A Power Game

The children sat around the table, glancing at each other slightly awkwardly. A few feet away, Walker grumbled about finding better oven mitts as he dragged the apple pie from the stove. Mhykol watched the massive man, trying to learn more about him. He was dressed in long brown pants, and a sleeveless white shirt. Two fingers were wrapped in rings; a thin golden band decorated with rubies on his right small finger, and a thick band of solid gold on his ring finger. It made Mhykol wonder if the massive man was married. The funniest part was a frilly white apron that wrapped the man's front half, tied around his neck and waist.

Mhykol heard the front door open, and a few seconds later, slam shut. Walker didn't so much as turn as footsteps sounded, walking down the hallway. Mhykol already thought he knew who it would turn out to be. A few seconds later, the figure entered the kitchen. Mhykol was not disappointed.

The woman really was tall, her head ending a few inches past Mhykol's. Her skin was dark, almost as tanned as Walker's, and smooth-looking. The woman walked gracefully, but like she could slam-tackle the words best football player. She looked ... athletic. Like a hunter.

"Good evening all." The woman's voice was rough, lifting and falling in places it wasn't supposed to. As fetching as the woman was, the voice did not suit her. It was too deep, too ... threatening. "My name is Peaches."

Everyone at the table froze where they were, some caught half rising. The only person who didn't react was Avery, who bounded from her chair and almost leapt into the woman's arms.

"Mamma bear!"

The woman smiled down at the small girl, her eyes curving upwards warmly. "Hello Avery."

Slowly, Rain turned to look at Mhykol with wide eyes. 'Help me', they seemed to say. Nevertheless, the other girl stood, walking hesitantly over to the newcomer. Curtsying swiftly, Rain smiled at her tremulously. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm Rain."

The woman studied her from head to toe before returning the curtsy. "Well met, Rain Goodin, I am Jasmine Faust. You can also call me Peaches or Momma Bear, as these two idiots do."

Avery and Walker both grinned at her widely.

The woman turned to the rest of the group, taking them all in in the nod of her head. "And welcome to all of you. I'm only sorry we do not have better company than myself and my idiot husband."

She pulled a chair away from the table, and the three standing seated themselves. Walker joined them seconds later, handing out plates of pie with both massive hands.

"Eat!" He bellowed friendily, patting Mhykol on the back so hard he nearly did a frontflip over the oak table. "There's plenty more for all." The man grabbed a chair, dropping himself into it with a sigh. Leaning forwards, he steepled his fingers under his wide chin, looking at Avery intently. "Now, what do you need?"

Avery put down her fork slowly, breathing out vexedly. "Weapons."

Her dark eyes waited, judging the massive man's reaction. Mhykol watched as well, his blue-green eyes fixed on Walker's black ones. The man sighed, stretching out his legs beside the table.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you in that regard." He looked at the floorboards. "I stopped making weapons long ago."

"But you still could." Avery's voice was questioning. Gradually, Walker raised his eyes to meet hers. He was slow to answer.

"Yes. I still could."

"Will you make my friend a sword?" Her voice was slightly pleading, and the big man looked like his soul was being rent in half. "It's Mhykol." Avery gesture to him, so he nodded slightly. "He's level 5, and still using his starter sword. You know he won't last a second against Tut'soth Worldbane or the Queen of Volucris with a weapon like that." She paused for effect, leaning close to the big man. "He needs help."

"You cannot go to another?" The words were obviously hard for the man to say. Avery shook her head slowly.

"You're the best, Walker. You and Jasmine. Nobody else can match your bladework, and you know it."

Walker nodded slightly, considering. Suddenly, he stood, rising like a megalith above the sitting people around the table. Everyone stopped, looking up at him. Walker's eyes were like augers, focused on Mhykol.

"I will make your friend a sword." Those words were directed at Avery, the next, however, were only for Mhykol. "But I have three conditions. The first - you will never kill another player with this sword." Mhykol opened his mouth, but Walked silenced him with a look.
"The second - you will use the sword to defeat me in single combat. Only then will you leave this house with it. And the final, and most important promise -" Walker leaned in close to Mhykol, his eyes wide and bordering on insane. "- You will eat my pie. And you will enjoy it."

Mhykol started to nod, but stopped halfway. "I will ... WHAT?" Mhykol's mouth fell open in incredulousness. He raised both hands in front of his body, palms upraised, in a sign of absolute confusion. The big man nodded in contentment.

"Yes, like that." The man grabbed Mhykol's fork, shoving it between his lips. "Eat this pie."

The pie tasted delightful, the perfect blend of strawberry and rhubarb. The crust was a light, flaky golden. Mhykol finished off his piece with enthusiasm. Walker watched proudly, like a satisfied father. "You will be a savage hunter, boy. But for now - more pie."

The man served the children another slice of pie. As they ate, they discussed what Mhykol's new sword was to be. Avery chatted softly with Jasmine at the other end of the table, giggling softly every once in a while. All in all, a friendly, tranquil mood fell over the group.

Once everyone was done eating, Walker stood with a yawn. Stretching his arms above his broad shoulders, he motioned Mhykol to join him.

"Come, Pup. We have much to speak of tonight, and more to do."

Jasmine rose gracefully with them. "Avery, would you be a dear and show everyone to their rooms? I will join Mhykol and Pappa Bear in the basement."

With that, the three walked from the well-lit kitchen and into the semi-gloom of the hallway. Turning right, they walked past paintings of forests and wild animals, doorways - both open and closed, and even a bronze statue of a hunter. Arriving at the end of the hall, Walker pulled a key from his pocket. Turning to a small door on his left, he fit the key into the lock, twisting gently. The snap of the bolt pulling back sounded, and the door swung inwards. Past it was a long, descending staircase of stone steps, which disappeared into darkness.

"Don't worry, cub. Nothing down there has teeth." The man hesitated, foot hovering above the first step before he continued. "Well, not as long as ours anyways."

As Walker descended the steps, candles magically flickered to life on all four walls of the basement. Their yellow and orange light casting shadows over everything, but making the entire room visible. It was small, no more than twenty feet by twenty feet. Much of that space was taken up by a massive furnace, and a workbench of equal enormity. A pile of materials stood in one corner, obviously scrap, and the rest were carefully arranged in jars above the workbench, in a cabinet inset into the concrete wall.

"Welcome to my lab, Pup."
Walker's voice was reverent, like a man returning home after a long journey. He traced the edge of the workbench lazily with one thick finger, making a line through the thin dust.
"Let's get to work."

It took them an hour just to get the workplace in reasonable condition. Jasmine swept all the dust into one corner, where it seemed to magically disappear, sucked from existence as if through an invisible vacuum. Mhykol helped Walker to re-heat the furnace, which took a half hour alone of pumping the massive bellows, shoveling coal, and striking things called 'Fallum', which looked like two massive rocks. Every time Mhykol struck them, a flame shot out, washing over the coals. The heat was unimaginable. Ten minutes in, Mhykol was forced to remove his leather jacket, and by the end of the process, both he and Walker were shirtless.

"Damn, you boys have it easy." Jasmine called out jokingly as they peeled their shirts from their sweaty torsos.

"You're welcome to join us." Walker called over jokingly, and Mhykol wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when the woman simply laughed.

"You'll have to try harder than that to get me out of my clothes with guests in the house."

Walker grinned in amusement.

"Alright, Mhykol, I think that's good enough." He threw down the shovel he had been using to toss coal into the massive furnace. It vanished before it could strike the ground. Mhykol decided that the whole 'magical room' thing was definitely on his level. If only his bedroom worked like that. "It's time to start work on the sword."

For the next twenty minutes, Mhykol helped Jasmine and Walker sort through materials. At the end, they ended up with a surprisingly long list.

"I'll be honest, I thought swords were just made of iron or steel." Mhykol said sheepishly.

Walker shrugged. "That's what most people think. It's why I'm a better craftsman than most people."

Mhykol nodded. He could respect talent. "Avery seems to think you're the best."

"I was, at one point. Now, I don't know. Avery thinks very highly of her friends." The big man glanced down at Mhykol thoughtfully. "She doesn't make many, and not very easily. You're the first she's ever brought home."

Suddenly, the man's gaze took on a new meaning. "Ah, no sir. We're not ... ah ... That is to say ... " Mhykol closed his mouth with a sigh. "We're not dating, if that's what you mean. There's nothing between us but friendship. Rain introduced us, like ... three hours ago."

Walker nodded, seeming amused. "Well, that's unfortunate then."

Mhykol's eyes widened, but the man was already turning away, focusing on the table in front of him with concentration.

"2.5 grams Dragon's Fang, 1.2 grams Amonium Sulphate, 1.4 grams Peryum Alemonide, 2.4 grams Steel Willow's Bark, 8.5 pounds Hellsteel." The big man grinned down at Mhykol. "The best materials I have. We've got one shot at this."

Mhykol had to admit, he was slightly apprehensive. Especially when Walker handed him a small, round object. It looked like a marble, but far more expensive. The smooth, glassy surface was cool under his fingers, but heat radiated form the small stone. In it's depths, Mhykol could just barely make out the colours of fire, spinning and swirling.

The man beside Mhykol began pouring very specific amounts of metals and chemicals onto the table. He measured by eye, but Mhykol could tell the amounts were very exacting, very specific. As he added a powdery yellow-white substance, which he said was the Dragon's Fang, the entire pile of metal powder began to glow. Without bothering with gloves, Walker reached down, grabbing the massive lump of glowing metal. As if he was kneading cookie dough, he rolled it between his fingers, molding it quickly into the vague shape of a sword.

"You've gotta work fast, Pup, or the metal will harden." Walker's voice was full of concentration, and his eyes were narrowed slightly. "I may have added slightly to much Dragon's Fang." He slammed the metal tube onto the table, flattening it slightly on one side. "It's fine. That just means that we'll have to work fast. Dragon's Fang is what causes the blade to be nearly unbreakable, and to be untouched by all fire other than that of dragons, but it does cause the other metals to harden faster than normal. Irritating side effect."

Walked picked up the lump of metal in one hand, crossing the room in three massive steps. He carelessly threw the ball of precious metals underhand into the furnace.

"He shoots, he scores!" Walked made a triumphant motion with one arm.

Suddenly, Mhykol's mind focused on a question. "Walker, I don't mean to be rude." He stopped until the big man looked at him, raising two bushy eyebrows. "Exactly what are you and Pea-ah, Jasmine? You're shape-shifters, right?"

The big man lowered those giant black eyebrows slightly, which made Mhykol worried that he'd offended the man. Mhykol doubted that Walker would hurt him, but he still didn't want to cause affront to the friendly giant.

"That's an interesting question. Why do you think that?" The man's voice was nonchalant.

"Well, before we came into the house, I think I saw the bear ... become Jasmine. And, I mean ... come on. They're both name Peaches. There's only so many Peaches in this world."

The man laughed, a deep rumble that shook the room. His eyes softened, and he nodded a few times in understanding. "I suppose you're right. Shape-shifters would be a good name for us. Technically, we're called Spiritus Ursus." He shrugged slightly. "Bear Spirits."

"So you can only become bears?"

The big man nodded. Then, to Mhykol's amazement, he stuck one hand into the blazing furnace.

"Fuck, that burns!" The man grabbed the metal, which was almost dripping with heat. Just on the edge of becoming liquid. The man quickly retracted his hand, dragging the lump of metal with him. He hurriedly tossed it across the room to land with a sound between a splat and a thump on the workbench. Walking over, he grabbed a hammer with one hand. Mhykol saw smoke rising from between his fingers.

"So are you immune to fire, or what's the deal with that?"

Walker focused on the metal tube, hitting it gently with the massive hammer, forming it to razor edges. He raised one hand, motioning Mhykol closer.

"That glass ball in your hand is called a Hearthstone. It can shoot fire." Walker pointed to the metal sword on the table. "I want you to wash this sword in flames while I hammer it." He met Mhykol's incredulous eyes with an undisturbed look. "Gotta keep it hot, somehow, right?"

"And here I thought that's why I was here." Jasmine's fooled, leaning lightly against Walker's shoulder.

"Gah!" Walker cried out as he slammed the hammer down on his own thumb. He shot an aggrieved look at Jasmine. "Away, temptress!"

"Fine." She walked around behind Mhykol and Walker. As the two worked, she spoke to Mhykol. "We're not immune to fire Pup, well, not really. It can't hurt us, but we feel it just as strongly as you do. My oaf of a husband simply refuses to wear gloves. Afraid they might ruin his nails, he is."

It took five minutes of hammering and about a thousand bursts of fire from the Hearthstone, but the sword began to take shape. Walker worked from the tip down, forming the metal into a razors edge. It was like a triangle on both sides, and the tip was flawless. When they were done, they let the metal cool. Jasmine grabbed a bucket of water, submerging the glowing-hot blade in it. It hissed like a snake with its tail trapped under a rock, and smoke rose in sheets from the metal bucket.

"The second last step is adding the handle."

Walker reached into the cabinet behind the workbench, pulling free something that Mhykol had missed. The crossguard was deep silver, matching the blade of the sword, and the handle was long, wrapped in leather. The bottom was decorated simply, wrapped in two bands of silver and inlaid with a small, translucent diamond. The gem caught the light, creating a miniature rainbow in its depths. To Mhykol's puzzlement, Walker reached into the cabinet again, drawing forth an exact replica.

"Now, if you would, Jasmine."

The woman stepped forwards. In her hands was the sword that Mhykol had seen sitting in the kitchen.

Where did she get that thing?

Raising the sword above her head, she brought it slicing down against the edge of their newly created sword. Mhykol's eyes threatened to pop from his head as it cut cleanly through the tempered metal, through the crafting table, and deep into the floor below. The blade had been split directly through the center, not a half a centimeter off. Two identical halves lay against the table.

Taking a glass of yellow liquid from the cabinet, Walker smeared both the end of both pieces of sword blade, and both handles with it.

"Slime of the Basilisk Leach. Very rare. Another unbreakable substance that I had to fight to attain. To waste it on a boy such as yourself," he tisked jokingly, "such a tragedy." With that, he slammed both pieces together, holding each pair for a few seconds.

"There. Your swords are finished."

The man looked at Mhykol, with a look somewhere close to pity in his deep eyes.

"And now ... trial by combat."