The borders of Multana City marked a difference of worlds, as the desert sand thinned to fertile greens and tall trees. Children played outside the gates, under protection from the guards, around the puddles, with little animals and amongst each other. Daiden immersed in the landscape, with the city in front of him. His eyes fell upon the thick, brown walls and tall gates. He felt a strong pressure from the guards as well, armoured in white and red, entirely. Daiden turned to the sun and noticed its radiance in a blur, warm yet pleasant, unlike his experience across Multana Desert.
At the entrance, Daiden showed the guards an approval from the GCQI on his trainee quest. They hesitated for a moment, eyeing the contents of the quest, but tore away to allow safe passage into the city. The guards then demanded a toll from Skunk and the others, for their entrance. Daiden waited through the exchange.
“What was that about?” asked Daiden.
“Trainees are allowed special privileges,” explained Skunk, curtly. “We’re adventurers, mercenaries, and that label is enough for the guards to request a toll for themselves. I’m sure you understand the concept of greed.”
Daiden nodded, slowly, and shifted his attention to the cityscape. He concluded it immediately, the richness of Multana City. From the way the people dressed, to the way they smiled. Even from the perspective of quality, the items on sale far outstripped the best from the shops in Mutuba Village. Daiden followed Skunk for a bit, into a long, crowded lane, with food carts on either side. He drooled at the smells, and drowned within the sounds of merry conversations, arguments, and utter gibberish. He enjoyed the city.
“Well, we don’t usually trade with the surface merchants,” said Skunk, suddenly. “Shall we part ways here?”
In a daze, Daiden shifted to find another division that separated the richness from something grim and dark. Two guards stood on either side of a wide, closed, iron gate. Daiden repeated the question in his mind and glanced at the region inside, from in between the gaps. He gazed past the moist, moss covered walls, faded with its paint, and cracked at several parts; the houses packed together, with clothes hung out to dry, and faces as bleak as the limitations around them.
“What is this place?” asked Daiden, with a loud gulp.
“Hoh? I suppose it’s your first time coming to Multana City,” said Skunk. “It’s simply a colony for the poor. But the merchants are fair and resourceful. I’ve found some very interesting things in this part of the city.
“I don’t mind showing you around.”
“If you’re still around tomorrow?” suggested Daiden, with interest. “I would’ve loved to join you right away, but I must find Kir and report my arrival to the GCQI.”
“Your blacksmith friend…” remembered Skunk. He scratched his chin, and added, “Very well. I’ll leave you a message on your Mioveroldian Page if we plan on staying here tomorrow.”
Daiden shook hands with Skunk, Slide, and Carla. He hugged Lina and then parted ways with the group.
***
Alone for the first time in a while, Daiden moved to the eastern part of Multana City. He entered yet another world within the region. The locals called it ‘Craftsman’s Cross’, with people-packed lanes, from street carts to large shops, some even two or three-floored. It stretched the distance of visibility and Daiden grinned from the experience. It reminded him of a bazaar from the Earthen Realm, with pushy merchants pressing products onto his face. He waded through a crowd of swords, spears, and daggers, then across armours – metal, leather, and more, before reaching a medium-sized shop. Atop the entrance, a board hung with artistically clear, bolded letters. It read, Ironside & Sons.
“Well, I’m definitely at the right place,” confirmed Daiden, after checking his Mioveroldian Page. On the night, after the raid against the Sand King, Daiden had contacted Kir to let him know of his situation. After an emotional exchange, the blacksmith shared his whereabouts with the former. “Let’s march on in, I suppose.”
Daiden pressed against the thick wooden door and gently nudged it open. He walked in through a thin crack and smiled at the familiarity. He remembered his first experience from Mutuba Village as well, white smoke and all else. He enjoyed every moment, from the roaring fires, to the smells of different metals, even the music from when a hammer struck the anvil. The rough men and women worked in a rush, rolling out production requests while also experimenting for their own benefit.
“May I help you with something?” a strong voice asked. Daiden snapped from his immersion and eyed the man in front of him. With his arms crossed, the blacksmith reflected a form of authority, with hard, calloused hands, a square jaw, and hair greying around the temples.
“Yes,” answered Daiden, quickly. “I’m looking for someone, I’m looking for Kir.”
Taller of the two, the blacksmith lowered to stare into Daiden’s eyes. He scratched his stubble with a strange expression, and slowly retreated. “You must be Daiden Lost, then?”
Daiden introduced himself and shook hands with the blacksmith. “Yes, that would be me!”
“I’ve heard about you from Kir,” continued the blacksmith. “You’ve bonded with the Lord of Fire, your grandfather…and yet, you continue to use the services of my son.”
Daiden gulped. “Your son?”
“Yes, Kir Ironside, that’s his name,” said the older blacksmith, cheerily. He made a friendly expression and asked, “So, what’s your secret? Why is a rich brat like you associating with my son?”
“No secret, no secret,” stuttered Daiden, hurriedly. “Kir is a good friend. And we decided to help each other become better. I can’t often use the services of my grandfather, well, due to my financial limitations. He even makes me pay a retainer fee! I’m actually not rich.”
“Your grandfather makes you pay for his services?” asked the blacksmith, cocking his head. With a theatrical scoff, he laughed out loud, holding his stomach for dramatic effect. He wiped the tears from his eyes and patted Daiden on his shoulders. “I can see the similarities. You and my son, you’re both idiots!”
Daiden added to the fun with a weak smile. “It was a sensible arrangement…”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” said the blacksmith, finally. “Sounds more like your grandfather dumped you on Kir. Not that I mind; the kid might benefit from being close with the Lord of Fire.
“Anyway, where are my manners? I’m Anvi, Anvi Ironside, the owner of this establishment!”
