Neither giant nor girl spoke again until they were through the 'Cullis Gate.'
John was still skeptical about this whole 'Will' deal. How had primitives, who were still using flintlock muskets, devised a way of teleportation when the UNSC and the Covenant, with all their respective knowledge, hadn't even come close?
After the muted hum of the Cullis Gate rose, John could briefly smell ozone, before they had been through the Gate.
The Cullis Gate left them on top of what Sparrow called Bower Hill. This was overlooking the nearby Bower Lake, where the highway led to Bowerstone. In the more immediate sense, the gate had left them on top of an enormous hive of beetles, which wasted to time in swarming out to kill the intruders, nighttime or no.
John pulled out the iron flintlock rifle he had found, opening fire as soon as he spotted the beetles. Unfortunately for him, the rifle was very old, having been buried in a mining accident many years before. The powder, though it looked dry, had been completely soaked for twenty years, and refused to fire.
When John heard the rifle click with a misfire, the first thing he did was swear vividly. The second thing was to slip out of the shoulder strap, grip the barrel as tightly as he could, and begin clubbing beetles.
Sparrow had already drawn her sword and stabbed one beetle already, spraying vibrant, smelly blood all over her glowing hand. A beetle's thrumming wings sounded from her left, and she twisted, dodging the chaotic ball of energy. Focusing her anger, she pushedat the beetle, and a gleaming orb of force blasted into the beetle, splattering it. Sparrow smiled as she deemed her hastily taught will powers a success.
John and Sparrow waded into the press of beetles, John with long swings that smashed swathes of beetles, Sparrow with a deadly grace of speed and Will. She drove past him, blasting beetles with her left hand and slashing them with the sword in her right.
Systematically, John and Sparrow eradicated the beetle hive, crushing or slicing the beetle. It did not go perfectly, as a beetle latched onto John's forearm with its mandibles, chewing and tearing into his arm. John refused to cry out, quickly prizing the mandibles off with his other hand. He hurriedly ripped the beetle away, but while he had been occupied with the lone beetle, more had attacked, biting into his leg. John flew into a rage, ignoring his wounds as he crushed beetles beneath rocks, beneath his boots, and beneath his hands if he could get them there.
Suddenly, the swarming beetles stopped. Sparrow had hopped into the fray beside John, quickly and effectively blasting the beetles with her newfound Will powers.
John quickly pulled off his pants, tearing them up and bandaging his bleeding arm. The blood oozing from the many bite marks was perfectly normal looking, so poison was ruled out quickly.
"Help please." John requested. While he normally could tie bandages with one hand quite easily, it was noticeably harder when the bandages were formerly pants, and not prepared bandages. After another couple moments of silence, John looked over to Sparrow.
She had turned her back on John, covering her eyes.
"Help, please." John repeated. "I can't tie this bandage alone."
Slowly, Sparrow returned to his side, but refused to look at him. John guided her hands with his one, his spade-like hands quite delicate, she noted.
When the bandages were successfully tied, John's forearm was covered in dark bandages, the material disguising the blood. The moment Sparrow was done tying the last knot, she leapt up, moving away from John.
"Have I scared you?" John asked.
Sparrow shook her head rapidly, her platinum hair whirling around her like a nova. John didn't notice, as hair was like nails in his mind: irritating unless routinely cut.
"What is wrong?" he tried again, this time softening his tone. Was she scared of him losing his temper at the beetles? Perhaps she feared his rage?
"P-p-pants" Sparrow stuttered.
John looked down.
Oh.
Much later, John and Sparrow were once again on the move. Sparrow lead the way, describing landmarks and places and people she had met to John, who listened carefully as he watched the tree line. Sparrow had, according to her, anyway, obtained John's new clothes by bartering with a wandering gypsy trader with 'a mustache that curled wickedly on both ends.'
More likely, John decided, was that she found these clothes in another chest. They had already come past numerous such chests, some in open ground, and John was no less confused than when he found the first one. She had also managed to find him a shirt that fit. It was bright orange with red swirls on the shoulders. John was dead set on burning it, but a small corner of his mind thought that tearing it up for bandages would be much more efficient and satisfying.
And now, finally, they were on the road to Bowerstone. They had met a small group of traders who were travelling to the Bowerstone Market to trade their carvings and other luxury items. Sparrow hit it off immediately with the traders, chatting about the difference in prices at the general store at her Gypsy Camp and the market at Bowerstone. John had managed to find the one weapons merchant, and began asking questions about the current weapons of this world. Flintlock rifles were not the pinnacle of gunnery here, despite John's initial impression of such. Pistols were as widespread as rifles, and an odd form of semi-automatic action called clockwork had emerged, rather than the terrestrial bolt-action rifles.
John read between the lines when he asked about the blades in the package. Normally, the presence of high accuracy weapons such as a flintlock rifle would immediately make a blade antiquated and unnecessary, but obviously the guns had advanced quickly, before experience could teach them how to properly aim. As such, most probably shot from the hip and allowed swordsmen to close the distance, thus balancing out the obvious advantages of firepower.
However, the blades themselves were curious. Most were medieval-style long swords, designed to penetrate plate armor, along with the odd naval cutlass and a couple one-handed axes. Such as style and mix implied a cultural chop suey, with different styles taking precedence in different areas.
John genuinely enjoyed talking to the short, swarthy man. He knew his trade very well, and was very interested in the suggestions of this tall albino. John gave him tips on how to improve the forging of rifles. As the quality was the only reason the Guards of Bowerstone bought from the trader, he was very receptive.
"Halt! Hold yer horses!"
The ragged convoy of traders and oxen ground to a stop haphazardly. A Bowerstone Guard stood in front of an improvised barricade where several additional Guards stood clutching flintlocks.
"What is the meaning of this?" Sparrow asked, moving to the front of the convoy.
"Ah, madam, there is a terrible bandit on the loose, killing traders on this here road!"
'Did he have to talk like that?' John wondered.
"The Bandit Thag has raided traders on the road from 'ere to Bowerstone, and as we cannot guar'ntee your safety, the road is closed. A detachment of the Guard is being assembl'd, and once the Bandit Thag is dead, the road will be reopened."
Sparrow pushed through the whispering traders to where John stood with his arms folded. He was regarding the Guard with a casual look, scanning from his head to his toes.
…A concealed pistol stashed at the front of the waistband underneath the coat, a slim blade reminiscent of a bastardized katana on his back, and a baton on the belt. The slim blade is too thin and long to be of much use to a police officer, the pistol most likely only contained one shot, and baton would be ineffective and seen more as a symbol of oppression…
"Yes?"
"What do you make of this?" Sparrow asked, waving a hand at the ruckus as the Guards held back the traders.
John shrugged. It did not matter to him. There was no immediate urge to reach the center of government at this time. If this 'Thag' was such a large threat, then the law enforcers would surely hurry up and eliminate the menace.
"I have to get to Bowerstone and meet Theresa." Sparrow said. "She went to gather certain items and information that would help me on my quest against Lucien."
"Who is Lucien?" John asked. Sparrow looked at John in disbelief.
"Who is Lucien? Are you serious?" Sparrow demanded. Her head shook, and anger seized her features. John wondered if he had committed some serious affront. One of the gypsy traders led Sparrow away, consoling her as Sparrow shook with rage.
"What have I done?" John queried. His friend, the weaponsmith, stepped up to his side.
"From what I understand, she was brought into our encampment by Theresa ten years ago. What little I gathered was that her sister was killed by Lucien personally, and she swore revenge."
John quirked an eyebrow quizzically.
The smith scowled.
"Maybe where you are from, things are different, but here in Albion, oaths of any kind are Serious Business."
"She was eleven when she swore this oath?" John asked, surprised.
"Nine."
"So this all hinges on Thag?"
"Yes."
"What if we kill him?"
The Guard looked in incredulity at John for a moment, then reconsidered.
"Well then we would have no probl'm with that."
"We're gonna kill Thag?"
"Where did you come from?"
Sparrow appeared at John's elbow. There were no signs of her previous anger, but John noticed a slight twinge in her hands as she clutched her sword.
"Had a discussion with my friend Giselle. She brought me a gift from an old friend at the camp."
John raised his eyebrow again. Sparrow gave him an exasperated look.
"What? What is so curious about that?"
John pointed at Sparrow's hair.
"What?" she demanded again, growing agitated.
John shook his head, and walked over to the weaponsmith's cart. He idly picked up a cutlass and spun it, judging its balance and length. The thickset smith watched him with careful eyes. John met his gaze, and gestured to the blade.
"May I borrow this for a small matter?"
It was the smith's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"This is one of my best iron cutlasses." The smith murmured, taking the blade back. "If you take it, then you may not return with it."
"I swear on my honor that I will return your weapon."
The smith stopped. This giant may be from some other land, but he had explained that oaths were of the utmost importance. If this strange warrior gave his word, he was prepared to believe it. He nodded.
John belted on a sheath to his ratty pants and put away the cutlass.
"Do you even know how to use that properly?"
"I am versed in the use of the traditional cavalry saber."
"What's a saber?"
He hesitated. After all, a lengthy explanation was not needed, and his knowledge should be sufficient to cover a cutlass instead of the thinner saber. "A cutlass."
Before she could reply, John sprung into motion and dragged Sparrow down behind a fallen tree. As she went to protest, he clamped a hand over her mouth and put a single finger over his mouth. He peeked carefully above the crest of the log, then brought his face back down.
"Two targets, forty meters, armed with rifles." he reported, lifting his hand away from her mouth.
"Then let's take them!" Sparrow said loudly.
"Ssshh! Be quiet." John hushed her. Sparrow, dejected, stopped talking.
John grabbed a stick and sketched a quick diagram in the dirt.
"These two X's are the targets. We are the O's." John instructed. He added two arrows to the picture.
"I will distract them with a direct, zigzagging approach. You will flank from the western direction. Take a wide loop, come up behind them, and eliminate them." Sparrow looked at him blankly, not understanding. John sighed.
"That way. Move far that way, and then move up silently." he pointed out. Sparrow nodded grimly.
John rose to a crouch, took one last glance at the two idling bandits, and jumped out of cover.
"Oi!" yelled one of the bandits, taking notice quickly. "This is tha territree o' Thag tha Bandit!"
John didn't yell back, but reasoned a non-verbal taunt would be much more effective.
"OI! You're in fer for it now!" the other bandit cried, raising and firing his rifle quickly.
The shot impacted into a tree two meters away from John, shattering bark and spraying sawdust everywhere. John tucked and rolled away, as the second shot whistled a short distance above his head. John moved quickly, darting through the woodland with Spartan grace. He doubled back, throwing off their aim briefly.
The bandits were better shots that he had given them credit for, John had to admit.
John figured that he had a ten more seconds until the first bandit fired-
BLAM
- again.
A small, idle corner of John's mind considered that heavy modification to the rifles could conceivably increase the firing rate at the expense of the size of the ball, but-
BLAM
- clearly he had more immediate concerns.
blam
John paused. That shot sounded nowhere near his position. He leaned out from behind the large boulder and spied Sparrow clanging swords with one of the bandits. The other was on the ground, unmoving.
Sparrow ducked the bandit's overeager swing and tried to stab. The bandit's sword swung back very quickly, knocking hers aside. The bandit's blade came on a return swing, Sparrow's out of position to block. As the blade swung in, Sparrow dove backwards, drawing her sword back up into a guard position. The bandit charged forward, but Sparrow thrust her left hand forward, as if to ward off the bandit.
The bandit paused, before laughing. Sparrow grinned, and pushed.
The bandit flew backwards, his face caved in by the plain force of the push. He collapsed on the ground and spilled out red, blue, and green orbs.
John stepped beside Sparrow, taking the man's rifle and slinging behind his shoulder. Sparrow was already absorbing the orbs, while John watched cautiously. After a moment, she was done.
"This path has got to lead to Thag's hideout," she pointed, gesturing deeper into the forest. John nodded, but kneeled down and began picking through the bandit's belongings. He found twenty gold coins and a couple of older-looking knives. He pocketed the coinage, and, for lack of a better place, left the knives were they were. He pulled a worn leather bandolier off of the bandit's chest, looking at it in confusion.
Without a cartridge or any other method of standardizing ammunition, it had no point. So why was the bandit wearing one? Where had he even gotten it? John gazed at it, cocking his head in puzzlement.
Sighing in annoyance, Sparrow tugged John to his feet, taking the sling of leather from his hands. She slung it over his head, moving around him as she adjusted it and fixed it up, bewildering John in the process. She then unsheathed his sword from his precariously dangly sheath.
John leapt back, moving to draw his rifle.
"Oh leave that there you big dummy." grumbled Sparrow, as she darted forward and unfastened the sheath. Moving with speed, her nimble fingers attached the sheath to the baldric, re-sheathing his cutlass again.
John inspected this new item of clothing. The belt, which he had thought to be a bandolier, was in fact a baldric. His cutlass-sheath was now firmly attached to his baldric, rather than the loose, barely-holding-on belt that secured his trousers.
"Now can we kill Thag?" Sparrow requested. John nodded, and they moved down the path, John's new rifle held at the ready.
As they moved, John tugged on the baldric. Maybe this clueless girl wasn't as bad as he had assumed.
As they entered through the palisade gates, John inspected the makeshift camp. It looked recent, and also seemed as if it could be packed away in a hurry. As they moved further into the camp, Sparrow spotted a cage with two cowering people inside.
The man inside looked up, and spying them, cried out "Watch out! It's A Trap!"
Bandits, laughing, dropped from the trees around them. John raised, aimed, and fired in one smooth motion, taking a bandit in the face. Discarding the rifle, John drew his cutlass and charged at the closest bandit, who had already started to stab.
Behind John, Sparrow had already clashed blades with a bigger, more muscular bandit, who taunted her with foul words as they circled. Sparrow, sneering in disgust, leapt forward with a thrust that slipped under the bandit's guard and disemboweled him.
As John closed with the bandit, time seemed to slow as his adrenaline kicked in, and his mind subconsciously raced through his options. Going with intimidation, John slipped to the side of the stab, grabbing and yanking the wrist of the bandit with his left hand as his right parried a slash from the bandit on his right side.
His first opponent yelped as his bone gave way. John flipped the man away with a quick Aikido drop, before slicing the back of the second bandit's sword hand. Spinning on his left heel, a quick wheel kick broke the first bandit's nose and knocked him out.
Sparrow was already trading blows with wiry, thin bandit who knew his blade work. Sparrow tried many different angles, but the bandit just contemptuously knocked them aside with the ease of long experience. Sparrow struggled, but she just couldn't hit the bloody stupid bandit!
Her rage built up, until with a cry, she shoved her hand towards him, pushing out with her concentrated anger. Lightning erupted from her fingertips, skating down the bewildered bandit's blade until it barbecued him were he stood.
John was facing the bandit with the sliced open wrist, but with a shriek the bandit fled, dropping his sword as he turned and passed through the gates.
John faced his next opponent, but only saw Sparrow, who was furiously trying to rip the lock off of the wheeled cage. She wasn't making any progress.
"The key is in his cabin!" one of the prisoners informed her, pointing at the only permanent building in sight.
But as John tried to creep up to the window, Sparrow's dog went for the direct approach, charging up to the door and barking loudly. John tried to hush the dog, but it growled as it faced the door.
-CRASH-
Thag ripped through the door, booting it open. He called out with what he thought was a bloodcurdling cry, no doubt terrifying the fools who had killed three of his bandits. Thag glanced down for a moment, then kicked that stupid dog in the face.
"No one defies Thag the Impatient! I'll gut you myself!"
The little girl looked angry at the kicking of the dog, but oh well, he deserved it for getting in Thag's way!
"I'll give you three seconds to get-"
BLAM
Thag staggered, his face shocked.
"You shot me!" he growled, more outraged at the fact that someone had shot him during his speech than the fact he had been shot.
BLAM
Thag hit the deck of the cabin, blossoms of blood erupting from his chest. Sparrow spun quickly, staring dumbfounded at John, who had a dropped one rifle by his feet and held the other smoking one close, aiming down the sight with professional ability.
"You killed him!" crowed the male prisoner, clapping wildly. The female prisoner looked less exuberant, but just as happy. Sparrow just gawked, her jaw slack.
"Y-you shot him!" she spluttered, gesturing at Thag's body.
"Yes." John replied, confused.
"In the middle of his speech!" she continued.
"Yes." John answered again.
"But… but… but he was defenseless!" Sparrow protested.
"He was trying to kill us." John reasoned with her. "It was only natural that we killed him first."
"But he was talking!" Sparrow protested again.
John dropped his remaining rifle and stared at Sparrow. Stared until she finished talking.
"Done now?" he asked.
"I… guess?" Sparrow answered, frowning.
John strode past her, into the cabin. Sparrow sunk to her knees, and looked blankly at the corpse that had been Thag. It wasn't right, she thought. True, Thag had been a heartless bastard who had deserved it, but nobody deserved to be shot in the middle of their speech!
John quickly found the key for the cage in another chest, and was regarding it oddly. Why doesn't he just carry it, he wondered. It's not like this key was really big or ornate, it was just a dull copper key.
Another bandit dropped from the trees right in front of him as John left the cabin.
"You don't want to be doing that, mate," the bandit said, holding his hand out for the key. John placed his right hand on his sheathed sword, and tucked the key into his pants pocket.
"Why not?" he asked, keeping his voice light. Sparrow came closer, crossing her arms.
"Those slaves belong to me, I bought them fair and square from Thag." the bandit proudly stated. Sparrow began to frown, and John's hand tightened on the hilt of his cutlass.
"If you let me leave with 'em," the bandit continued, "I'll give you one hundred gold pieces."
Sparrow considered the offer. She didn't have practically any money, and one hundred gold pieces could easily buy her several meals.
"Think about it," the bandit pressed. "All you have to do is walk away."
John drew his cutlass and drove towards the bandit, blade at the ready. The bandit jumped back, but couldn't manage to draw his own sword before John was on him, cutting and slicing. It was over quick, the unarmed bandit unable to keep the Spartan at bay.
John pulled his sword out from the bandit's chest and wiped it away. He grimaced. After fighting for thirty years to protect people, here he was killing them. How things changed.
"We could have used that money." Sparrow reprimanded John. In response, John bent down and took the bandit's moneybag, which held more than the promised one hundred coins, tossing it to Sparrow.
He walked back to the cage and unlocked it, to the profuse gratitude of its inhabitants. The man started to wax poetic, but John had already turned and left, moving from body to body and inspecting their weapons, before gathering them into a bundle. Sparrow busied herself raiding Thag's cabin, trying to take her mind of her strange companion.
"Now that someone's gone an' disposed of the Bandit Thag, the road to Bowerstone is hereby reopened." the Guard declared, moving away the barricades. The traders, having now swelled to a larger number, gratefully pushed through the gap and onto the highway proper.
"As I promised, your cutlass." John said, returning the sheathed cutlass to the thickset blacksmith. The smith unsheathed the blade and inspected it, hmm-ing as he did.
"You cleaned it?" the smith asked, surprised.
"Of course."
"Hmm… most wouldn't." the smith replied. He replaced the cutlass onto its spot on his ordered cart, before proffering his hand to John. John didn't reciprocate, merely looking in askance for the gesture.
"As I said before, not many would return the blade clean. They wouldn't even think of cleaning a blade after gutting somebody."
John smiled, understanding. He took the man's hand in a firm, steady grip. Always give a good 'shake, Mendez used to say. A man's handshake tells a lot about him, he'd inform the Spartans.
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed as he shook John's hand.
"A pleasure doing business with you." the blacksmith said, almost automatically, before moving along.
"Hey, hey you!"
John turned to face the Guard from before, who held a sack in his hands. Judging by the lack of slack, it was pretty heavily loaded down.
"Thag had a bit of a bounty on 'is head, citizen. By killing 'im, you've earned this 'ere gold." the Guard explained. John accepted the sack, but tugged the Guard's sleeve as he went to move back to his post.
"Why did the Guard detachment take so long to come?" John inquired.
"What, you think the Guard is gonna hustle up for some low-life bandit?" the Guard laughed. "Citizen, b'tween you 'n me, there are dozens of Bandits every single day who spring up, claim some road, and demand tribute. The Guard spends enough time dealing with the bigger ones that they can't spare too many guards to protect the highway to Bower Lake. Rookwood and Oakfield are much more important to the 'igher-ups, if you know what I mean?"
John nodded. The 'higher-ups,' whomever they were, clearly had a set of priorities established, and the road to a camp of Gypsies didn't seem to John like something that would be high on the list.
John left the Guard merrily whistling as he headed up the road, catching Sparrow's eye and showing her the bag of gold. She grinned, delighted by the money, and promptly snatched from John, secreting it away to her purse.
"Welcome to Bowerstone, John." Sparrow gestured, sweeping her arms in what she thought was a suitably majestic pose. Unfortunately, it attracted a certain wandering eye.
"Where is the nearest government official I can speak with?" John requested, as a brightly dressed fellow pushed through the crowd of traders towards them.
"Dunno." Sparrow said. "I've never been here before."
John turned to her and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a man burst through the crowd and cried, "Oh, is it really you?"
Sparrow and John turned to the newcomer, surprised at the intrusion.
"Are you really the one that killed the Bandit Thag?" the man babbled, looking up to John.
Sparrow and John looked at each other, and then John shrugged.
"Yes."
"Oh wonderful!" the man squeaked. "I'm a bard, and I'd like to compose a ballad about you!"
Sparrow, watching this scene, struggled to contain her giggles.
"Uh, I'd like to help you with your newfound friend John, but I have to…go meet Theresa!" Sparrow chimed in, dashing off before John could ask her to help him out.
"John, is it?" the bard asked. "Well, I suppose it fits, I mean, a simple name like John. Nothing too fancy, nothing convoluted. Just simple and to the point: John. He kills Bandits." He announced, gesturing grandiosely, as if stabbing the sky from atop a mountain of corpses. John, almost indulgently, added a barely clothed buxom woman to the mental image, desperately clutching at the man's leg. The Spartan shook his head, but he could not deny that the addition fit the image.
Seeing no way to remove his limpet, John decided to keep walking and hope the chattering bard would take a hint soon.
Walking over the bridge, John inspected the architecture of the surrounding buildings with a glance. Multiple chimneys, a working blacksmith and forge, and what looked suspiciously like a bookstore. More developed than he thought before, but maybe the Gypsy's simply hadn't adapted to the new developments in housing?
The bard was waxing poetic, and while he wasn't very good, John had to give him points for trying. The Bridge was very imposing, while not as majestic or as impressive as the UNSC bridges, it had a certain appeal to it. No higher architecture and laser designators for perfectly straight lines, just a Man with paper and charcoal stick, and several dozen workers.
The Bard kept talking, John noted. He tried to keep track of what he was actually saying, in case he asked a question, but for now it looked as if John was in the clear.
Sparrow abandoned him to go talk to her master, who had somehow gotten to Bowerstone ahead of them. Perhaps a portable version of the Cullis Gate technology? John put a note in the back of his head to remember to look that up later.
"Are there any jobs open around here?" John asked Roland, cutting him off before he could lapse into verse again.
"You might want to check the blacksmith, he's been needing a helper for a while now." Roland replied thoughtfully, gesturing to the sign hanging over the open smithy.
"Thank you." John replied, before giving the Bard a gold coin without a thought. He made his way to the smithy while Roland, confused, decided if that was a tip or an order to play.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-SCHRRRRK-
"Damn it."
The Blacksmith looked up from his anvil at the sound of John knocking on a wooden table.
"Yes?" the Blacksmith tersely asked, his sweaty brow glistening. Compared to the chilly market, the forge was a volcanic hot spring, and the Blacksmith had stripped down to his sleeveless undershirt to cope with the heat.
"I hear you need an assistant." John replied, meeting the Blacksmith's gaze and holding it.
The Blacksmith slowly nodded, looking John up and down.
"Aye," he answered. "You'll do nicely."
Sparrow returned from her meeting with Theresa shuffling a worn gypsy Fate Cards deck. Crossing the main square of the Bowerstone market, she spied John at work by the blacksmith. As she moved closer, she began to make out more details and inwardly she sighed. It seemed she needed to buy John a shirt, seeing as he had torn up what was left of his shirt to make crude hand-wraps.
The Blacksmith seemed happy, though. He wielded a pair of tongs and a smaller hammer, holding the hot metal in place and tapping the metal with his hammer, showing John where to hit and the angle. John obligingly swung the larger sledgehammer overhead, and the metal resounded with a loud ringing sound.
Sparrow watched him for a while, but eventually started becoming a little frustrated, as more people came to watch the muscular Spartan hammer away without a shirt. Sparrow, cursing the crowd of gawking women, left before she blasted the group with Will.
John finished his last blow on the hot iron, before the Blacksmith, content, pulled away the iron to cool it.
"Last blade of the day, lad." the Blacksmith said. "The other parts of the process I do on me own, seeing as they don't require an apprentice."
John nodded, absently whipping away some of his sweat with a swaddled hand. He began to unwrap the cloth about his hands, absently stuffing them in his pockets. Easy to sterilize and use as bandages, John thought automatically.
The Blacksmith disappeared temporarily into his back office, emerging a minute later with a sack of gold. He placed the sack on a battered table and counted out four hundred gold pieces, before sweeping them into another moneybag and handing them to John.
"Sadly," the Blacksmith mused, as he handed the bag over, "I only had need of an assistant because I was overloaded with unfinished blades at this stage of the forging. Now that I've got these all done, I won't be needing a helper for a good while."
John shrugged, but took the unspoken compliment.
"If you ever need some work, though, you look me up, understand?" the Blacksmith told John. "I could always use a strong apprentice to pass the trade on to."
John shook hands with the Blacksmith, then left the smoky forge, already looking around for Sparrow.
He also needed a shirt, John grudgingly realized, as the cold bit at his unprotected skin. The forge may have been warm enough to warrant removal of his shirt, but the early spring was still chilly enough to demand one. As John searched for Sparrow, he thought about how much simpler things would be if he still had his climate-controlled MJOLNIR Mark Six Armor. Almost reluctantly, John wondered how long it had been since he had been fully out-of-armor. At least since the Fall of Reach, he thought. He'd had limited R&R time on Earth prior to it being attacked by the Covenant, but he'd swapped straight from Mark V to Mark VI as soon as he could, and the 'morale raising' press conferences had kept him in the armor to play up the image of the invincible Spartan.
Ah! There was a tailor over there, under the large sewing needle and pants sign.
XXXX
Now to lighten the mood, read all Guard and Bandit lines aloud in your most hamtastic voice!