Whymbll Kartooschtie Says Goodbye to the Blacksmith

It was like a show, so much of his job was watching. There were few rules about who or what could enter the city, and so he had to spend very little of his day actually enforcing law. Most of his hours were spent in simple observation.

His town was not a high priority target on either side of the war effort, sad little war that it was. It offered little strategic value, had no enemies, and would make for a dull posting were it not for the constant travelers who passed through to leave him with little pieces of their story. It wasn’t bad overall. The town just needed someone at its gate who could get along with the toll road bandits and was unafraid to turn away the occasional blacksmith.

Wimble Kartooschtee was just the man for the job — which had quite literally been made for him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had put so much time and effort into a day’s work. He was exhausted at the sight of the group’s return, but stood all the straighter so it could not be perceived. He was to show no weakness.

“Nope!” He called fiercely when he caught sight of the criminal blacksmith. “Not you!”

There came a long string of angry expletives from the half-dwarf, who turned right down the fork to the path that led around the town. Little did he know it would not lead him far. His friends continued to approach the gates, but the patchwork armor slowly dissolved into the horizon. The cursing went with it.

Good riddance.

His attention turned promptly to the elf and the charming dog from earlier. “What are you up to?” He asked politely, putting on his Welcome Face.

Then that friendly dog with the sweet eyes and the high voice came right up to him and asked the most horrible of things. “Do you know anything about a food store?”

Whimble gasped. He couldn’t help it, to hear such a foul thing come from such an innocent face. It was damn near more offensive than the blacksmith.

“No!” He said, putting on his Stern Face. “You don’t say that to me! Leave!”

The dog hung its head low, the fluffy white tail no longer wagging. It rushed toward where the criminal had disappeared before it, to the side of exiles.

Where it belongs.

He was more equipped to answer such vile questions from the shady looking elf who stepped up next. He wore a black hooded cloak, and looked much more like the sort of person who would get tangled up in that mess.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the ‘Food Store’?”

Whimbel lowered his voice conspiratorially, hoping that his Boss-with-a-capital-B was not listening in just then. “It is in your best interest not to mess around with that kind of stuff.”

“But—“

“Nope.”

“What if —“

“No, sir.”

“Can I just —“

Whimbell just shook his head slowly, making steady eye contact as he did so.

No out of towner anywhere can handle the truth of that place.

The elf never even finished with any of his follow-up inquiries. He just turned around and followed his friends into the sunset.

And then back.

The three were together again when they were inevitably forced to backtrack. The blacksmith was kind enough not to look at the gate or guard, but the sweet doggo eyes found him once more. They were begging for a second chance that was not forthcoming.

The group narrowly avoided bumping into the oncoming Parliamentary Guard. The collision didn’t (but almost did) take place in what he considered to be a perfect watching distance. He could see and hear everything clearly, but it was not close enough to the town he felt any professional compulsion to intervene.

Just perfect.

The elf ducked into a bush so convincingly that he vanished, but the others were addressed by the gold-plated government official. “Who goes there?”

Wimbhell actually recognized the very mediocre man, though only in passing.

“Just some travelers,” said the voice of the blacksmith, an octave lower than the voice he had spoken in before.

“Borf! Borf!”

“I am a traveler and this is my dog?” The half-dwarf tried again, to an even less convincing effect.

“Borf!”

“Is that so?” Asked the gold man. “Well, why don’t I check this list of people who are not just travelers and dogs?”

One might have thought it was an expression, or perhaps joke. These silly notions would have been squashed when he produced a long scroll of parchment from his bag, and then unfurled it dramatically, where it hit the ground. He cleared his throat. The scroll ended its existence violently with a small pop!

The guard was stunned. The three friends, most likely rebels, took off running. One of them still looked like a plant.

The gold-adorned man was about to give chase when he found his path blocked by good old Weedledee and Handlerei.

“Hey.”

“This is a toll road.”

The man in gold looked to Whmbl, who in turn put on his Indifferent Face. This was not his fight, after all. He was only there to observe, and keep blacksmiths from entering the town.