Chapter 2
Meanwhile, at the Warriors' Guild...
Lorre rushed through the hallway, laughing with triumph. Over his shoulder was his wooden broadsword and under his arm, tied tightly shut, was the mouth of a burlap sack. Inside the sack, squealing, was the headmaster's pet dinosaur, Cora. He knew he'd done it this time, but some of his colleagues had threatened him at sword point to steal the baby reptile. Maybe when they saw her, they'd slacken off.
Lorre reached a door, tossed in the sack, and thrust himself into the broom closet. He sat there, panting, for a second, when suddenly the sharp tip of a sword pressed itself into the soft flesh of his neck. He looked down and saw a shaft of gold poking into the shadows. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Saven.
A soft voice chuckled. "Well, look here. It's Lorre the loser." The owner of the gold sword sauntered into view. Saven Kellforth was a tall, muscular redhead with sly blue eyes and a permanent smirk. Lorre was horribly afraid of him; however, so was everyone else in the guild. And of course, Lorre was scared of everyone except for his friend Cassandra Dale.
"H-Hi, Saven," Lorre gulped, his Adam's apple struggling against the golden tip of the sword. "I-I have Cora."
"Well, isn't that dandy?" smiled Saven. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all." He withdrew the sword a little, so that the tip still tickled Lorre's throat.
At that moment, the door to the broom closet opened and a single shaft of light darted in, illuminating the cleaning implements, the struggling burlap sack, and Lorre's guilty face.
...
Cyrrus Ironfist, the headmaster of the Warriors' Guild, yanked Lorre out of the broom closet by his collar and opened the burlap sack. Cora the dinosaur leaped into his arms and he sighed. "You've really done it this time, Lorre."
"I know, sir," Lorre mumbled. Cyrrus was an imposing figure. He was nearly six feet tall, with pale blond hair and dark brown eyes. A long scar slithered around his left eye and down his cheekbone, where it met with a bank of stubble on his chin. He always wore a silver chest plate and pair of greaves, tarnished with age. His platinum broadsword hung in a sheath at his side.
"Well," he said calmly, "you know the drill. Into the silt warehouse with you."
Lorre could not suppress a groan. His usual punishment for getting in trouble was to go to the silt warehouse and feed silt into the Extractinator until he had enough platinum to make a broadsword, which was then given to Cyrrus. His feet felt like anvils as he dragged himself across the courtyard to the warehouse.
The damp smell of the silt wafted across the warehouse to him, and he wrinkled his nose. Lorre slowly picked up the first bale of silt and heaved it onto the mouth of the extractinator. Bits of silt flew around the warehouse as it started pumping out ores, gems and coins.
Copper, gold, amber, tungsten, platinum, lead, diamond, silver, iron... the treasures chugged down the conveyor belt into a small bin. In between feeding silt into the machine, Lorre would pick out chunks of raw platinum ore and set them aside. He shoved the ore into the forge, slowly smelting it into bars. Once he had enough bars, he picked up a hammer and the freshly smelted metal and plodded to the anvil in the corner. Sparks flew as he halfheartedly beat the metal, dancing on the concrete floor before winking out.
Lorre stayed in the warehouse for several hours, whacking at the platinum, shaping the silver-blue metal into a beautiful broadsword. Finally, he wiped down the shining blade with a soft rag, wrapped the hilt in a strip of leather, and bounded back across the courtyard to present the sword to Cyrrus.
Cyrrus Ironfist took the sword, turning it over in his hands. "Impressive work, Lorre. I must say, all those times in the silt warehouse have really improved your craftsmanship."
"Thank you, sir. I even stuck a piece of amber in the pommel," said Lorre proudly.
"Very creative. I'm glad to see you're using the other minerals that come from that machine," Cyrrus said, beaming at Lorre. "Listen, Lorre, there's something I need to see you about in my office. Come with me."
Lorre couldn't help but feel a mounting sense of dread as he followed Cyrrus into his office.
