The door creaked as Sherry entered the store, the last and most illustrious one on Skye Street. It was right in the heart of the city, where most species would gather to shop and conduct business with each other. Only the best were even allowed to sell their stock here, and Orras’ Arms & Armor was the place to go if you want the finest craftsmanship of the dwarves. 

This was her first stop upon arriving in the city, a calculated move she hoped would provide her a valuable ally, for she had few. It wasn’t hard to find, located next to the elvish high-end fashion Aphrodite boutique and across the popular Orc Cafe. The smell of linseed oil hit her as she made her way inside, past an elegant shelf full of all kinds of weapons; from silver long swords to jeweled daggers and broad axes, all polished to a gleaming finish.

A young dwarf approached her, dressed in the modern way with a suit and tie, but the runes of his clan adorned his lapel in silver. Sherry knew he was still in his first century by the length of his beard, a fun fact her father had told her about their kind. Only the real old ones grew it past their necks.

“Welcome miss,” he said with what seemed like a gentle voice for a dwarf. “I’d be delighted to assist you this afternoon. Are you looking for anything specific?”

“Yes, tell Orras the daughter of Barr’Yand’Rull has come to see him.”

If the young dwarf was surprised he hid it well, and instead felt silent and simply gave a curt nod before disappearing into a back room. It was hard to say if he had recognized the name, but most likely was taken back that she would know his boss was here at the moment. That information didn’t come easy, especially from outside the city, but hopefully, it was worth the gold.

She looked around the fine wooden room with its walls of carved rock, as was the dwarvish style. The gold armor lined up for customers to appreciate, beautifully crafted with attention to detail down to the last carving on the precious metal. The opulence on display felt excessive to her, although she knew most highborn elves like her grew up with such comforts. 

Sherry thought of her youth ages ago, the simple life up in the mountains with her father and their…companions. It was a simpler time compared to what she’d known since the war, the expectations others had of her even as they opposed her.

“I thought it must have been a mistake when someone told me I had a visitor from House Rull,” spoke a voice deep and polished, interrupting her thoughts like a stone disturbing the water.

Sherry turned to look at another dwarf step into the store. This one was completely different. His beard was long and braided, and his eyes looked like they had seen many years pass before them. Dressed in a three-piece suit and a long coat of the richest blue, but mixed with the traditional dwarven armor of dark gold in the boots and the shoulders. Plus a helm that resembled a crown upon his head. 

“It was not,” she replied coolly. “I am Sherr’yand’rull.”

“Forgive me,” said Orras. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I had heard all members had...tragically, passed on.”

“One remains,” Sherry replied, meeting his gaze and letting him see the steel in hers.

The dwarf smiled, neither amused nor troubled. He looked her over from top to bottom while playing with his long beard before responding again.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to receive the last scion of a great if, um...questionable house such as yours. To what do I owe the visit?”

“The Queen has summoned me here so that I may fulfill the honor of serving as a Royal Knight representing my house,” replied Sherry.

“Not like you had a choice, being the last one. Is that why you look so pissed?”

“I have many reasons for that.”

Orras laughed, a cruel sound but he seemed genuinely amused. “I like you Miss Sher, and believe me, I never say that about elves.”

The insult was clear, as one could barely deign to call his remark an insinuation, but Sherry sympathized. The Elves and Dwarves famously did not get along, and although the great war had brought them closer together than ever before, the balance of power had not been much different after it. Orras was right to resent her, even if he couldn’t afford to say it directly.

“If it’s armor you’re here for, don’t worry, my clan has a contract with the High Court. We take on all the orders for the Royal Knights that so bravely watch over our fair city,” said Orras, letting his sarcasm drip over the word ‘fair’.

“Not just any armor,” said Sherry, surprising him. “I want the one your father made for mine.”

Orras stared at her, more curious than anything, but remained silent so she continued. “They were friends. When we joined the war, no one wanted to take in the order for our gear, even as the Queen restored our name. Until Arkas SiIverbeard, against all opposition from his clan, agreed to craft the armor and weapons for my family. And although Royal Knights have a standard design for their armor, your father made a change at our request...do you know what it was?”

“He made them black,” said Orras, and Sherry grinned at the memory.

“Yes, if they were going to view us as the black sheep of their lot, then we might as well own it and rub it in their noses.”

Orras snorted, seemingly in approval. “Although we dwarves love gold, we rarely use it in our craft unless it’s for decoration. Your lot on the other hand would bathe in it if it was possible; always requesting it even when it makes our work harder. Do you know why?”

“It is a poor metal,” replied Sherry.

“Ironically, but yes, too damn soft and weak; not to mention heavy. Pretty to look at, sure, but when it comes to armor, weapons, and anything you need to hold together, it’s pretty useless. We laughed when the elves first requested we make their armors out of it millennia ago.”

“Vanity over function,” commented Sherry dryly, pointing at Orras’ pieces of golden armor.

“Yes, well, I am no warrior anymore,” said Orras with a smile. “We wear our work with pride, even if it's just for show.”

Orras seemed to realize he was getting a bit too comfortable with her and started heading toward the back room again. “Besides, at this point, it’s an old complaint. We got clever and learned long before humans did how to mix it with other metals to make a stronger alloy while retaining its golden brilliance. If that’s your concern, you don’t need to worry about it being gold.”

“That is not it,” she said, and her tone stopped him cold. “I am the last of my family, barely tolerated by all the other highborns. They have shunned me as they had shunned my father, even as they call me to serve in something I do not believe in. I wish to remind them of what they have made me every time they see me.”

The gilded dwarf stood in silence for a minute with his back to her, and Sherry was not sure what he was thinking. She could tell he was not a sentimental man, but she knew dwarves well enough to know they were attached to their work and the work of their forefathers. Whether Orras wanted to admit it or not, there was a bond between their two families, and Sherry was hoping that would be enough...but if it wasn’t, she could drive a harder bargain.

“I have only one friend in this city, and I came here first hoping to find a second,” she continued when he remained silent.

“You may have more gold than any elf even, but you are nothing to them but an expensive tailor. You have no magic, and therefore no real power inside the higher circles of the council that rules this city, and from what I have heard, that is something that interests you. A friend up there, even one as little liked as me, can still be valuable, I imagine.”

“Hold out your arm,” he said suddenly, and Sherry stared confused for a moment. “So that I may take your measurements; how else am I going to make this armor for you?”

Sherry smiled and complied, and noticed Orras himself was trying to hide a small pleased smirk as he drew a silvering measuring tape from inside his coat and started stretching it over her arm.

“It has been a good long while since I crafted anything myself, which is a pity.” He said while climbing a wooden stool to be able to reach Sherry’s height. “It feels like I’m nothing more than a businessman these days.”

He measured her from head to toe, her arm, her waist, writing the number down in a small notebook after he was done. Sherry couldn’t help but feel rather delighted by this. The feeling of being measured was oddly satisfying and gave her a tingling sensation.

“Let’s see, you're about five-nine,” said Orras, extending the silver measuring tape to the top of her head. “Waist is about 30 inches, and the arms are… twenty-eight inches, forearms are...oh, you got quite some muscles there.”

“All the better for the job,” said Sherry with a small smirk.

Orras let out a small bark-like laugh as he rolled the measuring tape back, clearly finished.

“That will do,” said Orras, although he seemed oddly frustrated. “I'm afraid the design will have to be standard, they do insist on that. It is effective, if repetitive, after over a thousand years of replicating it. Sometimes less is more, and there are some new materials the humans discovered before the war, composites like Kevlar or Nomex that you could combine to make heavy armor plates less necessary. Better for mobility and…what?” 

He had caught Sherry smirking at him. “Nothing, you remind me a bit of my father, and how passionate he could get. It is good to care about your work.”

“Yes, indeed. I never knew your father, but mine spoke highly of him and your family. Perhaps the only one who did.”

Orras paused, and for a moment something flashed in his eyes. “Allow me to give you a word of warning about this city, my dear. I know you’re older than me, and I imagine you have seen a lot of the world, maybe even your fair share of death, but I can see in your eyes you’re still rather pure. You have yet to see the true darkness of the world, and you won’t find a better home for it than in a city like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This city was built on a promise it has not delivered on, not to most of us. That tends to make people…resentful, breeding all sorts of nastiness. Some may even act on that, so…be careful as you take on your duties here. Make sure you serve more than just those above your station.”

Sherry thought he was being a bit cryptic and dramatic, but something about the look in his eyes as he said it, the anger that was festering there, really stuck with her. He collected his notes and turned to her before leaving. “You know what? I’ll throw in a sword for you; I fear you’ll need it.