Together

Rahg’s sweat dripped off his nose and chin, hissing as it hit the glowing metal he had on the anvil. His hammer rhythmically clanged against the blade as it was further and further flattened, sending sparks into the hot air with each strike.

Satisfied with the flatness and shape, Rahg grabbed the blade with tongs and submerged it in the slack tub to cool it. Hot steam filled the air as the blade cooled in the water. He pulled the blade out after some time, and set it aside next to a number of others to be polished and sharpened at a later time.

For now, his work day was done, though he loathed leaving so many workpieces unfinished.

Rahg let the fire in the forge die as he tidied up the area. When finished, he extinguished the lamps lighting his storefront, and exited the building. He pulled the huge, steel-mythril alloy slab he called a door shut, and locked each of the three locks he had in place (a remnant from the less secure days of Mythrite only a month prior).

The sky was red and pink as the sun set, and Rahg began to panic as he noticed the sun was a lot lower than he expected.

Shit, I’m gonna be late!

Rahg rushed home in a jog. It wasn’t too far, though it was the opposite direction of the Entertainment District where he had another date with Merave Truevale.

Hastily, he bathed the grime from his skin and hair, dried off, and put on some of his nicest clothes; nothing too fancy, just a plain collared shirt, a dark leather vest, and trousers. He briefly examined himself in a tall mirror. His hair was yet to dry, and in dire need of a good combing, but he liked it that way. His shirt was baggy and slightly wrinkled, but he enjoyed the extra room; his large muscles threaten to tear any shirt he wears that isn’t so roomy.

Rahg determined he looked good enough, grabbed his long wool coat, and quickly locked up and left his home. He was glad he took the coat, as the evening air was cold, and his bathing cooled him down from the heat of working in the forge all day.

With a brisk pace, Rahg made his way to the Entertainment District. Rahg kept a watchful eye on the swamps as he passed them, thinking back to that horrible night a while ago.

The sun had finally set by the time Rahg reached the glow of the Entertainment District.

I hope she’s still there, he thought.

The street was packed, as it usually was, despite the cold night air. Rahg pushed passed group after group of people, salesmen, street performers, and mayoral campaigners. The air was filled with laughing, talking, and singing; with the warm smells from various taverns, clubs, and specialty food shops.

Slowly, Rahg made his way through the throngs of people. He finally reached the tavern, where Merave stood outside the doorway with an expectant look on her face. Rahg’s chest warmed like the forge when he saw her, but the nerves set in quickly.

“You’re late!” she said, chuckling.

“Sorry. Work,” Rahg said. His voice cracked just enough for him to notice and worry about it. Merave nodded, and held out her arm. Rahg grabbed her hand, and the two walked into the warm light of the tavern.

“You work too much,” Merave said, half joking.

“Indeed,” Rahg said, embarrassed. He knew it wasn’t fully accusatory, but he felt bad nonetheless. “I really am trying to work less. It’s real hard, though.”

The pair found an empty table in the middle of all the rest. Rahg pulled a chair out for Merave, and then sat down himself. A waitress quickly came to take their order for drinks and food.

The tavern was busy that night. Most tables were full, the bar was almost full, and waitstaff zipped around to bring people food and drinks. There was a stage in the back, in perfect view of the bar and tables, where a bard played a lovely song on his lute.

“What makes it so hard?” Merave asked. “Not working all the time, I mean.”

Rahg stammered. He hadn’t thought about it a whole lot.

“Um, well,” Rahg said, thinking. “Probably ‘cause I’m alone. No one to keep me in line, I guess. No one to say it’s dinner time, or what have you.” Rahg’s voice was deep, and barely carried through all the noise of the tavern. Merave nodded as she listened.

“I just lose track of time, I think. And,” Rahg thought some more about how he worked, and what he felt during the times when he worked too much. “Well, it’s fun. I think. I don’t know, I always feel the need to keep going. To keep making. When I stop, I need to do more.”

Merave looked confused and mildly concerned.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to weird you out,” Rahg said.

“I think I get it,” Merave said. “Even when I’m off duty, I’m still on duty.”

Rahg nodded. He noted that as a captain of the town guard, she’s always needed when emergencies arise, while as a blacksmith, nobody will die if isn’t always smithing. He chose not to mention this.

“‘In life, you work, then you die,’ my mentor always said,” Rahg stated. He regretted saying it.

“Well, at least we can find time to get together every now and then,” Merave smiled.

The waitress returned with their drinks (both water), and a pitcher with water and ice in it.

“Indeed,” Rahg said, lifting his glass. Merave lifted hers too, and the glasses clinked together.