The massive Highlander stood at his full height. Â An imposing form that stood in contrast to the serene expression he typically wore. Â He listened fist to the half-agreement of the strange Lalafel smith, and then to the Dragoon's suggestion. Â The military, indeed the Dragoons themselves, were the most important base of customers for the Dunois smithy. Â For weeks they had deflected missive, after official missive, inquiring about the readiness of their armament orders. Â
The mere mention of them raised the quiet indignation of the Highland Apprentice. Stubbornness and defiance were the very essence of the ancient inheritance that was his lineage. Â Distrust of a military that seemed the foundation of all of Ishgard's woes, seethed just beneath the surface of the man who longed for peace before all else. Â But, it was the Master Smith who's pride alone could answer the offer: "Truly Madame Dragoon," he replied with the best bow he could offer. Â "Your suggestion is replete with wisdom and sense, from the perspective of a soldier. Â But, with all due respect, lances and spears are not nails. Â They are not interchangeable. Â Your brethren know what to expect from one of our arms."
He gestured toward Osvald with the pride of an adoptive father, "I have taken years to ensure that my apprentice's craftsmanship is up to the same rigorous standards that our clients expect. Â I have no doubt that your friend's craft is well honed," Â he stated with a tone of deep respect, adding a bow of his head toward Chachanji, "but I cannot take such word as proof when my reputation and commerce are on the line." Â
Osvald nodded after the Master's statement, adding his own in more curt fashion. Â "Whatever your trade secrets, they are safe. Â We know our craft and have no need of theft. Â But you use our space, our tools, our forge. Â We shall watch that they are well-used."
He lowered his goggles to cover his eyes as the slowly turning auto-bellows began to bring the forge fire to renewed life. Â Each mechanical hiss brought a fresh rush of heat and light from within its depths.
His voice rose above the din of the fire, "If the Master Foreign Smith does not wish to learn how to make nails, then he can feed the fire. Â I have no doubt that young Claude would gladly trade the shovel for the hammer and tongs."
"The sooner we finish. Â The sooner the Dragoons get their arms."
He turned his attention back to the forge, while Master Dunois smiled with a warm expression to their guests, as if to excuse Osvald's outburst.
The mere mention of them raised the quiet indignation of the Highland Apprentice. Stubbornness and defiance were the very essence of the ancient inheritance that was his lineage. Â Distrust of a military that seemed the foundation of all of Ishgard's woes, seethed just beneath the surface of the man who longed for peace before all else. Â But, it was the Master Smith who's pride alone could answer the offer: "Truly Madame Dragoon," he replied with the best bow he could offer. Â "Your suggestion is replete with wisdom and sense, from the perspective of a soldier. Â But, with all due respect, lances and spears are not nails. Â They are not interchangeable. Â Your brethren know what to expect from one of our arms."
He gestured toward Osvald with the pride of an adoptive father, "I have taken years to ensure that my apprentice's craftsmanship is up to the same rigorous standards that our clients expect. Â I have no doubt that your friend's craft is well honed," Â he stated with a tone of deep respect, adding a bow of his head toward Chachanji, "but I cannot take such word as proof when my reputation and commerce are on the line." Â
Osvald nodded after the Master's statement, adding his own in more curt fashion. Â "Whatever your trade secrets, they are safe. Â We know our craft and have no need of theft. Â But you use our space, our tools, our forge. Â We shall watch that they are well-used."
He lowered his goggles to cover his eyes as the slowly turning auto-bellows began to bring the forge fire to renewed life. Â Each mechanical hiss brought a fresh rush of heat and light from within its depths.
His voice rose above the din of the fire, "If the Master Foreign Smith does not wish to learn how to make nails, then he can feed the fire. Â I have no doubt that young Claude would gladly trade the shovel for the hammer and tongs."
"The sooner we finish. Â The sooner the Dragoons get their arms."
He turned his attention back to the forge, while Master Dunois smiled with a warm expression to their guests, as if to excuse Osvald's outburst.
![[Image: 21282370099_a814a08664_o.png]](https://farm1.staticflickr.com/590/21282370099_a814a08664_o.png)
