by David Greer
Chapter 6
“What do you mean a new monster?” Grimey couldn't believe the rumors.
“That's what I heard on my way back here.” Smythe said. The hunter had returned from his recent trade expedition. Stubble shadowed his face, his shaggy blonde hair was tied back, and heavy rings around his eyes told of a long journey. Along the way he caught a rumor that a new monster had been spotted in Woodlawn Village, which lied just south of Quarry hidden in the Woodlawn woods. Smythe had met with Grimey at the White Rock Tavern for a drink, a talk, and another drink.
“What is it?” Grimey asked, referring to this new monster.
“Don't know.” Smythe said evenly. “I heard about it while passing through the village on my way back here. You know how they are. Real quiet with outsiders. Only caught whispers here and there. From what I understand, it stalks the small village from the woods. No attacks yet. No messenger for help either.”
Grimey found the news of a new monster hard to believe. The small village wasn't like Quarry, which was constantly bothered by banshees and other monsters in the surrounding woods. Woodlawn rarely had any monster attacks to begin with. A regular monster attack was rare enough, and new monsters didn't simply pop up anywhere. The rumor was very strange. The small village enjoyed relative peace. The villagers kept to themselves and the village was isolated so much so that many outsiders didn't even know Woodlawn Village existed, let alone its exact location.
The small village remained secluded and quiet over the years. Consequently, Woodlawn's hunters were few and weren't very skilled when a problem arose. If help was needed a messenger would be sent to Quarry to ask for aid. A long standing agreement was made that Quarry hunters would not interfere with Woodlawn unless called for in fear that monsters would be led to the small village.
Grimey, however, felt if there were monsters to be hunted then there was work for him to do. Quarry was his home and Woodlawn was his neighbor and both, as far as the bearded hunter was concerned, were to be defended.
“Perhaps the messenger got lost.” Grimey suggested with a shrug.
“What if there had been no messenger to begin with. We wouldn't want to be a bother, now would we?” Smythe said as a grin slowly grew on his face.
With a toast of their mugs the two decided to head to Woodlawn the following day. The way Grimey figured, Smythe had missed out on the kingpin hunt and he was owed some kind of action.
“How was the kingpin hunt?” Smythe asked as though reading Grimey's thoughts.
“Good. Different.” Grimey said between gulps of ale.
“What do you mean different?” Smythe asked, his eyes slightly narrowed at the mention of another thing out of the ordinary. Grimey went on to explain the oddities of the kingpin hunt: The sentry banshees, the aggression displayed after the kingpin fell, and so on. He also shared that he got a new scar, which turned out to be rather small thanks to Marian's balm. Still, Grimey shared that particular piece of news with a moderate amount of pride in his voice.
The two hunters shared another drink and Grimey noticed the travel pack at Smythe's feet. The pack was worn down from years of use. The pack was also stuffed. Smythe was both a trader and a hunter. His trading expeditions took him away from Quarry for weeks at a time but he would always return with some nice profits and some useful goods. On one occasion he returned with custom-crafted arrowheads for Clyde. Another time he returned with several flasks of a foreign drink that the three hunters enjoyed for several hours. But most importantly for Grimey, Smythe brought back metal ore that the bearded hunter used to forge new axes and hatchets. Grimey, eyes fixed on the pack, wondered if there were any metals inside of it.
Smythe took notice of Grimey's eyes and smiled to himself knowing what the burly hunter was hoping for. He decided to keep the bearded hunter in suspense and talk about how sporadic the weather had been on his journey. He told of how one day the skies were perfectly clear and the next it was raining and the muddy roads slowed things down. And, of course, it was during the rainy times that monsters showed up, all easily handled by the experienced traveler and hunter. Several fell by the blade of his broadsword. Others received a throwing knife to the face. At one point four large, foul, snarling beasts surrounded him on a particularly muddy patch. The situation looked dire but Smythe told how he easily dispatched of them with his knives and sword using a flurry of attacks. The story was exaggerated, both hunters knew, but Smythe didn't care.
He went on and shared a theory that monsters were tracking him the whole way but only attacked when conditions seemed less favorable for the trader. Muddy roads made for unsure footing and rain hindered visibility. The monsters were capitalizing on the environment. This was nonsense of course because monsters didn't have that kind of sense. Both hunters knew this but Smythe still didn't care. He enjoyed watching the frustration build on Grimey's face, especially when Grimey continuously glanced at the pack. Smythe pushed things further by occasionally nudging the pack with his leg. A faint ring would sound at every nudge. Finally Grimey could take it no longer.
“All right lad, cut it. You got any ore in that sack of yours?” It came out more like an order than a question. Smythe laughed and hauled the pack onto the table. It landed with a heavy clank. Grimey's eyebrows raised with interest.
“Well my friend you are in luck.” Smythe began. “I was able to find some metal you could use but I'll need something in return. You remember what I asked for before I left?” Grimey shifted in his seat. He had remembered what the deal was but wasn't ready to keep up his end of it.
“Yes I remember lad. But eh, they won't be ready 'til tomorrow.” Grimey said.
“Well then no ore for you today.” Smythe said. Grimey was about to protest but Smythe cut him off, “I know how it'll go. If I give you the ore now you'll go straight home and begin forging some axes and whatnot. Then you'll forget all about me and you'll have all sorts of shiny new toys and I'll be left with nothing. You get your metal when I get my rocks.” Reluctantly, Grimey agreed.
That night Grimey worked tirelessly in his workshop with the marble he had excavated from the mountain a few days prior. He had broken the chunk into several smaller rocks, each about the size of his fist. Over the past few days Grimey had been using a variety of tooth chisels to delicately carve and shape each rock. When shaping was finished Grimey worked on sanding down each piece to smooth out the stones. He worked carefully with different grits of sandpaper along every curve and corner of stone until it reached the perfect smoothness throughout. Each rock was tediously sanded to the same smoothness. Grimey used customized narrow-tipped chisels with small bits of sandpaper fixed at the ends to sand down the hard-to-reach spots. His hands and fingers moved swiftly as they worked with the rocks.
When the stones were smooth and glossy, all that was left was polishing. That ore would be his by the end of tomorrow. He used a type of wax which he buffed into the rock with a cloth. Grimey also discovered that applying a chemical cocktail, which consisted of a type of acid, to the surface of the waxed marble gave it a pristine shine. These finishing touches gave the stones a unique look, feel, and shine. It was Grimey's signature polish.
With the last stone shaped, sanded, and polished Grimey set out each piece on his worktable. They glowed a soft orange from the low flame from the workshop's fireplace. The crisp night air had long turned stale as Grimey worked through the night into the early morning hours. His back had become sore from being hunched over the oak workbench for all those hours.
He sat up straight, reached overhead and stretched. Relief rushed in. And so did weariness. Grimey made his way to bed while recalling what Smythe had asked him to do: Carve some marble figures for a game that had been gaining popularity in the east. Grimey wondered what kind of game used stones shaped like castle towers, horses, towers with crowns at the top and other odd looking figures. Whatever, Grimey thought, at least they're ready so he could get his ore. He lost a few hatchets during the kingpin hunt and was looki
ng forward to forging some new ones.
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