Skirmish (Hagan): Wasted

Skirmish (Hagan): Wasted

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

“Bahaha! Ye remember that time ye smashed yer finger tryin’ to make a ring fer yer lass?”

The other dwarven craftsmen burst into laughter to join his friend. “Aye! What else were me fingers meant to do?! The damned thing wouldn’t fit a gnome!”

Together, the pair walked past the line of forges and workshops of their fellow crafters. Their humor was so ecstatic that even the roaring crackle of a dozen coal pits couldn’t stifle the sound. 

“Eh, look’s like Hagan’s hard at work, as usual!” the first stated sarcastically as they came upon the young blacksmith’s workstation. 

Seeing Hagan staring intently at a roll of parchment and an assortment of drawing tools, the other craftsman let out another round of laughter. As they came up to his shop, Hagan still hadn’t looked up to greet them.

“Oye, Hagan! What’re ye workin’ on?”

Without so much of a glance, Hagan replied, “Drawing.”

Each of the dwarves looked to the other in moderate frustration, disappointed that Hagan was deflating their light mood. With a pout, one of the crafters leaned closer to inspect the parchment. His face twisted in confusion and he cast a bewildered look to Hagan. “What in Bothain’s name ye buildin’, lad?”

“Armor.”

The dwarf shifted his incredulous expression to his friend, who then took a closer peek at the sketch before sporting an equal demeanor. 

“Ye . . . armor, ye said? Fer what, a giant?!”

Hagan let out a slow exhale as he leaned back in his stool, finally making eye contact with the disruptive pair. “Fer the half-orc, Bitrayuul.”

“The one that saved the senator?” one of the craftsman asked. 

Hagan raised an eyebrow in curiosity, having not heard of Bitrayuul’s feat.

A chuckle came from the other. “Do we got another half-orc roamin’ the city?”

Their joyous humor reignited, filling the area with the dwarves’ laughter once more. Once their amusement had subsided, they turned back to Hagan to inspect the drawing in more detail. 

“Lad, this be quite an undertaking, “ the first began. “If ye can get this done, ye sure ye want to waste it on a half-orc? Why not make it for two dwarves instead?”

The other nodded quickly. “Like us!”

Hagan leaned forward and scooted the parchment closer to him defensively. “He’s a good lad. If what ye say be true, and he saved one of our own, then I’ll be treatin’ him the same.” The dwarf looked up at the pair expectantly. “Now, if ye don’t mind, I’ve got me hands full.”

Each of the crafters looked irritated that Hagan would dismiss them, but began to depart regardless. As soon as they were a few paces away, they began to mutter amongst themselves. 

Hagan simply sighed and shook his head as he caught a passing few words.

“. . . never finish . . .”

“. . . impossible . . .”

Their comments slid over the blacksmith painlessly. He knew the task would be an immense undertaking. But Hagan believed his reasoning. Having learned that Bitrayuul saved a dwarven senator only solidified his decision and confirmed his impressions of the young half-orc. 

He looked down at his stack of sketches and started to sort through them. Everything had been laid out, now all that was left to do was begin forging. 

Flipping through the pages, Hagan found the list of materials he would need to purchase from the supply. For the first time, a tinge of doubt crept in and the dwarf began to reconsider his task of arming a half-orc. He rose from his seat and moved to his locked chest. After opening it, he took out a small pouch. Pulling on the twine, Hagan emptied the purse into his hand and a dozen coins spilled out. Sighing once more, the dwarf looked back to his list of necessary materials, then back to the coins. All his savings would be depleted if he chose to take on the project.

Hagan knew Tormag would reimburse him, but he still needed to eat during the creation process. Silently, he slipped the coins back into the pouch and slipped it into his pocket. Then, taking his procurement list, the young blacksmith took off for the ore stores.