The Ice Knife of Loflein
There’s an unseasonable warmth in the air, a plume of steam and smoke spraying out overhead between the dark buildings that loom over the alley market in Little Hesca. The sounds of the undercity can be overwhelming sometimes. I slide through the sweaty crowd pouring in from the factories to get in line for empanadas at one of my favourite street vendors. When I get to the front, I don’t recognize the woman piling the empanadas into to-go containers.
“Where’s Ernest?”
“His dog had a thing. I’m his sister.” the woman says, utterly disinterested.
“Oh. Okay then. Tell him good luck? Or sorry that happened, maybe.”
“Sure.” The woman looked at the next person in line, then trained a quizzical look back at me. “Hey, ain’t you the Bastard of the Ice?”
I’ve seen that look a hundred times before, and am already walking away. “I get that a lot. He’s my cousin.”
It’s clear Ernest’s sister doesn’t believe me, but is either too busy or too apathetic to give a fuck. “Next!”
At this point, I’ve gotten used to the names. In the schoolyard back in Silverpeak, kids would poke fun at my teeth, calling them long and weird, until I showed them personally how sharp they were. Then they called me The Viper. They made fun of my first blade, calling it the “Viper’s Fang,” until I broke a wrist and several teeth. They didn’t have much to say after that.
I’m just wiping empanada grease off of my face as I arrive at The Bearded Bugbear, a hole in the wall far enough away from the lightning rail that there aren’t many tourists. Usually. Today there’s a crowd of Adventurer’s Guild kids in one of the corner booths, showing each other the gadgets they bought with their parent’s money. One of them has a wrist cannon that propels hooked metal on a wire into it’s target, pumping them full of enough electricity to burn their eyebrows off. Okay, that might be kind of cool. Their laughter trails off as I walk in, and they start whispering amongst themselves. Figures. My favorite ale is set down at my favorite seat before I even sit down, and for once, it feels good to be known.
I’m well into my third pint when one of the little fuckers decides to approach. “Well, if it isn’t the Pride of Silverpeak. Slay any kings today? Or did you just spend the day sitting around, polishing your sword, waiting for something to happen to you?”
“Listen, I really don’t need this right now.”
“-Because my group, The Maroon Storm and I just took out some bandits harassing the East Road. Got to put the new Stormcaller Gauntlet to use.” Annnnd he found a way to make it lame.
“Honestly, aren’t you a little young to be at a bar?”
The brat snorts, “Aren’t you a little old to be drinking that much? We wouldn’t want you to fall on your way home-”
I break my glass over his head. Okay, maybe my patience has gotten worse over the years. I’m just about to dive onto him when something hits me square on the chin and falls to the floor. Is that Ciabatta??
I’m so taken aback by the yeast-based assault that the kid rolls away. One of his equally annoying friends comes in and barrels into me, knocking me to the ground, throwing something out in my back. Then I get tased the shit out of.
When I come to, I’m sitting outside on the curb, back throbbing as a tiny wrinkled old woman pushes a cup of crazy smelling tea into my hands. She looks at me so expectantly, so I take a sip. And by Moradin, my back actually feels better. Instantly.
“That’s the weirdest healing potion I have ever had.”
“It’s not a healing potion, child. This tea is good for the soul as well as the body.”
“Right. Well, whatever it is, thank you for swooping in and saving me from further embarrassment.”
“It’s no worries at all, I’m glad I could help. It’s crazy that that whole fight broke out over a loaf of bread, though.” she grins at me in a way I can’t read.
“Well lady, I hardly think it was about the bread. They were trying to rile me up way before that.” The woman rocks back, tilting her head to the side while pulling her lips into a tight frown.
“I guess you’re right… Hey, you’re the Reforger, right? I heard about you when I was passing through Silverpeak!”
I exhale in a way that must have shown more emotion than I wanted it to, because the dwarf’s expression immediately softened from excitement to a quiet kindness. She says “Child, All I’ll say is that I just think it’s so cool that you stood up for your town like that, a real life hero. Your parents must be proud.”
Even though the parents comment stings a little, somehow it feels easier to talk to her than some of the other people in my life right now. It seems like everyone is fixated on an ideal of who I was, or who I am, or who they expect me to be. But this woman, who introduces herself as Deborah, has a way of making you feel like she sees right through all that to your meat and bones. It’s impressive and unsettling, all at once. She tells me about a journey she’s just begun, something about a list and a grand adventure. How she wants to know who she is beyond the titles of “Wife” and “Mother.” She invites me to come with her, and I’m just about to tell her I work alone nowadays when she hits me with the deepest, saddest grandmother eyes I’ve ever seen, and I think of her getting lost in the Loflein undercity, and I agree before I realize what’s coming out of my mouth. Her sad face immediately flips and she grabs my hand and takes off.