Lok'tar muttered to himself as he walked through the streets of Teranok, trying hopelessly to remember everything that he was supposed to do for this job. He abruptly stopped, snuck a peek at the paper that he was given and the crudely drawn figure on it, muttered his mantra again and continued on his way. About five minutes later, he repeated the process until he finally reached the outskirts of town. A while later, he reached the gates of a wall and behind it, a large building that reeked of smoke and metal.
An unusual thing happened when he made his usual proclamation as the land's greatest hero at the local pub – another hero of renown walked up to him and offered him a chance to join with him on a quest for glory. Lok'tar was completely thrilled at the prospect and immediately accepted. The man, whose name had been scrawled on the paper told the orc that he needed to go to this place and get some supplies for their journey. He was supposed to talk to the...some kind of man with the number four and ask for a bag of the stuff that he needed. All he had to do was use his name and there would be no problems at all.
He looked back at the paper and muttered once more...confident in the name, he pushed open the metal gates and with a great, protesting squeal, yielded to his push.
He was now in front of the great Cutlery Works of Teranok.
The origin of the Cutlery Works has always been shrouded in a bit of mystery. Some speculate that it was originally a woodworking shop set up by a few local foresters that wanted somewhere more permanent to process their materials and sell their wares. Unfortunately, due to the fact that this town was close to a desert, the legend was just that – merely a legend. Although many believe that there was forests here before some cataclysm caused the rapid desertification of the area ages ago. However, the proprietors of the Cutlery Works loved the tale, causing them to use an oak tree as the manufacturing mark that was imprinted on each piece that left the foundry.
The more modern history of the Cutlery Works began as a place for those who had extra slag and metal to dump off their waste that couldn't be used for any other purposes. Being on the outside of town, the barely functioning woodworking shop became a place for local blacksmiths to dump their reject metal. Being a tournament town, there was a lot of the stuff and it began to pile up. Eventually, the shop just filled up with metal and they were running out of space. One of the owners of the shop hired a local blacksmith to start melting down the metal and turning it into useful household items, due to the fact that it wouldn't be strong enough to use for arms and armor.
The rest, as they say, is history...
Lok'tar looked up at the structure in front of him. It was a bizarrely shaped sprawling structure made of stone and brick that would be about two stories high. There were smokestacks and chimneys bellowing different shades, colors and quantities of fumes and exhaust sticking out of the roof and walls at strange angles and orientations. The walls were covered with the mix of mud, sand and terracotta indicative of the architecture of the area. There were a few other outbuildings dotting the fenced in area, each with some purpose related to the main one that was totally lost on our hero. It definitely left a footprint on the land, as litter, debris and metal bits were strewn everywhere, especially close to the buildings themselves.
The orc managed to get to the door of the main building before having to check his piece of paper again. When suddenly the double doors flew outward – the sheer surprise of it all knocking the orc on his butt. A rider on horseback with a large, jingling bag bearing the tree-shaped icon went thundering out of the doors, took a sharp right turn and went out behind the main factory, likely to another gate to set off on a delivery. A short man robed in clothes that looked functional, yet somehow more impressive than a common factory worker should have, looked down at Lok'tar and said, “Orc! Get back to work! I don't pay you to sit around in the front of the factor all day! Go man the vats!”
To which Lok'tar responded “I'm not working for you!”
“Like hell you're not! Guards!”
“I'm here to get supplies for a very famous man. His name is on this paper!”
Knowing that orcs were not the smartest bunch, seeing an orc with a piece of paper to state his business was not horribly surprising. It would likely be a large order because orcs came when bulk was needed more than brains. There would be no money today; it would all be on account. Cursing under his breath at that prospect, the man ushered him in, chuckling a bit to himself.
“Don't worry son, there's no guards today – stupid tournament has got 'em all three sheets to the wind. Good riddance I say anyways. Couldn't have paid them today as it is.”
They walked into the main building and walked over to a desk about ten meters away from the door. The man opened a large ledger and said, “Who are you here for?”
Lok'tar looked at his well worn sheet of paper again, muttered to himself and with a very even, practiced voice, stated calmly, “I'm here for Mr. Stick.” He facepalmed. He had screwed it up. He wasn't supposed to call the hero “Mister”. People would only know him by his full name.
“Excuse me?”
“I'm here for A. Stick.” Lok'tar winced again. That wasn't it either. Something was a bit off. The man was totally confused.
“A stick? You must need the woodworking shop – we don't do that anymore...”
“No,” Lok'tar insisted, his voice getting louder with the frustration he felt, “I have Mr. Stickup's paper.” With that, the man behind the ledger started to get a little bit worried and it showed on his face.
“Let me see the paper, son.” He slowly, gingerly stuck out his hand.
“I'VE GOT IT!” And the orc was visibly impressed with himself. He unfurled the paper, showing a crudely drawn stick man in charcoal. He joyously waved the paper in the man's face “THIS IS A. STICKUP AND I NEED ALL OF HIS STUFF!”
The clanging, hissing and miscellaneous working noises that permeated places like this suddenly stopped for a brief moment. There was the sound of air escaping a few bellows near the back, but the clanging of the metal workers, the hammers and anvils and grinding of metals and gems all stopped for a brief moment in time.
The man at the desk looked on in shock – he was being held up by a half-wit orc with a club and a piece of paper!
The moment in time having passed, a scream rang out from one of the female workers who threw up her arms and bolted for the nearest exit in the side of the building. Most of the others followed suit. A few of the blacksmiths threw metal into cooling troughs before they left so that the work wouldn't be lost by being melted into slag in the fire.
In about ten seconds, the workstations, anvils and benches of the Cutlery Works were all completely empty.
The only person left was the man at the desk, who was backing away slowly. “Take whatever you need for Mr. Stickup.” And he bolted for the door.
“THAT'S A. STICKUP! TREAT HIM WITH SOME RESPECT!”
Lok'tar looked at the giant room. Forks, knives and spoons of every grade, quality, shape and size sat littered all over the place. Most of them were normal size, but there was a giant fork and spoon each about the size of his arm at the other end of the factory. He had to go check those out!
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