Peculiar Request

It was a normal day in the forge. Cold weather was kept at bay by the fires that enabled your work, the constant working of your muscles held off the shivers, and the handling of enchantments kept your mind working through the fog.

You weren’t like others in your area, and you knew that. It was your entire business slogan. “Spell-and-Knell Forging,” you called yourself, because—according to a friend, at least—rhymes brought people. You had no idea what a knell even was, though, just that it rhymed.

There was your fair share of oddball requests over the years, from magic swords that could change size to enchanted daggers that could explode. You always did your best to keep the bad eggs away from your forge; you didn’t want that kind of reputation hanging around your head. This request, however, you weren’t sure how to judge.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

The adventurer before you—a bit of a lanky man with ill-fitting leather armor and an overeager glint in his eyes—shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited across your anvil.

“I want a metal tube, about yea big.” He held his fingers in a circle less than a half-inch wide. “Perhaps about as long as my forearm.”

You arched an eyebrow at his words. “Uh-huh. I can do that part. It’s the other part I’m askin’ about.”

“Right, right. Then, I want there to be an enchantment on it. A fireball spell that won’t rip it apart, ideally. Oh! And it has to be reusable, as well.”

You tapped at your chin as you pondered the request. It was odd, no doubt, but with his excitement, it was hard to judge him negatively. Usually, the criminals acted all hush-hush about their desires.

“Well, I can think of one problem.” You pulled over a piece of parchment and set it on your anvil, thankful it had cooled down enough from your last job, and began drawing with a charcoal stick. “If you wanna point and shoot flames at someone outta it, you gotta keep one side sealed.”

“Oh, no, I plan to use tiny metal balls small enough to fit inside.”

You paused in your drawing long enough to let the ridiculous statement wash over you, blinking at the adventurer like he’d grown, not just a second head, but two more.

“Right. Okay. We’ll get to that after. My point is, you keep this tube open on both sides, that fire’s gonna hit you, too.”

You didn’t want to tell him your concern for his safety was more founded in your desire for a repeat customer.

“Oh, yeah! It would, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep.” You sketched out a long metal tube with a cap over one end. “Now, this thing ain’t like a wand. It’s gotta be pretty thick to hold together under all those fireballs, which means it’s gonna hurt to hold it for long periods. So, how about somethin’ like this?”

You added onto the sketch, letting the half-baked idea become fully formed in the journey from thought to paper. By the end, you’d drawn something similar to a sword hilt, though at an angle from the tube to more naturally fit the motion and contours of the wrist.

“Ooh, I like it.”

You smirked. It always made you feel nice when a customer complimented your process. “Then, right here, we put a little spot for mana crystals, ‘cause you gotta touch one to the rune to cast it. So …” You drew on your limited knowledge of mechanisms and springs as you let the charcoal glide. “This way, you don’t have to manually touch a crystal each time. You can just push a button and it does it for you.”

“Fantastic!”

The adventurer swept up the paper and held it up to the light. You would’ve told him to be careful with it if you hadn’t already committed the important bits to memory.

“This is incredible!”

“Sure is. Think you’re the first guy with a weapon like this.” You rested an elbow on your anvil. “That means you get to name it.”

The adventurer’s eyes sparkled like the brightest mana crystals. “Truly?”

“Go ahead.”

The adventurer stuffed the paper beneath an arm as he paced, thinking long and hard. “Well, I suppose it could have the same power as one of those old ballistae that are used to siege castles. And— Oh! What was that famous one from Windsor?”

“Gunilda?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” The adventurer came over to hug you tight. You gave him a slow pat on the back, unsure how else to handle the affection.

“But we shouldn’t call it that, because Gunilda was huge, and this thing.” He motioned to the paper. “This thing is so tiny. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A gun?” It was a pretty good guess in your books. Of course, the adventurer cut you off in his excitement.

“That’s right! A gunildula!”