Master Armorer

The sign hanging above the smithy’s door was marked in the nonsensical scratchings that the Kiraran’s called writing. Thankfully, a smaller sign hanging from the first displayed a carving of eastern armor set beside a hammer. There were no special adornments to the signs nor any of the colorful standing banners that stood outside the more famous guild shops. Charles was here chasing a rumor and had had to shake his guides to pursue. A non-affiliated armorsmith, almost unheard of in the cultural ethos of Kirara. With a last glance at the humble, undecorated exterior (sturdy construction, he grudgingly admitted), he slid open the door.

A bell knocked gently against the top of the door as he pushed it along its runner, tinkling awkwardly. It wasn’t at all like a more practical swinging door that would send a bell ringing clearly, the timbre just a little off. Heat washed over him as he stepped inside, flowing from a doorway only half covered in a split cloth screen. A large desk occupied a significant portion of the floor next to what he could only assume was the entrance to the attached forge, its proportions just a little too large to be comfortable for him to work at. Delicate etching tools, magical crystals, and large grinding bowls covered most of the desk with reams of paper taking up a tiny sliver of one side and the front half of a strangely shaped breastplate taking up the remaining space. Armor stands displayed stunning examples of the lamellar armor favored by Kiraran warriors, each a masterpiece in their own right (although he doubted their protective capabilities when compared to good, Westrian plate).

Charles stepped fully into the shop and slid the door closed behind him, enduring that awkward bell jingle again. With the sound of the busy street muted, he could make out a low conversation drifting in from the forge over the quiet roar of a stoked fire. He waited a moment more before he determined the owner wouldn’t have heard the bell and he’d have to wait for him to come back out to the front desk. But that would let him get a good look at the craftsmanship of the armor without bias.

Twenty minutes later, he carefully set the elaborate helmet he’d been turning over back on its stand, irritation at being ignored for so long rising. He was half tempted to leave but he didn’t know when else he’d be able to be free of his minders to visit again. He took several steps toward the fabric barrier of the forge door when a shadow loomed behind it. A hulking hand, grey as stone, parted the curtain and a massive…creature ducked through the doorway. A hand that could close into a fist the size of a cannon ball, arms as thick around as he was at the waist. Leg muscles straining against silk trousers with every movement, and a heavy, many pocketed leather apron to cover the wide expanse of chest. Charles had seen Oni before, but the one before him was the largest he’d ever even heard of.

The huge Oni blinked in surprise and said something in Kiraran back through the forge door, his voice like the rumble of a rockslide. A cheerful, high and clear voice called back, a woman’s voice. Then a feminine roar of effort followed by the crash of a hammer on metal. The giant rumbled a chuckle and said something to him.

“Uh…sorry. I don’t…” A series of furious hammer impacts punctuated by more cute roars interrupted him.

“Ah. No problem,” the huge Oni said, his accent heavy. He gestured toward the cluttered desk, which Charles obligingly moved to stand in front of. The Oni did something and suddenly the deafening sound of the crashing hammer vanished. The huge man then settled behind the desk and somehow made it look tiny and cramped.

“Welcome Mako Forge! What do for you?”

Charles cleared his throat and pulled out a small bundle of paper from inside his coat. “Well, Mako, I have a requ--”

“Ha! Me? Not Mako! Tate,” the Oni pointed to himself with his thumb. “Tate.”

“Tate then,” Charles returned. He almost wished he had his translators with him. “I have a request and I heard your forge might be able to handle it.” He held out the plans (well, more like rough ideas) for Tate and watched, fascinated, as the giant deftly flipped through them. He almost didn’t notice that Tate had pulled on a pair of spectacles, making the giant of a man even more incongruous sitting behind the desk.

“Hmm.” Charles could almost feel that hum through his feet, like a mountain was thinking. “You want stop tepo. Yes?”

“Uh…tehpuh?”

Tate stared at him and then turned the plans around to tap a massive finger on the drawing of a musket.

“Tepo.”

“Oh, a gun! Yes. I want the armor to stop…tehpuh.”

“Hmm. Hmm.” Tate flipped the pages pack to the first and set them down on top of a spread of tools. “Can make. For you?”

“Yes, for me. For proof, too.”

“You want mahu?” Tate preempted Charles’s question by tapping a glass vial full of faintly glowing crystal shards. He wanted to know if he wanted the armor enchanted. “No mahu more hard.”

“Uh, no. No mah-hoo.”

“Good. Good. Can make.” Tate raised a massive fist and banged it on the wall behind him. He shouted something in Kiraran and it only took moments before the curtain parted again from the forge. Charles felt his mouth go dry and he tried not to stare. Never before had he seen a woman so…so proportioned! Her every boisterous movement as she nearly skipped to Tate seemed to be a test of her scant clothing to contain her and sent her braided red hair dancing. Her skin glistened with sweat from the forge, that perfect cream color that some Kiraran’s seemed to possess naturally and would send women back home into conniptions of envy. His mind stalled and stuttered when Tate handed the voluptuous beauty his plans. If Tate was a giant then the woman before him was a pixie. If she was more than five feet tall, he’d eat his hat. And she looked even smaller contrasted to Tate’s bulk even sitting at the desk.

He caught Tate’s grin even as the man pulled the startled woman against him, bringing her to giggling. “This Mako-chan, my wife,” he said proudly. “Best forge in Kirara.”

The woman, Mako, chattered something scolding at Tate and peeled his grip off her like he had all the strength of a toddler. She flipped through the plans more slowly than her husband, shifting side to side as she made interested noises.

“Mahu nai-no?” she asked.

“Hah,” was Tate’s reply.

That answer seemed to excite the woman and she turned to look up at Charles, eyes gleaming with anticipation. She gave him a thumbs up and tossed the plans back to Tate with an excited chatter of orders. Tate laughed and shooed her back to the forge. Charles stood in stunned silence with the laughing Oni for a long moment before the huge man said anything.

“Mako-chan very excited,” he explained needlessly.

Charles left Mako’s Forge in a slight daze, light a good amount of gold, but with the promise of a set of non-magical nor artifice plate armor that could stop bullets. He was to pick it up in a week. But as strange as the couple was, he was certain the quality of the armor would be beyond reproach. Maybe they’d consider moving to Westria? They obviously didn’t play Kiraran political games…