He said anything yet?"
Tal Rasha sighed. "Alas no, not of yet. But we are still trying to talk to Him. Do not give up on hope, young one," he added when he saw Izual's distressing face. "Even a fool's hope is hope." He reached out a hand to touch his comrade's shaking shoulder. "It will be alright. Now go and tell Janos the good news. His fledgling will want to be ready to move into Baal's shop as soon as it is possible." Izual nodded and left.
A young man was packing a box with different hammers and tongs. He was just closing the lid on the last box as an Ancient entered the room. The Ancient was tall and regal looking; true, nearly all Ancients were, but he was even more so. The young man nodded in respect to the Ancient and waited for him to make the first move.
Smiling, the Ancient said, "While his answer was not definite, his meaning was clear enough."
The young man scoffed. "From what I have heard of him, he will not be happy about this at all." He paused. "Janos, I can not work if he will make a fuss."
Janos laughed. "Make a fuss? No, that is almost taboo to Baal. He might never say a work to you, but he will not make a fuss." Suddenly, he looked away thoughtfully.
"What is it?"
Frowning, Janos looked back to the young man -- Vorador-- and said in a slightly miffed tone, "Come to think about it, he has never said a word to me." The smile returned as the Ancient saw his fledgling stiffen. "There is still hope. Don't worry."
"I don't worry, Janos."
"I know. I find it rather strange."
He started to turn away when Vorador slipped in, "When can I see the work space?"
"You mean when can you move in, right?" he said looking over his shoulder. Vorador nodded. "Tomorrow. Baal is always up now a days. Don't worry about disturbing him either."
"But I thought that just being there would disturb him?"
"Exactly. That's why you shouldn't worry about it." Janos flashed Vorador one last smile before leaving.
Vorador watched him go and sighed miserably. Yes he did have a smith's shop of his own, but that was in the town that he lived in. Now that he had been embraced by the Ancients, it was as good as gone. Now he would have to share with a stuck up freak of an Ancient that wouldn't talk to anyone. This would not bode well.
