Something out of Nothing



Original poster
Tybalt sighed as another day reared its head. Yawning, the young man stretched his arms and carefully set his feet on the floor. Shots of Cold went up his spine as he found his shoes and slipped them on. Work boots are more the word. This was the only pair of shoes he owned. He was due for another pair soon, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He had to be up an at 'em in 15 minutes or so. He grabbed a quick couple slices of bread for breakfast, threw on his giant overcoat like jacket and headed over to his smithy. As he stepped in and closed the door, he threw off his jacket. It was plenty warm in the smithy because of the multiple fires going. This was his own smithy. He had only a young apprentice, but that was all he needed. He was instructed to always start the fires 10 minutes before he arrived.

Tybalt's eyes looked to the corner of the workshop where about 5 swords sat, waiting to be finished. This was 3 orders in one. Two wanted two swords and one wanted one. He picked up the cold steel and went to work on the edges, refining each sword until they were as sharp as knives. He then took them to the smelter to be heated at the end so the hilts would fit into place. He quickly placed them on, only having 1 minute to fit each sword with the hilt as they cooled quickly. He then took the swords outside to cool off even more. After about 30 minutes of drying he would bring them back in to be tested. Any minor adjustments would be made, the blades sharpened again, the metal polished and that would be the end of it.

Tybalt's style of blacksmithing was so vastly different to regular blacksmiths. So much so, that each sword he made grew stronger and stronger. That was his goal in life. To make the ultimate blade. But for now, he would have to live with a small town smithy in a small town. But he didn't mind it so much as long as he could stay there to help out his mother and sister where needed. He sold his services and in turn was able to help the family live with food to eat , a house to live in and clothes on their backs. It also helped that his love was blacksmithing.

A rukus rose from outside. He peeked out of the smithy door and, sure enough, there was his sister Gwendolyn being bullied again. He sighed and walked over to her, standing between her and the bullies.

"Do you boys have nothing better to do with your time? Run along before I have to pull out my swords...Run along!" He glared at the mean looking boys. They scattered at his intimidating look and Tybalt turned to Gwendolyn.

"Dear sister, what have I told you about not letting them push you around? You must stand up for yourself sometime..." he ruffled her hair as she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry brother. I tried, but my voice is so small that they didn't have the ears to hear me..." Tybalt chuckled and put his arm around his sister.

"It's ok, little sister. Just speak up next time, ok? Now run along back home. Mother might be worried about you" She nodded and ran back towards the house. He then went back to his smithy. When he opened the door, there stood his apprentice. He looked confused. Wasn't he supposed to be in the back, watching and waiting to make sure the swords got done.

"What is it Darren? I do hope it is more important that what you are supposed to be doing right now..." Darren nodded, handing Tybalt the note. Opening it, Tybalt read the words.

I've heard you are a master swordsman and great black smith. If that is the case, I wish for you to come and assist me with moving out a pest that has been bothering me for quite some time. Of course, you will be rewarded heftly if you take him down in the next 3 days. I await your reply.

Mayor Runfellow

Why not? This was his chance to prove that his swords were the best. He ran back home, after closing his smithy for the day, and told his mother and sister. They waved goodbye to him as he headed off towards the mayor's manor. This would be the chance of a life time. He packed up his best couple swords onto Aramethia and off he was to the mayor's place to finally prove himself to his village.

Ewinryel had reached a lull in her adventures. There wasn't much to do. Thus, in search of her next target, she was venturing to those sources that she knew were reliable. A few of those had already been exhausted. One of her allied Drow enclaves was full of various possibilities but none had been worth her time. After those lost chances, Ewinryel attempted to browse around in goblin territory. There was nothing there, either. Half-orcs had been a gruesome and unattractive venture but had at least left her with one worth-while rumor. It didn't take long at all for that, too, to lead in a dead end. It turned out the overwhelming magic trapped inside an object was really just an old prop used by an illusionist bard to help his acts for a long-dead king.

Once everything was said and done, she had only one hope left. It had been years since she'd last set foot in a human village, comparing their company to that of a group of semi-intelligent trolls. Now, here she was, meandering her way into the borders of human territory. From the signs she could see in the land, it wasn't a very large village at all. It was probably one she'd never seen before. One useful thing about the barbarian-esque race was that they were a trap-keep of tales and rumors and legends. It would surely be a gold mine... hopefully. Needless to say, Ewinryel had her doubts nevertheless.

As the elf came up to the first farm, her form was rigid. Her body was picturesque and perfect, showing no signs of the ware that most travelers would. There wasn't a single tangle in her hair or the slightest hint of a dirt smudge on her being. Flawless, cream-colored flesh was adorned by a bastardized High Elf sorceress garb. Most humans would have no idea what High Elves wore in their home city, seeing as they weren't welcome within them. It wouldn't be surprising if an unexposed little outcropping of the mundane bipedal creatures saw nothing but the naked flesh left uncovered by the scanty silks and metals and fine jewels. Most often the attire went to waste as they couldn't even differentiate the faintly varying textures and hues of the cloth. After all, Elves could see double the color spectrum of the human eye.

As long, smooth legs carried her elegantly and effortlessly over the terrain of the farm, Ewinryel's head was held high. Eyes of amethyst gazed lazily around her. So far, no one had noticed her presence. Only a few human-bred farm horses were around to witness her arrival thus far. Those lifted their heads, recognized her racial heritage and at the same time her clashing aura. With bristling hair along their spines, they put their heads back down to graze or simply went about their business undisturbed.

It took no time at all before the chaotic High Elf found her way into the heart of the little village. It, by human standards, was probably more of a town. To her, it was naught but an encampment. Drow enclaves, as she was used to living in, usually ranged in a population of a few hundred to a few thousand. There couldn't be more than two hundred people in this little civilization...

Stoic reserve was the only expression upon the otherwise charming features of femme. Clearly she meant business. Gradually, she wandered through the streets, browsing around for a tavern or an inn. That was usually where most of the gossiping took place. That much Ewinryel was sure of. Even as small children looked on at her in a mix of fascination and confusion at the vibrant colors and the outlandish style she sported, she paid no mind. As women gaped and yelped and hid their children away from the sight of her disturbingly bold display of flesh, she continued her search. As hard-working men either hid their own eyes and hurried past or stopped in their tracks to openly gape, the Elven lass, in all her glory, paid no mind. This was, after it came down to it, the same reaction she got pretty much everywhere outside of her birthplace (which she hadn't returned to since her capture) and the Drow enclaves that shared similar (though drastically differently colored) styles.
Tybalt gallantly rode atop his beautiful black mare, Aramethia. She was the most prized out of his two horses and not to mention, she was his dad's favorite. As he approached the heart of the town, he heard gossip, people talking amongst themselves. Riding a bit further into the square, he stopped Aramethia and tried to swim his way through the sea of gathering people in the square. He turned his head ways that his head shouldn't be turning just to try and see what they were all looking at. Finally he got to the middle and a clearing.

In that clearing was a beautiful maiden of the likes of which he had never seen before. Her beautiful figure, her brightly colored, yet elegantly colored choice of clothes and her smug expression that made most of the people glare at her in complete dislike. Mother's were hiding their children from her scantly clad form and she looked as if she cared not what others thought of her. She must not be from around here.

He made his way to the center of the circle, being the first bold one to take a stand against this woman and her scantly clad outfit. He studied her a bit more and realized that she could be from two civilizations that he had only studied about in books. The drow. They lived far from the human world, looking down on humans and always killing them every chance they got. Or the High Elves. Stuff people had heard about them they had only gained their knowledge from text books. There was absolutely no humans allowed in their world. They were a high, intelligent race and also looked down on humans. Tybalt sighed. Great. Whichever race this woman was from, clearly she hated Humans. But he had to preserve the peace in his village. He got down on one knee in front of the woman, bowing slightly forward.

"Oh great Goddess of Forbidden worlds unknown, I beg of you, please come with me. I, the greatest blacksmith in town, have many wonderful works of art only for your viewing eyes. If you would grant me a moment of your time, I promise you it will be not a waste...But if it is word of mouth you seek, I beseech you to follow me and I will tell you everything you wish to know..." It was a long shot. She didn't look like the type to listen to flattery and empty words and she wouldn't come without a fight.

Suddenly all the villagers followed Tybalt's lead, bowing before the elegant woman, except the mothers of the children, still trying to stop their children from seeing her. Tybalt was suprised that they would follow him, but then one of the villagers spoke up.

"Great Goddess, This man is the most trusted in our village. We beseech you great one to take his word for it. He is very knowledgable about talk in the town and would direct you well..." this villager then bowed his head again. Tybalt was flattered at the words of the villager, but it would probably take more than words to convince this higher being to trust a lowly human. He looked her in the eye, his gaze never waivering. He had to stand strong and get her to go with him. He had to get her out of the middle of the village and away from children's eyes. He could think of no way of doing it, but this way. He hoped he wasn't going about it wrong.

(Did you want me to write more? Or is this ok?)