#metalmancercipher

The first thing most people noticed about the shop was the heat. Having a small forge lit and burning constantly produced quite a lot of warmth, even with all the ventilation technology she’d purchased and installed. The next thing most people noticed was that the air was almost perfectly clean inside. Sure, the shop didn’t sit down in the Sump, but the Gray was too thick for August no matter where she went in Zaun. It struck her as odd that smoke from a fire didn’t bother her at all but the thick air here made her sputter and cough. So the same systems that drew out smoke also kept the air fresh.

Beyond that, the space was small, cramped with tool-lined walls, quenching tanks, belt-sanders, an anvil, a dishing plate, and toward the front, a display case holding examples of her work. It wasn’t quite the blacksmith’s shop she dreamed of, but she still forged items as ordered. 

The location, too, wasn’t to her liking, but beggars can’t really be choosers. The Bridgewaltz was above, far too pricey for her budget when she set up. And since none of the shops on the levels immediately below were willing to put up with the fire hazard, it had cost her to have the tiny business built from the ground up away from anything else, set back in the cliff wall. Luckily she snagged a plot within a crevice in the stone, even if the weight of the city and a half above did sometimes worry her. At least the need for augmentation parts was high enough to keep her in business. She missed making blades and armor, but a girl’s gotta eat. 

As she sat behind the counter, looking over the cover plate for someone’s new arm, the bell over the door rang. Setting the piece down, along with the engraving chisel she’d been using to add in the requested design, August stood up, leaning ever so slightly onto the glass display. “Hey there! Welcome to Crowly’s Creations,” her rough voice called to him. “Never seen you in before, is there something I can do for you, Mr...?”

The Wuju Bladesman considered the man before him with judgemental eyes, his lenses whirring along with his intent. He was often one to walk up to a stranger with extroverted flair, asking all manner of questions before being reminded that not everyone was as curious as he. This mage was different, however. His aura wasn’t unknowable enough that it caused the familiar twang of blood to hit his dulled tongue, but it was still one of the most unique magics he’d ever seen. It gave the specific sense the man wasn’t to be tampered with. That Yi shouldn’t have been so curious today.

Ionian, but not. Earthly, but not. Attuned to something, but what? Powerful...

He always knew he was too curious for his own good.

With all the usual precautions taken, removing all metallic equipment from his person, Renzus stepped into the shadows of one of Zaun’s isolated hovels, an old flophouse that once housed chemical factory workers, now the hideout of an old foe that had decided to resurface.

Dealing with the meager resistance that guarded the residence was little challenge, if at all. The dregs that were Zaunite thugs had never truly encountered a true mage before, certainly not one far more versed in the arcane arts than the man they were guarding. Four of them in total, they barely had time to gape in horrified surprise as their hextech weapons were turned aside by shimmering barriers, before they were contemptuously hurled aside by crushing telekinetic force.

The door proved a similarly irrelevant obstacle, its heavy lock simply melting away into a puddle of rapidly-cooling molten iron. Pushing the door open, the First Crow strode into the dark, almost-empty room, grey eyes locked onto the distant form of his quarry.

“Marcus Cipher.” He spoke, with a voice keener than a sharpened blade, its tone cold like ice. “Still up to your old tricks, I see.”