Rurik stood there, absolutely dumbfounded by Arlen's request. He blinked, as if expecting the words to change or for someone to tell him it was all a cruel joke. When he realized that Arlen was dead serious, a red flush crept up from his neck to his face, and his eyes narrowed in anger.
"A hundred more, you say?" Rurik bellowed, his voice echoing in the cavernous forging hall. "Do you have any idea what just happened here, Arlen? I lost friends, comrades, because of this one cursed artifact, and now you're asking for a hundred more of these death-bringers?"
Rurik's face contorted with rage, and he seemed ready to erupt like a volcano at any moment. The guards, Arlen, and even Michael, who had been observing the scene, took a step back, giving Rurik space to vent his fury.
Arlen, however, remained remarkably calm despite the storm of anger raging before him. He knew that this was a difficult request to make, and the circumstances were far from ideal, but he had a purpose in mind.
"I understand your anger, Rurik," Arlen began in a measured tone. "And I sympathize with your losses. But I have my reasons for needing these artifacts. Trust me, it's for a cause of utmost importance to House Silverbrook and the safety of our people."
Rurik's anger showed no signs of abating. "Tell me, Arlen, why do you need a hundred of these death-dealers? What could possibly justify such a request?"
Arlen hesitated, his gaze fixed on Rurik's furious eyes. He couldn't reveal the truth behind his motives, not now. Instead, he offered a vague response, trying to find a balance between explaining his need and respecting the secrecy of his mission.
"I wish I could provide you with all the details, Rurik, but I'm bound by certain... complexities. All I can say is that these artifacts are crucial to a plan that could protect not only Silverbrook but the entire realm. I understand this is a lot to ask, but your craftsmanship and the guild's expertise are essential."
Rurik's face remained twisted with anger and confusion. He clearly despised the idea of forging more of these artifacts, given the horrors he had witnessed. However, Arlen's words seemed to give him a moment's pause, and a flicker of doubt crossed his features.
"Think about it, Rurik," Arlen urged, his voice softer but no less determined. "Consider the safety of our people and what we might achieve with these artifacts. I promise, I'll do everything in my power to support you and your guild during this challenging task."
Arlen decided to reveal another piece of information that might help sway Rurik's opinion.
"Rurik, John here," Arlen gestured to Michael, "agreed to forge these artifacts. He even asked for five million."
Rurik's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. He looked at Michael with a mixture of shock and anger. "Who the hell gave you the right to agree to something like that?" he roared.
Michael remained remarkably calm in the face of Rurik's fury. "Doing nothing solves nothing," he replied coolly. "Besides, that sum will go a long way in taking care of the families of those we lost today."
Rurik's anger still simmered, but he seemed to be reluctantly considering the practical side of Michael's argument. He grumbled under his breath but didn't immediately object.
Michael continued, "And, Rurik, Lord Arlen has pledged to stay with us throughout the entire process. He'll ensure nothing happens to us during this endeavor. You won't be alone in this."
Rurik's shoulders sagged as he weighed the pros and cons of the situation. He clearly despised the idea of creating more of these artifacts, but Arlen's persistence and Michael's rational arguments were slowly chipping away at his resistance.
Michael, seeing that Rurik had reluctantly agreed to the task at hand, spoke in a soothing tone. "Rurik, take a breath, my friend. Head outside, calm yourself, and attend to the bodies of our fallen comrades. Keeping busy will help you deal with the loss."
Rurik sighed deeply, the weight of his responsibilities and the recent tragedy bearing down on him. "You're right," he mumbled, his voice heavy with grief and frustration. "I'll see to it."
Before leaving, he turned to Arlen, who had been listening to their conversation intently. "I need to hire new bodyguards and muscle for the guild. We're vulnerable right now."
Arlen, always quick on his feet, nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, Rurik. My guards will assist you with that, and I've dispatched more Silverbrook soldiers to your aid. You won't have to worry about another attack."
Rurik, grateful for the support, nodded back, though his expression remained somber. "Thank you, Arlen. Let's hope these new artifacts are worth all this trouble."
With that, Rurik headed outside, leaving Arlen and Michael alone in the hall.
Michael, recognizing that Rurik needed some time to recover, made his way back to the forge.
"So, Lord Arlen, we require several materials to forge these artifacts. How about you point me in the direction of where to purchase these?" Michael asked, grabbing a nearby parchment and quill to begin listing the necessary items.
Arlen, however, had a different idea. He replied, "No need. Give me the list, and one of my guards will procure everything you require."
Michael couldn't help but notice Arlen's determination to keep him within the guild's confines until the task was complete. It was evident that Arlen was willing to go to great lengths to ensure the forging of all one hundred artifacts.
"Very well," Michael conceded with a wry smile. "But I do hope I'll have a chance to catch my breath between now and then."
Arlen remained silent, clearly unwavering in his resolve. Michael then tossed the parchment to one of Arlen's guards with clear instructions, "We need everything on that list. No alternatives, no scrimping on quality."
The guard nodded, taking the parchment and promptly making his way out of the hall to gather the necessary materials for the ambitious forging project ahead.
***************************
As night fell in Goldspire, Michael left the guild after successfully forging a couple of artifacts.
"I hate that elf already," Ayag voiced her complaints while perched on Michael's shoulder.
"Hey, we have no reason to hate him. We're using him," Sarba chimed in. Michael skillfully navigated through the bustling streets of Goldspire. The city's beauty was accentuated by the nighttime glow, with golden light orbs illuminating every corner.
The streets began to fill with food stalls, and the tantalizing aroma of various dishes wafted through the air, making Michael's stomach growl in hunger.
Spotting a food vendor offering something akin to a hot dog from Earth, Michael made his way over.
"Would you like some of my signature chicken baked bun, sir?" the elderly vendor asked.
"How much?" Michael inquired.
"Two gold coins," the vendor replied.
Michael handed over the coins and patiently waited for his hot bun, freshly baked in the vendor's stall. In the midst of his meal, he heard a commotion in the street and noticed a group of young men carrying makeshift boards depicting dragons, headed in a particular direction.
"Where are they going?" Ayag wondered.
"To the arena," the old man answered, handing Michael the piping hot bun from his oven.
"I've heard of it. Isn't that where people in Sagespire settle their disputes with their fists?" Michael asked.
"Usually, yes. But this month, the arena is hosting dragon fights. They do that every year leading up to the Divine Tower auctions," the old man informed him.
"Dragon fights? We have to check that out," Ayag said, her curiosity piqued.
"You must be new to Goldspire. These events are some of the highlights leading up to the Divine Tower auctions. They draw a large crowd, and most of them end up attending the auction as well. It's one of the biggest events in Sagespire," a fellow customer behind Michael shared.
"Then I should definitely go have a look," Michael replied, leaving the vendor's stall. He took a bite of the bun.
"The old man makes a mean bun," he commented, savoring the flavors.
"Oh, come on, give us a bite," Ayag playfully growled, and the three serpent heads each took a nibble.
"Good, but not as good as Raylene's cooking," Ayag mumbled as she chewed on the bun.
As Michael continued on his journey, a grand arena, shielded by a gleaming golden dome, emerged in the distance. The sight of the arena was nothing short of breathtaking. It stood as a magnificent centerpiece, surrounded by a meticulously pruned grassfield that stretched out like a lush carpet.
The arena's facade was adorned with intricate designs, and its golden surface shimmered under the illumination of the countless lights that lined its perimeter.
Even from this distance, Michael could hear the unmistakable sound of a roaring crowd emanating from within the arena. The cheers and shouts of spectators filled the air, creating an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. It was clear that something truly remarkable was about to take place under the golden dome of the grand arena.
Suddenly, Michael heard a thunderous roar coming from the arena, and he looked up to see a massive shadow cast upon the sky. It was a dragon, its wingspan stretching wide.
Vedora was stunned by the sight, their three serpent heads locking onto the colossal shadow above. Ayag quickly urged Michael to hurry, her voice filled with excitement. "Come on, we can't miss this!"
Without wasting a moment, Michael quickened his pace, following the enthusiastic crowd toward the grand arena, where the spectacle of dragon fights was about to unfold.
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