In all her years spent in Sky Peak, this is Astrid’s first year getting to actually participate in its annual winter-proofing activities. After all, it’s tough to weatherproof something you don’t have. In her case, it was a house. Last year, she missed the pre-winter activities since she was out and about adventuring. This time, after a long and busy year, Astrid happily signs up to climb up on roofs and do her favorite thing: hammering.

So, after gathering up materials, tucking her tools into her many pockets of her coveralls, and donning her elbow-length leather gloves, Astrid heads to town for the day to continue her work on reshingling rooftops. It’s a strange thing, to be a welcome face rather than one constantly met with disgust or disdain. This isn’t something she dwells on though and is instead just happy she can help make a difference rather than wandering the streets and “getting in the way.” No, Astrid has built quite the life for herself in Sky Peak, something extremely contradictory to her past experience. If she has a functional roof over her head, then others deserve the same.

Behind Astrid walk two constructs: an eight foot metal behemoth of a golem and a smaller, human sized metal construct. The larger one has thinly etched magical formulas running along its surface that are barely visible unless the light catches them just right. This one is simple in design, somewhat gorilla shaped whether on purpose or on accident, but its head mismatches the rest of its simple metal body. The head looks similar to the head of the smaller construct. Both of them have glowing red eyes, likely glass lenses with some magical light behind them. Their faces are finely detailed to look something like a human face while also being designed like the helmet from a suit of armor. While the larger golem lumbers, the human-sized one imitates the walk of its likeness though with a more mechanical flare that somehow suggests it is the clumsier of the two metal creatures.

Neither of the constructs are unfamiliar to the residents of Sky Peak. Whether they like them or not – heck, whether they like Astrid and her oddities or not – they’re here to stay. And today, they’re here to help.

Astrid strolls up to the codgy dwarf with a scraggly beard who typically runs the annual weatherproofing activities. “Mornin’, Dorgom!” she says chipperly with a smile.

“Mornin’, Miss Stormstone,” the grouchy dwarf replies. “Workin’ on that stretch a’ houses over there today.” With a thick sausage of a finger, Dorgom points out one string of homes off the main street.

With a little salute, Astrid says, “Got it!” As she starts off, she pauses and turns back to Dorgom. “Oh! We got any new volunteers today?” Astrid asks. Part of her hopes to see some familiar faces in town, but she’s more than happy to meet new ones.

Dorgom scratches his beard while he thinks. "Aye, one of 'em's that way," he says, pointing down the street. 

"I'll go say hi!" Astrid says, hurrying off with her constructs not far behind. 

---

Pets/minions:
Buttfellow - Arcanatek Researcher golem
Charles - Scarecrow Squire

Quest details:

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Storm Proofed
Participants: Two or more
Location: Dragon's Cradle (Sky Peak)
Post Requirements: 4 posts per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown
Description: Those in the Cradle know winter can be especially rough for them, as the storms above don't cease just because the air has cooled, often times mixing with snow or rain, making them much more frustrating. Because of this, locals have made it a tradition to fix up homes, businesses, and establishments, getting them ready for both the winter storms and decrease in temperature. Sky Peak has an open invitation for anyone wanting to help in this endeavor. The job is simple: assist locals in weather proofing their homes with materials such as new lumber, pitch, shingles, and tools needed to do so.

His eyes glared high into the tree. Nope. Higher. Nah. Higher. There it was. The hammer he'd been given as part of his volunteer duties. A sigh escaped his lips alongside the rather inescapable stench of ale. Was he exhausted? Maybe. Did he forget this was happening today? More than likely. Did he spend most of his night drinking and now he finds himself at a weird purgatory between sober and drunk? Most definitely. If he was a little more sober he could just climb the tree and grab it. If he was a little more drunk he could swallow his pride and ask for help. Since neither were true he only knew one way to get the thing down. If only he had his spear.

Without much more thought Quincy stood up like a corpse just ripped from the jaws of the underworld, and yes he was laying on his back on the side of the house he'd fallen off of, brushing the dirt from himself. Why did his back hurt? He just needed something long and stick-like. Looking high and low around the home he was working on quickly began to feel like a waste of time. As the idea of asking for help became more and more likely there it was, a broom broken into two pieces lying in a man sized disturbance in the dirt. The broom had broken just so that there was a long rod and a piece with the bristles on it. A little shorter than he'd like but it would do. Holding the broken broom in his hand felt odd and familiar all at once. The weight was off.

“Weights just…off.”

His hand glided across the wooden surface, his fingertips and palm taking account of every nick, groove, and imperfection that could be found on his temporary friend. Taking a solid stance the handle and Quincy began to become well acquainted as the two conversed with one another in a fashion that was almost beaten into his DNA. His stance changed in an instant. As his feet planted shoulder width apart and his ‘spear’ cradled just under his right arm as the two almost coiled around one another a sharp steady breath left him.

For a moment he was a younger man, his ‘spear’ was still his spear, and things were the way they once were. His left arm suddenly jutted out and extended slowly the tension in his muscles carefully contained. Almost lazily, completely contrasting the earlier display, the ‘spear’ moved clockwise drawing a circle in the ground before carefully resting on his arm. The conversation was over, the two were one, and this ‘spear’ would pierce the heavens. Within the blink of an eye his stance shifted again. His legs widened, his butt barely grazing the earth below, and the ‘spear’ kissing his shoulder. With only a beat between the movements the ‘spear’ left his hand and began to cry upward into the heavens. Standing there staring up into the sky Quincy sniffed.

“Mighta overdid it.”

In this part of the village, people are hard at work with repairs. Days with decent weather are few and far between in this part of the world, and it's all hands on deck to be ready for the winter thunder storms that are soon to come. The air is rife with the chorus of hammers against nails, axes splitting wood, and saws trimming boards. It's quite busy, and everyone has a job to do.

So when Astrid sees the bizarre display, a dance rather, of this seemingly sleepless man alone in the alley, she takes pause only to see him fling the broomstick far into the air, skewering through the tree's branches and sailing off to Avasha knows where. Somewhere a couple of blocks over, someone cries out in surprise and pain, presumably having been hit with the descending stick. Well, if they're not too hurt to yell, then they're probably fine.

"What were ya aimin' at?" Astrid asks curiously from the end of the alley, the two constructs looming behind her like cautious bodyguards. She wonders if a squirrel or bird stole something and stowed it in the tree or if the man is simply too out of sorts from a few drinks to be thinking clearly. She can't rule anything out.

A few nails lay scattered on the ground around what appears to be a dirt angel in the alley. Astrid's head tilts curiously then her eyes glance up to see the unfinished roof just above them. Had the man fallen and gotten a concussion??

"Wait, are ya alright? Did ya break anythin'?" prepared for workplace accidents, Astrid starts to dig around in her bag for a healing potion just in case.

The rustling sound of the broom handle bursting through the tree was followed by an untimely wail. That had to be unrelated. Waiting a moment there was a snap. It wouldn’t be long now. To be fair it had been a while since he’d done something like this, and definitely wasn’t expecting an audience. A low sigh escaped his lips as he heard what sounded like the voice of a child.

“Tree branch.” His voice was low and his gaze never met her as his eyes stayed dead on the tree. Then softly at first there was a thump, then another, and another, and as more kept occurring they grew louder and more rapid until finally with a solid thunk a hammer landed at the base of the tree. With just a moments hesitation and another sigh Quincy lurched forward and went to grab the hammer.

“Broom broke I guess. Back hurts a bit.” As his knees bent and back curved to get in the prime position to grab the fallen item that same pain he’d felt early came over him as he paused mid reach. With a sharp breath and the willpower of a drunken lout he pushed through the nail sized pain in his back and grabbed the hammer. The nail in his back was deeper than anyone would like but with the right amount of pain tolerance and enough alcohol just about anyone could ignore it.

“You should be careful kid, someone's throwin spea…I mean there’s broom handles fallin out the sky. Wouldn’t want you to get…When did they move statues into the ally.” The words came from him as if the voice hadn't just watched him hurl the handle. There was a bit of a chuckle in his voice as he spoke until his eyes having finally met the owner of the voice. It wasn’t hard to say he was truly bewildered by her retinue.

“A tree branch?” Astrid echoes, confusion clear on her face. She can’t imagine why someone would throw a stick at a tree branch. That is, until she hears the thumping of the hammer falling from its place nestled within those very tree branches. The search through her bag comes to a pause as her eyes follow the hammer until it lands in the dirt. Then she glances up at the roof, down at the hammer, over to the nails, and she decides that yes, this man certainly did fall off the roof.

As Quincy leans down to collect the hammer, complaining of his back, Astrid can see exactly why. “Aye, I can see why it’d be hurtin’! There’s a nail stickin’ outta ya!” Losing whatever hesitation she had to approach him, Astrid walks right on up to Quincy to get a better look. “I’m gonna pull it out, ‘kay?” Though, she doesn’t exactly wait for an answer before hooking two fingers around the nail and rather carelessly yanking it out with a sharp motion.^[1]

A doctor Astrid is not, but that doesn’t stop her from being prepared. With one hand, she’s holding the nail and in the other, she’s slapping him on the wound, which sends a wave of healing warmth across the pained area and sealing the wound.^[2] This healing warmth also soothes aches and pains and bruises that Quincy may have received from whatever situation left him on the ground, be it a fall or not.

“How’s that?” she asks, stepping back and finally giving the man space. It finally registers that he mentioned broomsticks are falling out of the sky, and the kid scrunches up her freckled face to give him another confused look somewhat tainted with disbelief. “A’ course they’d be fallin’ from the sky with folks like you throwin’ ‘em at trees.” She doesn’t acknowledge that someone definitely got hit based on the scream. That’s something she can deal with later.

One of the “statues,” the smaller of the two constructs, steps forward clumsily. “Report: this unit would like to issue a correction. It is not a “statue,” but rather a complex assembly of mechanics and magic.” A slit on its face, something indicative of a mouth, lights up with each syllable as an inhuman voice speaks. The closest approximation to its sound might be some amalgam of metal instruments attempting to mimic human speech.

---

1. Bull’s Strength
2. Minor Healing - Comrade’s patch

Was there an echo in the alley? A sudden feeling of deja vu overcame him as he heard the words ‘tree branch’ again. Was it just me or was this kid kind of…loud? Wait. The kid had said something about a nail? In the time of that one question he felt something? Definitely a hand. A sharp pain then warmth. The pain was gone but the initial reaction wasn’t. “What in the uncaring!” Without a moment's notice he turned on his heels to face the little scamp.



With every fiber of his being he held back the initial urge to shake the child and instead slowly placed a hand on her shoulder with a firm grip. “Please refrain from doing sudden things that cause me physical pain.” with that he lifted his hand and patted the little one on the head. She may have meant well but that lack of warning left an old dog to attempt old tricks. “Did you expect me to climb that tree to get it, I just fell off a roof. One fall per day is my limit.”



He knew in his hearts of hearts that climbing that tree in his current state would end the same way the roof did but with far more unsatisfactory results. Perhaps even a broken back, not something he was planning on. Just when things couldn’t get any worse the statue moved. The statue also spoke. With a quick step back Quincy looked at it quizzically. “Could you always talk? Wait can the other one talk and move too?”

The man’s reaction is completely understandable to Astrid. People don’t tend to like things being suddenly yanked out of them with no warning, but trying to remove things slowly usually is much more painful. In her mind, this method is the most reasonable, which means she doesn’t give any warning and just does. It’s obvious he’s upset about it, but she appreciates his restraint nonetheless and instead of offering him an unimpressed expression, she smiles brightly instead, only darkened by a singular missing tooth that maybe should have really grown back in by her age were it missing for any natural reasons.

“Sorry,” she says simply. Her tune is apologetic but not remorseful. “Figured it’d hurt less that way.” Then she looks up at the tree again and at the dusty man in front of her. “Well, ya could’ve asked someone ta get it, but seems like ya had an easier time throwin’ the broomstick up there. Yer a good shot. Far as fallin’ off a roof… Maybe don’t do that?” There are plenty of ways to avoid falling off a roof, and from the look of it, Quincy did not do something as simple as tying himself off to something. Maybe he was trying to learn to fly?

Astrid turns and hands the bloody nail to the smaller construct as it approaches, which the construct takes and tucks away into a storage bin attached to its back. “Aye, Charles can talk,” she says. “Buttfellow, not so much. I ain’t figured out how ta get speech workin’ fer him since his head don’t match the rest a’ him. Bit a’ mechanical bit an’ some formulae I can’t get quite right yet.”

The smaller construct, presumably Charles, nods his head robotically in affirmative then steps past the two of them to collect the scattered nails on the ground. Astrid watches him for a moment to make sure he doesn’t fall over (something his unbalanced stride threatens with each step), then she looks at Quincy again and holds out a hand clad in an elbow-length glove to shake.

“Nice ta meet ya, I’m Astrid Stormstone! Technically a Lady, but mostly just a kid.”

Somehow the girls apology felt as if he was eating sweets for breakfast. His belly was full but he didn’t feel much in the way of nutrition, there was no substance. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t aspiring to be some type of leech. She’d be too good at it. Well at least the compliment on his throw felt genuine. The kid felt kinda frank and uncouth, well she was a kid, but shouldn’t the be a mother somewhere shushing her and teaching her what's not okay to blurt out?

“Ask who to get it, I don’t know if you noticed but this isn’t the city I call home, and you’re the first soul I’ve seen since I started working on the roof. ALSO that throw was better than pretty good and it was still awful. The form was off slightly. If I wasn’t so dr…” he sighed and collected his thoughts “That wasn’t a spear. In a better state of mind and with a proper spear I can do far better. I only hit the branch on the rise of the throw because those factors weren’t right. With a proper spear I’d hit it on the fall. Far less dangerous that way too.” Explaining this was sobering, annoying, yet somehow fulfilling he couldn’t explain it if he was asked too. Also the explanation allowed him to gloss over the roof thing.

“Charles and Buttfellow? An interesting pair of names. Not sure if I would have named them the same, but to each their own.” He scratched his beard as began to eyeball Buttfellow, the thing did look kind of odd. Maybe she’d figure the problem out and fix it one day, though one talking statue was enough. As she extended her arm he looked at her hand and raised an eyebrow. Her a lady?

Guess kids play pretend everywhere they go. A laugh escaped his throat as he firmly grasped her hand in his. “Well met, ‘Lady Stormstone’. I’m Quincy Demir. Technically an ignoble Dragoon, but mostly just a lu..lucky fellow for having crossed paths with such a kind hearted soul.” He’d forgotten himself for a moment there. This was still a kid after all, and with an adorable gap tooth smile. Her parent’s probably had a hard time saying no to that face. Wait “Where is your mother? I don’t think it’s wise for you to be wandering so far away from her.”

Astrid isn’t trying to come across as snot-nosed or obnoxious to Quincy. In fact, she’s really just trying to be helpful and understand the situation. Part of her seeming attitude might just be that she’s so used to being around people who are a bit drunk or aggressive that she tends more to speak plainly because, well, being a child means that not a lot of people give her the time of day if she doesn’t show a lick of confidence and at least pretends to mean business. Though, being underestimated is sometimes fun because that means she gets to prove someone wrong about her.

Well, there’s lots a’ folks that’d be happy ta help, she wishes she could say, and she starts to open her mouth to say as much, but she stops. After all the time Astrid spent on the streets by herself here in Sky Peak, she can’t say that and really mean it. Who knows how long the man was lying on his back before she showed up? Sure, this alley is a little more remote, but still, surely someone noticed. Or maybe they just thought he was passed out drunk.

“Um, well, ta be fair, most folks are workin’ a couple streets over today,” she finally says. “Sorry no one came ta check on ya sooner. I’ll tell Dorgom ta keep a better eye on his volunteers. Ain’t often we get folks from outta town who wanna help out, so since yer not from here, I’ll be the first ta thank ya.”

Looking Quincy up and down, she doesn’t spot a spear on him, but the way he speaks, he seems to know his way around one. She’s seen Leni use a spear, and Leandros can use a halberd. Now that she thinks about it, those are similar to the lance she got from the WEF, which she hasn’t even tried yet because she spent a week looking at the mechanics to figure out how it works exactly.

Astrid really should practice with that kind of thing. It’s just so different to a hammer that she doesn’t prefer it.

“So, ya didn’t use a spear instead..?” she asks, somewhat hesitant to set the man off on a rant again.

Looking over her shoulder at the lumbering Buttfellow then past Quincy at Charles diligently collecting nails, Astrid says, “Well, I didn’t name Charles. That’s the name fer his programmin’, which is basically just ‘Babysit Astrid.’ I named Buttfellow after a unit called Buffalo that tried ta kill me. That’s his head on Buttfellow now. Figured I could mock him after everythin’.” She shrugs a little. Maybe she has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, but she thought it was funny.

Astrid’s grip on Quincy’s hand is surprisingly firm despite the small size of her hand. Of course, she’s very comfortable and well-practiced with handshakes, but she also could probably crush his hand if she wanted to. The very same arm could punch a hole through a wall if she wanted to. “I dunno what an ‘ignoble Dragoon’ is, but nice ta have a name fer ya all the same.”

The question of where Astrid’s mother is, however, sends a wave of sour sadness through her. Her expression falls only slightly as she tries to play it off. It isn’t that this question doesn’t come up or hasn’t come up before, it’s just that usually it comes up when she’s running around across the world, and they typically just ask where her parents are. With some tired resolve, Astrid says, “Well, I’m gonna be real honest, Mister Quincy, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today. Me da’s at home though, probably makin’ cookies fer when I get back.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a fist-sized stone with etchings of magical formula across the surface. “I can talk ta him with this whenever I want, so he ain’t gotta worry much.”

Quincy stretched out, extending fully. He had to admit his back did feel better but he’d never say that out loud. His back cracked multiple times as he adjusted himself soft groans of relief left him with each pop. Falling off a roof wasn’t what he intended to do today. How did he fall off anyway? His mind began to wonder as the little lady was speaking, as he noticed his mind adrift he figured he’d better listen. He caught the latter half of what she said to be fair.

“No one needs to keep a better eye on me, I was fine. Also don’t thank me. If i was doing this for thanks I'd have fallen lower than just that spot on the ground. I happened to be in town, there’s a lot of roofs, and you lot could use some help. That’s it.” His town was a bit harsh but with an odd twist of sincerity. He scratched under his beard as he was reminded of the duty he had with that sentence. His eyes began to dart left and right; the ladder had to be here somewhere.

“Don’t have a spear anymore. Sold it for…medicine.” A wave of shame wept over him like the morning dew on a field of lavender flowers. He’d really called it medicine? The poison he dumped down his throat to keep himself from having to feel the truth. The drink was as much medicine as candy was to a child after they scraped their knee, a distraction from the real issue. A way to treat his symptoms.

“...” Audible silence as he processed Buffalo into buttfellow. She had the humor of a twelve year old, maybe a ten year old. Quincy stopped everything he was doing and looked to face the girl, an eyebrow raised higher than the mountains. “You never heard the fairytale of the great and noble Dragoon? I thought everyone got told that one as a kid. That story is why I chose the spear over the sword.”

When she spoke of her mother he could feel the change in mood, her voice changed, and her words resonated with him far more than it should have. Turning from her he took a moment to collect himself. If eyes were the windows to the soul his had become dull, lusterless, and to grime caked to see through. In that moment they became stained glass murals of his pain. No longer just a window but now also telling the truth of his soul. A deep breath of fresh air entered his lungs, the cool crisp air steeling him, and his eyes once again lost their luster before he turned back to the child. “I don’t have a mother either, little one, I’m sorry you had to go through that at such a young age. I wish I had some words of wisdom for you but unfortunately I have no means to navigate these seas myself.” His voice cracked only once before his hand instinctively began to reach for the flask he kept his breast pocket but he stopped himself. Not in front of a child. He could bear this pain for a moment.

There’s more Astrid could have said, but she’s gotten accustomed to shortening what she has to say when she notices an adult tuning her out. It’s an unfortunate skill to have developed, but at least it saves her from wasting her breath. She gives Quincy a doubtful look when he says he doesn’t need thanks. “Just cause ya didn’t do somethin’ fer thanks don’t mean ya don’t deserve ta hear it,” she says. “So hear it again. Thanks fer helpin’ us out while we’re busy.”

“Medicine, huh?” Astrid says with clearly no ounce of belief in that statement whatsoever as she gives him an up and down glance. She knows the smell of booze, and she’s dealt with drunk folks on the street basically her whole life because the superstitious drunken dwarves are the once least capable of holding their tongues. They like to dish out abusive words more than any other type of dwarf in the world. Few ever apologized, but she’s learned not to hold it against them simply because holding a grudge doesn’t really do much for her. Besides, she’s in a better place now.

Admittedly, Astrid did not hear many stories of anything outside of dwarven culture as a young child, and since being left on the streets, she heard even fewer. Luckily, her adopted father being a minstrel means she’s gotten to hear plenty, but this time with the addition of a magical lights show that makes things infinitely more interesting. Plus, it helps build his confidence in storytelling, so she’s always happy to hear anything he has to say.

“No, I ain’t ever heard it,” she says with a shrug. “But if ya wanna tell it ta me while we work, I’m happy ta listen. I can take it back ta me da so he can tell other folks who ain’t heard it too! Me ma told me a few stories about dwarves with hammers, so I s’pose that’s part a’ what made me wanna take up a hammer a’ me own. Both fer smithin’ an’ fightin’.”

The long silence between Astrid and Quincy while the man processes a moment of pain and grief softens Astrid’s expression. She understands that expression. One that has a lot of things hiding behind it that are difficult to talk about. It’s one she’s felt on her own face plenty of times. “I appreciate it nonetheless,” she says. “It’s tough, but the best thin’ anyone can do is just keep goin’.” That’s something she wishes she did herself instead of sitting around on the same bench for half a decade or more. Then again, sitting on that bench led her to people she loves and cares about dearly, so it’s not so bad.

“Um, anyway, if ya wanna work together today on the roofs, I’m happy ta keep chattin’ an’ listen ta yer story ‘bout the dragoons. Never heard a’ that. Sounds a bit like a dragon, so… I dunno, maybe it’s got somethin’ ta do with the drake riders in the WEF? The old geezers like ta talk themselves up big so if any of ‘em mentioned somethin’ like that, I probably ain’t listen.”

Does the intention matter in ones actions, or is it just the action itself that matters? For a moment there was a clarity that washed over him. The question he would normally hold within and ask himself felt a need to be voiced. The child’s answer mattered to him. “If a thief gives away a basket of bread to a homeless family to get rid of the evidence so he can’t be caught, was what he did really worth thanks?” He tried his best to give Astrid an example as opposed to just voicing the question outright. Hoping she would find the delivery easier to process than the raw question. He knew his answer, his help was only available because he was avoiding something else altogether.

The way she said medicine caused his own guilt to increase tenfold. If only he could turn this guilt into a spear he would fell any foe that attempted to look in this young girl’s direction. His head hung low. He couldn’t help but feel stagnant. His mother was the wind that blew his sails. Something so vital, yet at the same time so present that all the small things could go unnoticed. When the winds die how does one sail?

He cleared his throat. He could never hide his emotions around children well, maybe it was just he never felt the need to. “You go find the ladder and I’ll begin telling you the tales I heard." He needed a moment, maybe more to collect himself. Though he'd give himself only half of that. The moment was all that he needed to focus on. In the moment nothing else mattered besides the roofs and tales of the dragoons. "I suppose the drake riders are where it came from. I never made the connection between the two of them. Though it would make sense. In some tails they rode drakes, in others dragons themselves. Maybe these were just made up for me. The stories are less a linear tale and more monumental moments. For example Tarsis the Highest. Said to be able to leap on his Drake mid flight in a single bound.” The more he told the story the more his mood would improve, a warmth would begin to fill his chest that for once didn’t come from the drink.

Quincy’s question catches Astrid off guard, admittedly. Her brow furrows heavily while she considers the answer, and she replays the question in her mind a few times to be sure she understands it. These kinds of somewhat moral conundrums are interesting to her. They make her think and consider situations she might not have in the first place, and being someone who sometimes needs to make decisions that can impact others, they’re helpful exercises – ones that Count Thadda poses to her every so often to make sure she’s still up to the tasks she tends to take on. This particular question is a new one.

“Well,” she starts, a thoughtful tune in her voice. “I s’pose the thief could a’ given the bread ta anyone ta get rid a’ the evidence. The folks he dumped it off with don’t know he stole it, so they’d probably be real grateful fer it an’ say thanks regardless ‘cause all they know is they needed somethin’ ta eat, an’ that person gave it to ‘em.”

Astrid looks at Quincy with a somewhat studious expression while she considers what he wants from her by asking. “Now, I s’pose stuff changes if they get caught with it. That situation could go all kinds a’ ways, an’ how it goes depends on the folks they’re dealin’ with an’ what kinda day they had. But that weren’t part a’ the question.”

At the mention of the ladder, Astrid turns her attention to Charles. “Charles, can ya find a ladder fer Mister Quincy?” she says, which the construct obediently obliges by leaving the alley and going to investigate where to get a ladder. For a kid who seemingly intends to work on the roofs, Astrid does not seem to have a ladder herself. Instead, she evaluates the building they need to work on then takes the ladder Charles brings and sets it solidly against the building. “Thanks.”

Then Astrid fearlessly ascends it and walks with apparent ease and no fear of slipping on the roof despite the steep angle. In fact, with each step, her feet seem to stick to the surface briefly before being pulled free.^[1] “Mister Quincy, do ya need somethin’ ta keep ya from slippin’ off again?” she asks as he gets acquainted with the new ladder, leaning over the edge of the roof to ask as much. “I’ve got a grapplin’ hook or Buttfellow can set up some frost nets, they’re just real cold if ya do land on ‘em.”

Besides worrying for his safety, she gets right to work on the roof, handling her hammer with a practiced hand while setting replacement shingles in place. Charles, well versed in this song and dance after a few days, retrieves the necessary materials to leave at the base of the ladder for them. After Astrid runs out, she walks over to the ladder only for additional nails and shingles to be passed to her by what looks like… another one of her??^[2] She draws no attention to this while listening to Quincy’s stories, commenting from time to time.

“Seems ta me folks get dragons an’ drakes confused sometimes,” she giggles. “Which, I understand. They’re similar beasts, ‘specially the ones the riders in the WEF have ‘cause they’re almost as big as a dragon sometimes.”

His line about monumental moments gets her thinking that yeah, she’s never really heard a story of an adventurer that includes the mundane day-to-day activities. Well, those don’t exactly draw crowds, she supposes.

---

1. Spider Silk Boots
2. Replicant

“So would you thank the thief? That wasn’t part of the question but if you want to look at the other angles ask yourself; would the guards that gave chase? Would the baker that needed that bread be sold to make ends meet? Would..“ His sentence was halted by a slight burp. He’d made his point either way he felt and left that for her to ruminate over. It probably went without saying that he was a little embarrassed to meet her rather serious look with a burp that reeked of ale. He waited for the moving statue to bring the ladder and watched carefully as the young girl climbed, his muscles instinctively tightening ready to pounce in case she fell.

Watching with a quizzical look on his face Quincy was truly baffled by the way she was moving on the rooftop. To be honest it really didn’t make sense at all. He was more shocked she hadn’t already tumbled walking that. “Yeah…I’ll take the grappling hook…how in the name of the uncaring are you doing that?” His question was asked as he made his way up the ladder. He slowly began to work as he waited for the grappling hook from his young companion. As he turned to grab some more materials he was once again shocked to find another girl that looked just like her.

“By chance do you have a twin sister, or maybe I’m just seeing double?” What was with the kids today? Maybe it was the drink he thought, hoping for this to have an easy explanation. Though with the combination of healing magics, moving statues, and the way that she was walking on the roof nothing was really normal with this child. “True. Though sometimes the details are lost through time. What was a dragon yesterday is a drake today, and what was a salamander days before that is tomorrow’s dragon. Though I think it’s better to just let the imagination run wild with stories like these. Why try to lessen the tale? Like that of the great Kassim.” He purposely let the name hang in the air allowing the impatience and anticipation of youth to do its job.

Astrid raises an eyebrow at Quincy, then she stifles a laugh when his burp interrupts him. As someone who would have taken the bread and eaten it despite the consequences of how the bread was acquired, Astrid thinks that she would have said thanks. It’s easier to handle things when your belly is full than when it screams in pain. She always did her best not to steal, but whenever she was desperate enough, she definitely targeted the especially rude or rich folks who wouldn’t notice so much. Usually, Astrid opted for garbage bins and catching small rodents and birds since handouts weren’t so common, unfortunately.

Still, she’d absolutely steal from rich folks again. Her adventures participating in the prior year’s Red Rogue nonsense, despite how badly they turned out, have not changed that she would do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Besides, Quincy didn’t say why the thief stole the bread. Maybe it was to do a kindness all along. “Every story’s got a different angle,” she says simply before climbing the ladder.

When he agrees to the grappling hook, Charles’ arm moves at an unnatural angle to retrieve one from the storage bin attached to his back. The construct then offers it to the hungover man. It’s a simple pronged hook attached to a rope that Astrid acquired long ago but has managed to never actually need. Still, she prefers to be ready for every situation, and half of Charles’ entire function is to hold additional items for her.

“Huh? This?” Astrid says, standing on one leg at an angle that should definitely cause her to fall. Putting her foot back down with a grin, she squats and prods at the boots. “Me boots were made with spider silk, so they let me walk on walls an’ ceilin’s an’ whatnot like a spider. Real helpful fer roof work, let me tell ya.”

It’s been a while since one of her duplicates has surprised someone, and Astrid once again stifles a laugh. “Ah, no, I ain’t got any blood siblin’s,” she says. “That’s just a duplicate. Bstrid!”

The duplicate, presumably Bstrid, perks her head up over the edge of the roof again. “Aye?? Did ya forget somethin’?”

“Nah,” Astrid says, “I’m just showin’ him yer real. Think he’s still got a bit a’ drink in ‘im.”

“Well if he wants ta see double, just put yer armor on,” Bstrid says before descending the ladder out of sight. It’s a good point that the Diplopia Armor does make someone see strange, ethereal after images, but Astrid isn’t looking to confuse Quincy even more yet.

While they settle in to work on repairs, Astrid muddles over Quincy’s words. It’s true that things can be vastly over or under-exaggerated for stories, and it does tend to make them more interesting. A salamander being a dragon hits her particularly close to home as she remembers the time she saw an anole on the side of the house and declared war on it with her stick and pot lid. All the shouting drew her mother’s ire, so the battle became a quiet one, but it was, to her, a dragon nonetheless.

“Well, are ya just gonna stop there or tell me about Kassim?” she says with a teasing smile.