Chương 28: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Gnoll’s Anatomy

X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X Chapter Twenty-Seven: Gnoll's Anatomy X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X" WHERE IS HE?!" The double doors to the Guild exploded open, slamming against the walls with a resounding bang –revealing the outstretched wrapped paw of Orario's one and only gnoll. Said gnoll marched into the now-dead-silent room, growling like a scorned dragon as he flashed a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

"WHERE IS THAT LIMP-DICKED, WEASELY LITTLE FUCK!" Maedmux's nose twitched, once, twice, then his head whipped around, focusing on one man out of the entire crowd of people filling the lobby. Said man, or should she say god, was standing right in front of her kiosk. As he had been for the past five minutes, poorly attempting to flirt with her.

As Eina Tulle slowly ducked behind the safety of her desk, she almost felt a pang of pity for the god as a panicking Dian Cecht was backed into a corner by the livid Not-Monster bearing down on him. Almost. Just before she lost sight of the gnoll and the god, she noticed something strange. Was Mister Maddic holding… an arm? X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X" You," I snarl, accidentally slipping into Gnollish from pure rage as I give the old fucker a shove.

"' I'm gonna' choke you out with your own wrinkly balls, you packless grass eater, then I'll leave your rotting carcass for the buzzards!' You better give me one Moradin-damned good reason why I shouldn't punt your leathery ass back up through the clouds, you mangy dog!"

"What?!" he cried, backpedaling as far as he could. He didn't get far before he was backed up against the Guild's countertop, liver-spotted arms scrambling to stay upright.

"What are you talking about!? I haven't done anything to you!"

"You've insulted me and all artificer kind with this!" I hold up the damning evidence for all to see. A silver-plated, mechanical arm. The articulating prosthetic was vaguely steampunk in design, with thin metal plates mounted around a central girder frame. The joints were made of various precious gems sanded down into rough spheres. It looked pretty enough, as if someone had bejeweled Edward Elric's Automail.

But the second you peeled back a few layers to see how it ticked, you would instantly realize what a piece of utter shite it was.

"Dian Cretin," I gravely intone, waving the hunk of junk through the air.

"Has dared to charge money for this unforgivable offense. You've tricked all of Orario into thinking your familia produces only the best, but in reality I've seen peg legs more sophisticated than this tripe! And you have the gall, the fucking balls to charge someone fifty million Valis for it!" Throwing the offense to medical equipment everywhere over my shoulder to clatter to the floor, I continue my rant.

"That thing isn't fit to wipe my ass, let alone be an adventurer's right arm! I mean, what the hell were you even thinking, plating it with pure silver? At least Sterling Silver would have offered some protection against the unholy, but pure silver wouldn't hold up to a slap on the back!"

"And don't even get me started on the articulation!" I howl, really on a roll now.

"Only a hundred and fifty degrees of range in the shoulder, and one thirty in the elbow?! That kinda shit makes my grandma ma'ma look like a damned professional gymnast in comparison, and she's been dead for ten years! And the grip strength, oh ho ho! The grip strength! Three hundred kilograms. Just. Three. Hundred. Piddly. little. kilograms. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Do you think a Level Two Adventurer can get by with such a pitiful, limp-dicked grip?

A single hit from a War Shadow would have sent her weapon flying!" Suddenly, a gray-colored flash appears just below my eyeline. I look down to find that same silver-haired girl who was running Dian Cecht's shop all those months ago. She was his familia's captain, but for the life of me I couldn't remember her name. She had leaped in from somewhere behind me and was now standing before her god, shielding him with her body.

One hand was outstretched to her side, the other resting on a wooden staff held at her waist; her hand choked up just beneath a gently glowing red crystal inset at the top. I snorted to the side. Fine, if he wanted to get his pet involved, I would too.

"Snarf, get in here!" I roared, and the sound of metal crashing to stone filled the room. In three powerful bounds, my Steel Defender flew over my head and slammed down between us, growling up a thunderstorm at these pieces of shit. Dian Cecht's captain suddenly didn't look so confident now that she was looking down the bore of my friend's gnashing fangs arcing with electricity. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the crowd go from slightly amused at the drama to uneasy at the potential for violence.

The Guild employees had already scrambled for cover as Royman watched from his office balcony, gripping the banister and helpless to prevent the inevitable. Tension crept upwards, sparks literally flying between us–when another person smoothly inserted themselves into the mix. Someone who… I've never seen before in my entire life. Blonde-haired and with slanted, fox-like eyes–the stranger pushed up the bridge of his… Stetson? Some weird crossbreed between a ten-gallon hat and a fedora? Whatever.

He tipped up the brim of whatever it was on his head and lazily grinned at the two of us.

"Now, now, there's no need for that here. We're all rational adults; I'm sure we can calm down and act like civil folks." So said, yet his eyes never strayed from examining me from head to toe, an inscrutable glint in his eyes. As he watched me, I watched him. The first thing that immediately stood out to me was his manner of dress.

Pretty much everyone I've met so far has either dressed in the usual wacky, high-fantasy attire–complete with impractical armor and collars way too tall to ever realistically stand up on their own; Or they wore something entirely anachronistic for this world's industrial development level. Like the Guild members' uniform of suits and ties.

But this dude could have passed for an extra straight out of Game of Thrones, or as one of those renaissance faire employees, biting back another annoyed sigh as Star Trek cosplayers strut past. All he wore was his weird feathered cap, a humble tunic belted with leather, and a pair of breeches. Really, the only splash of color on his whole person was the orange scarf thrown around his shoulders.

"Hermes," Dian Cecht said, a palpable relief lacing his words.

"Thank goodness you're here! This mongrel was about to attack me in broad daylight!" My opinion of this conman was so low that his insult didn't even register. I was too focused on the now-named Hermes and the flash of genuine annoyance in his eyes. What do I know of him? Diddly squat. I'm pretty sure he acted as the designated 'mystery expo-dump' character, who would drift in and out of the story as needed to sprinkle in some needed explanations. As to the god himself, I had no idea.

His goals and motivations were a mystery. I didn't know if he was a benevolent guide or a conniving manipulator–so the fact that he chose now of all times to intervene was more than suspicious. My eyes flicked up to the stern-faced young woman who shadowed his steps, peering intently at me over the rim of her square-framed glasses. With the tips of her fingers, she pushed a single lock of unruly gray hair back into the mane of cerulean framing her face. Royal Road is the home of this novel.

Visit there to read the original and support the author. I didn't need to see a falna to tell she was significantly stronger than most of the people in the room; Danger radiated from her being like a signal only Max's animal instincts could sniff out. Dian Cecht's captain, Snarf could handle easily. If I sent him out to face this woman, then he would be reduced to iron filings before the command even left my lips. Fine then.

The blonde-haired twat opened his mouth, no doubt to whisper more poisoned words, but I wasn't having it. I said what I needed to say to this waste of oxygen anyway.

"Shut up," I cut Hermes off before he could speak, before bringing my attention back to the target of my ire–ignoring the slight widening of the god of messengers' eyes.

"You listen, and you listen good. I couldn't pay someone to take that piece of shit off my paws, and I'd be damned before I charged a customer for something of such abysmal quality. So here's what's going to happen: You are going to pick up that sorry excuse of a prosthetic and forget about ever collecting another red cent out of the Miach familia. They're my customers now, and I am going to make them an arm worthy of the name."

My piece said, I gave a wordless bark to Snarf, and he snapped to attention close to my heels as I stormed out, madder than a wet hen. X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X"You… left my arm there, on the floor." Naaza dryly commented, staring blankly at the side of my head as I bent over my new masterpiece lying on my front counter, which had been covered in a spread of scattered parts.

Whatever conniption she may have had when she first met me seemed to have faded in the hours she had spent in my company, as her open hostility had eased into this–A perfect, if sleepy, poker face. An expression Miach had assured us was her baseline.

"I left that collection of scrap metal shaped vaguely like an arm on the floor, yes," I grumbled, picking up my Hellhound Stone-tipped soldering gun and drawing connections between the mithril-traced array with hair-thin lines of gold. A scoff blew out my nose.

"Fifty million, for that. Unbelievable."

"We– I, was desperate." The Dog-shifter defended herself.

"I thought we could pay the debt down. We could have easily before, but…" She trailed off, averting her gaze as she clutched the gnarled stump of her right arm.

"Before what?" Hestia cluelessly piped up from my side, a rare glimpse of her naivety when it came to the Lower World.

"Before the Dungeon happened, I presume." I jumped in before the clearly uncomfortable Naaza felt forced to answer the goddess.

"We all have our war stories to tell, but they are yours to tell." She nodded and said no more on the subject. Which Hestia was at least wise enough not to force the issue. Miach, who had been mostly silent up to this point, finally spoke up from where he had been examining the shelves of goods.

"I, we I mean, are really appreciative of your help, Mister Maddic, but I have to ask: Why are you going so far out of your way to help two complete strangers?" I clicked my tongue, pulling the soldering gun away from the delicate work lest I accidentally screw it up while talking.

"First of all, you aren't strangers. Even if I detest your business practices-" They both flinched and looked away.

"-You're a friend of my-" I quickly cut myself off. I had been just about to say 'my pack member'! When the hell did I develop such strong feelings for Hestia that I considered her family!? And more importantly, would she have found it weird if I just blurted that out?! I shook off the confusing thoughts for now and continued, feigning the pause as me adjusting one of the crystal matrices.

"-my friend. And a friend of hers is a friend of mine. And more importantly…" I trailed off, trying to put my feelings on why I felt so compelled to help them into words, and why I was so furious with Dian Cecht.

"... It's like being a professional chef." I finally decided, looking up from my work to stare the god in the eyes.

"You work your whole life getting good at just one, single, thing. You devote every waking moment to honing the craft of cooking; Studying it, theorizing on it, practicing it–and eventually, you become skilled enough to make a living as one. A great one. One that people will travel from all over just to taste a tiny bite. And life is good, you feel complete, doing the job that you adore." I took back up my soldering gun and got back to work.

"But, one day, on your way to work, you stumble across a charlatan who is shitting on his fucking plates, and serving it to his desperate, hungry customers with a disgusting smarmy smile on his punchable face. You have to stand there and watch in horror as people shovel the shit into their mouths, because they have no alternatives. They have to eat the shit, or they will starve.

And, in the very depths of your soul, you find a bottomless, unfathomable fucking hatred for that relieved, thankful, shit-filled smile those poor people give the charlatan, because they have never tasted anything other than his shit." I glance up from my work to find Miach staring at me with wide eyes.

"Does that make sense to you?" He gave a shaky nod.

"Good," I nodded back and turned to Naaza.

"So, I think it's about time we talk options for your Thaumail Arm™ (patent pending). I was thinking pop-out blades in the forearms and a flamethrower in the wrists, but I am open to alternatives." X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X I ended up giving them a rough ETA of a few days to get a quality arm together, and they went home, weary but hopeful. Hestia had given me a wordless smile before she too went home for the night, leaving me alone with a skeletal arm covered in hair-thin wires made of priceless materials.

I was going to be at this for a while. I sighed, but there was an undeniable smile pulling at my lips. It was going to be a lot of work, but it would certainly be rewarding. And fun. X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X Dormul had unexpectedly shown up at my front door during the intervening days, looking to see the progress I had made on his power armor. There wasn't much to see, as I was still mapping out the power cables. All I had to show him was the skeletal exo-frame hanging from a pair of chains in my workshop.

Unfortunately, I had to give him the bad news that I wouldn't be able to work on it for a while.

"Sorry, Dormul, but something came up." I apologized, watching the dwarf's cheerily ruddy face, reddened by winter's bite, fall slightly.

"Another customer needed a rush job done on a prosthetic, so I'm going to have to bump your armor out another week or so. I have made quite a bit of progress on one of your friends' commissions, though, and that gave me a lot of inspiration for something I could implement into your gear, if you don't mind waiting a bit longer." That brought his usual smile back.

"'A friend', eh? Who was it, someone from the party? I did see you getting chummy with Kuster, that mangy ol' dog." He laughed with affection.

"Let me guess: he's got you making a pair of blades for that kid brother of his. I swear, that wolf just can't shut up about his little 'genius' kin."

"The other one, actually." I smirked, knowing it would twist his knickers something fierce to hear that I've taken on his 'fated rival' as a client.

"The elf, Luvis. I'm making a bow for him, and I think-""WHAT!?" He roared, eyes wide as he pounded my countertop with a meaty fist.

"That bloody knife-ear? It was bad enough when that beardless scum-sucker showed up uninvited to my party, but now he's whispering into your ear with that filthy forked tongue of his?! I never should have let you meet!" He slammed both palms to the table and leaned way in, as far as his diminutive frame would allow.

"Max, listen to me, man to man–I need you to do me a great favor. This is a matter of life or death."

"What?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at all the melodrama.

"Are you two gonna' fight or something? Because if you do, let me know. I would pay great money to see you in my armor fighting against someone wielding my bow. That would be awesome!" He sniffed disdainfully.

"I would never stoop so low as to bloody my hammers with his tree-hugger blood. No, the only battle between us will be upon the only battlefield that truly matters. Lov-""He said the same thing," I helpfully interrupted.

"I'm pretty sure he even said that exact phrase, verbatim."

"Regardless," he bit out, giving me a dirty look for pointing out how cute their rivalry was.

"I can't let him steal a march on me like that. If he gets that bow, then it won't be long 'till he's Leveled Up and back to nipping at my heels. What I need you to do is-""No, I will not sabotage my own work." I chuffed, knowing that he was just kidding around. Probably.

"No, no," He waved my words away.

"I don't need to cheat to beat that willowy freak. What I need you to do is make my armor so incredibly, unbelievably amazing that it makes the elf's bow look like a twig strung with grass. I need you to go all out on the… what will it be called?" He trailed off, derailing his own line of thought.

"Well, that depends on you," I explained.

"I was originally planning on putting in a hard-light projection screen into the wrist… A magical shield that can disappear or reappear at will." I quickly said in answer to Dormul's blank look.

"But, as I was working on Luvis's bow, I made a breakthrough in magmagic slug throwers, and I think I could get one hooked up to a gun pod mounted in one of the pauldrons. I'm just worried that the additional power draw may interfere with the jet propulsion system." The dwarf blinked once, then twice.

"The who-what now?" A toothy, eager grin slid over my lips, my fangs slipping out and poking the bottom of my jaw.

"Maybe it would be easier to just show you. C'mon, I got the EMST all set up for another trial run." X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X He opted for an EMST. And I owed the city another few million for reckless property damage. X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X