Words, Words, Words (Open)

"Gentle passenger,
Let your fortune rain upon me,
And end my hunger".

The winds of fate pushed away Isla's greasy hair as the words began to glow softly and vibrate on his parcel. They began to liquify and pool to the center of the page before the center began to rise, similar in appearance to a handkerchief being plucked so delicately with only the thumb and forefinger. The page itself followed the amber-ink as it tore itself out of the spine, coagulating into a floating sphere of light just inches in diameter and above the ledger. His bony hand slipped under the spirit (while he tried to ignore how the light uncovered an even more abhorrent shade of skin) and Isla guided it into his mouth. The tasteless, airy form infused itself within the man's being as he found meager sustenance in his more meager magicks.

The last page in his arcane companion. Rather ceremoniously, he moved to a more popular area of Radiant Garden and sat in a spot under the shade of a mighty oak. It was almost comical how the silent monument hung over the tiny man.

Isla placed a rusted cup in front of him and waited for graceful charity.

He found himself pondering why the tides of fate never brought him the words to allow him betterment, but simply prolong his suffering.

Sezrix had been wandering the crowded-not-crowded streets of the strange city, which the signs all called Radiant Garden, for quite some time. In all that time, he'd done little more than look around and be confused. Everyone there seemed to have a purpose of their own, almost none of which had anything to do with metal! It was an odd place indeed.

Still, being confused wouldn't help him if he were to get anything out of this trip. It was shortly after he realized this that he came across a local person sitting under a rather large tree. The man was sitting with a drinking device in front of him for... some reason. Was he taking inspiration from it? Was he collecting falling nuts from the tree?

The little Goblin couldn't suppress the urge to ask, "What is the uplander doing?" For emphasis, he pointed at the cup with a small finger, nearly knocking it over onto the concrete.

Isla wondered why the small aberration began to poke at the cup he had placed on the ground moments before. However, he was in no position to dissuade the company or potential finances. He needed another journal or medium to transcribe in order to survive what little existence he clung to.

"I am seeking out the goodness in others in order to prolong my... life." Isla paused, if only to contemplate the right word. Life didn't seem appropriate; that wasn't really what he was doing, living. He was just existing. "If you have any munny to spare, I would be of infinite gratitude."

He pushed the pitiful cup forward, hoping it would be filled with hopes and dreams.

"Psssshhhh..." The goblin gave a little half-hiss, half-whistle as he processed the person's words. So this person wanted something called 'munny'? Throughout the town, there were a number of people exchanging items for this 'munny' stuff, usually either vials of sparkling liquids or a number of useless-looking stones and gems.

Come to think of it, he probably had plenty of those sorts of rocks, what with all the junk that'd come in from the mines. He turned around, setting his pack down and rummaging through the pockets. He let out a victorious, "Shkooohh!" and dragged a small pile of debris from inside the pack before pushing it toward the man.

Mixed into the pile alongside gravel and dirt were a few common synthesis ores and a small number of what looked like garnets. "Give these to the stupid ones," the goblin advised. "Stupid uplanders give Munny to each other for junk rocks!"

At first, Isla was disappointed. Well, disappointed wasn't the right word, as he had grown accustomed to his poor fortune. He was spiteful of his disposition. However, the sun struck the dirt like a pickaxe and excavated a lode of fragile hope. His desperate fingers quickly found claim as they clasped onto his future. His eyes flittered to the creatures face, who Isla now took more note of. He was taller and more proud than his original observations had put to memory.

"Thank you, sir!" The breath was short, and tears threatened his vision, but the vagrant kept them at bay. Standing, he pocketed the precious dreams and dusted off his pants gently, careful not to allow a cloud to soil the philanthropist. He extended a malnourished, weak-gripped handshake, hoping to meet companionship and not further denial. "My name is Isla... Just Isla. It's a mononym." He refrained from speaking his surname, out of respect for his awful parents. He wouldn't want his existence to further dampen the fires of career and policy and litigation.

That didn't matter now. The small wellspring of life that the goblin had offered would allow the Scribe a chance of life. Maybe he could start writing a novel, and to finally stop begging for paper... these thoughts to Isla's mind were a requiem to the ears, nay, soul.

"I am indebted to you, gracious stranger. May I ask your name?"

Though it took a moment, the man reacted with an abrupt sort of gratitude, thanking the goblin with a voice that sounded almost as if he were being chokes. Just what sort of situation did someone have to be in to react this way to a few useless crystals? This person must have been in more of a rut than his dulled clothing suggested.

He introduced himself as Isla, and there was a pause as the little tinkerer waited for the title half. Then came the assurance that it was a... 'Munnynymph'? But there were no nymphs nearby. Perhaps all humans were a little dumb. He wouldn't judge them. Everyone was subject to their own natural tendencies.

The man shook hands and asked his name, and the goblin replied, "Sezrix, the Build-a-bunch! There is no Munnynymph." With that out of the way, the goblin considered something. "If uplanders like stoneyshines sooo much, maybe Gobbiefriends should bring more to Wall City... Psshhhh... Shkoooohhh...." He continued his hisswhistling as he put a hand to his chin... nose... face-thing and considered his new idea, momentarily forgetting his new acquaintance.

During the imp's introduction, Isla began to feel embarrassed for his lack of composure. He might have been just a little too zealous in his gratitude, but damn was he grateful.

Then, Sezrix (who Isla couldn't help think of as a Faerie from the Tales) began to go on about furtherment of his charity.

"Oh no, that's not necessary. You have given me quite enough." He almost reluctantly added. But he thought against becoming greedy when his luck had just started turning. "Well, if you ever want a favor or anything, I'll just be here. I can't say I'll be of any help, for just about anything, though.. But i just don't have anything else to offer you." Isla sighed. His shoulders dropped a little less than his confidence.

"We'll, I'll see you later. Thanks again." He turned and walked towards the nearest store, ready to buy a few notebooks and look for a place to live. As for the novel thing.. he doubted that anything would come of it.

Unfortunately, Isla's joy didn't seem to last all too long. Once his thanks had been passed, he insisted that Sezrix give him nothing else and that, though he swore to return a favor, he had 'nothing else to offer'. After that, he walked away. A few moments of Sezrix' quiet 'Hmm'-ing passed, and he chose to follow.

"Uplander is being far too sadfaced," the goblin observed. "Oh! Uplander should build something! Make it loud, and click-clanky..." Quite clearly, this human was just sad about the lack of construction. That would explain how he'd grown so thin and come to wear such impractical attire.

Come to think of it, there seemed to be a lack of building overall in this city. Everywhere Sezrix looked, there were people buying and selling and re-buying extremely simple, mostly useless goods like jewelry and fancy water. Why weren't the streets crowded with people testing their latest creations? Why were there no craters in the ground, no chunks taken from the walls by people's mistakes? No wonder this human was so sad. This place was boring!

Isla was actually very relieved that the small fiend gave chase. Solitude, while peaceful, was increasingly mind-numbing and ultimately, tiresome. Sezrix began to speak about fabrication, and the scribe couldn't squelch a small spark of kinship; while the gnomish thing referred to mechanical devices (assumedly), Isla was more adept in the abstract construction of words. Still, he appreciated the sentiment, and actually enjoyed physical pieces from time to time again. Because of their location, it was only a moment of walking before they would reach a vendor that supplied paper and other various materials. In the meantime, the scrawny man would inquire more of his newfound companion. His voice developed a depth that he thought lost from misuse.

"A contraption? I'm not very skilled physically, but I'd be happy to assist you in any such endeavor." In reality, the idea repulsed Isla. He always seemed to break even sturdy things that he handled and was otherwise clumsy at best, but he wasn't about to twice shun the conversation. Even if it was... sporadic.

The creature seemed to be inhuman in origin, which was something new to Isla - the only times he encountered such beings were in fables or stories of the other Realms, where Heartless rampage freely. Inside the walls, he was relatively safe (or so he felt; he just recently left the protection of his sheltered life).

As they arrived at the vendor, more quiet speech delivered requests for parchment and ink. Isla turned his head to meet Sezrix's... face? The man just noticed that it was covered in some adornment, and the rest of its body had a similar theme.

"Are there any specific materials you want, for building something.. loud?" He almost didn't ask, as he felt dark thoughts invade him as they whispered greed and cowardice. Isla gripped the precious stones in his pockets, but discarded the thoughts - today was the day that his luck changed, assuredly. He would not jeopardize karmic retribution as the light began to shine. The vendor had fetched the paper but held it, eyeing the duo wearily. He probably was trying to avoid a grab-and-dash from two penniless miscreants.

According to himself, Isla wasn't 'physically skilled', but what did skill matter, really? "Uplander needs to forget words like 'skill'," Sezrix advised him. "Gobbiefriends only know 'busywork', and 'dizzyheels'! Always make more, and make better." After all, everything was relative in its own way. So long as one's work improved, the starting point was irrelevant.

Still, the human's actions only confirmed Sezrix' assumption that he was a bit dumb. The things he traded the junk rocks for were all flimsy little things of paper, plastic and similar materials. Perhaps his lack of building was for his own good.

The question came of what materials would be good to have, and Sezrix spoke up loudly before Isla could finish, "Metal! Metal and bloomrocks and swishwater!" He hopped in place a bit as his mind re-enacted memories of building a variety of steam engines. Ah, good times. "Is uplander going to make a steamer? Buildabunch can help!" To the easily deceived eye, it may have looked as if his goggled had attained an enthusiastic sparkle.

While Isla considered himself a wordsmith of some kind, "busywork" was only vaguely familiar and "dizzyheels" was a completely new addition to the vagrant's vernacular. One of such words stuck out particularly, though - "Gobbiefriends". Surely the suffix held the same meaning as he before interpreted the word.

Friends, huh? He's quick to trust, and I'm thankful for that, really. People around here are usually quick to shun. His thoughts turned to his dirty clothes and greasy hair, but the little tiefling hadn't even (apparently) noticed.

Fishing out all but a few of the gems that Sezrix gave him, Isla put them on the table and asked the vendor to grab a vessel and a substantial volume of metal materials. Looking at the pile, the vendor picked out four or five small pieces and pushed them towards the hushed stature of a man. He explained that these were, in fact, materials for construction that he wouldn't accept as payment. The merchant took a burly arm and scooped the rest of the currency into a bucket underneath the counter, and moved inside of a small shack his stand operated outside of. A few admittedly long moments later, and he returned pulling a wagon with various types of metals, all of decent quality, and an assortment of tools and accessories, such as screws and tape.

Never seeing such generosity from a merchant, Isla suspected that he had grossly overpaid for such effects. He would carefully spend the last of his gems on shelter and food, in light of this. Atop the pile was a satchel that the merchant handed him, with a few more parcels and ink. Dark thoughts returned to Isla's mind as he laid eyes on the vendor.

What a shit-eating grin he has. I bet he feels really proud to have swindled us. Asshole. The thoughts, like him, were ultimately passive and wouldn't warrant action. He shook them off and turned to the Goblin.

"So, uh, do you think we could build something with this?" The more Isla thought about the build, the more excited he grew. It was a new form of art he never explored, and coupled with companionship, it could be the most fortuitous event in short life. As the scribe took hold of the cart, he noticed the merchant begin to close shop.

Probably leaving for an early retirement. What a god-damned rat.

Soon enough, the merchant Isla spoke with had left them with quite the stockpile of metal parts, both raw and pre-formed into various shapes. There were even some things there that Sezrix had never seen before, like these odd rolls of silvery material that were thick and hefty, but possessed a sort of softness when he picked them up. In his mind, he was already picturing what he might put together with it all.

He took two plates of what seemed to be the most common metals there, looking them over. Rubbing them with gloved thumbs. Placing them on the ground and pushing them with a straight arm. Giving a few taps with a hammer drawn from his pack. He began giggling to himself.

The goblin held the two plates as high above his head as he could (which, admitably, wasn't very high at all) and gave Isla a satisfied look through his goggles. "Metal here is perfect for Gobbie Rocksteel!" he proclaimed. For reference, he drew and old knife from one of his pockets. The metal blade was a barely-tarnished orange color, only slightly more vibrant than brass, and when Sezrix placed the broad side against a knee, the thin piece wouldn't bend.

The knife was put away, as did the plates back into the wagon, and Sezrix bent down to pick up its trailing handle. After a few seconds of pulling to no avail, he gave up, and let it rest on the ground.

"Psssshhhh.... Skoooohhhh..." The goblin began whistle-hissing in frustration, then turned to Isla. "Gobbie has ideas for new metal, but wheelbin is too heavy to carry. Don't be sad! Gobbie has a plan!" With that, he pulled a remote device of some sort from his pocket. With a finger, he dramatically slammed the red button in the center.

"Uplander should stand somewhere else," the goblin advised, giving a shooing motion with one hand as his eyes searched the sky for something.

Isla was rather confused by all of the goblin's actions, but listened to instruction. Stepping a substantial distance away from the creature, the humanoid looked to the sky to try to find whatever the fiend seemed to be searching for. The sunlight stung, however, and Isla reactively looked downwards while press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, pressing against the nerves that signaled relief.

Unfortunately, he would probably miss whatever spectacle followed.

He couldn't help but smile at the small thing's concern, though - "Don't be sad". What an eccentric but pleasant creature.

It was then that Sezrix saw it. There, far up in the sky, was a metal object soaring through the air. From that distance, it would have passed for one of the many Gummi ships that came through Radiant Garden. However, the primary difference was that it was not only smaller, but was also on a direct course for the market.

It burst through the clouds, and a loud whistling noise became audible, heralding its approach. It finally struck the ground before them, landing hard on the road and not budging an inch afterward.

Once the smoke had cleared, large cracks in the pavement formed a web around a metal contraption sitting in the street. It was hunched down, with distinct arms and legs folded inward, and there was a tiny cockpit that took up the space that would normally be occupied by one's head. It was made from the same orange alloy of Sezrix' knife.

Speaking of which, that same goblin, ignoring the stares of onlookers, wasted no time in leaping into the machine, settling himself into the open cockpit and flipping a couple switches here and there. "Gobbiegummi is a-go-go!" he announced as it stood to its full height with him inside. Once it was turned on, it shook constantly, and several pipes on the back expelled a steady output of steam. Next to these same pipes was some sort of independent device, with a box attached to it. It vaguely resembled a large gun, if one had the imagination to see it as such.

Sezrix directed the new machine over to the wagon, where its metallic hands grabbed firm hold of its carrying handle before promptly tearing it off. Shrugging, he just tossed it on the pile before the machine squatted down, taking hold of the wagon itself and simply picking it up off the ground. Though Sezrix couldn't get the thing to slide at all before, his machine had lifted it clear from the ground with no issue, and the goblin peered around the load of metals to look at Isla once again. He gave a cheery thumbs-up, confirming his success.

The heavens broke with a large boom!, and Isla's head rose to witness the aftermath. City construction; destroyed. The crowds to either side were thrown into a panic. The city defense force would fall onto them like hellfire rather quickly.

Does that idiot have any damned sense!? Blackened thoughts began to cloud his mind, again. But these shadows were casted by an equally bright light.

"It's... beautiful." The architecture, the intricacy, the anarchic design; it was complete, uncensored expression. No matter how much negativity invaded his mentality, Sezrix's affirmation washed it away. He was definitely... crude and less refined than the people Isla had before surrounded himself with, but the imp was leagues ahead in personality and panache.

Approaching the fallen angel, he dared not touch the machinery for fear that it was hot or charged. Looking at his friend, the scribe made a proposal.

"Could we.. build something like this?" He posed, looking behind to see chaos progress. "But somewhere else. Somewhere further away." The latter came out with a dash of anxiety, as if Isla foresaw another angel to drop and crush him. In reality, he just feared the Law.

Sezrix almost climbed out of the machine so he could face the human properly. The question came of building a machine somewhere else, and it confused him. Did this person expect the market to be a potential workshop? There were no tools here at all!

Instead of mock the man, Sezrix chose to be the better gob let him be as dumb as he liked. There would always be chances to learn, after all. "Gobbiefriends have lots of crankers and clankers at home," he finally replied, pushing a seemingly random series of buttons on an inner console. "...And benders, and blenders, and melters, and smelters, and mixers, and..."

The goblin continued listing off vague names of what were either machines or tools as he seamlessly worked the mech's controls, sending it into a shaky walk cycle toward the opposite end of the courtyard. He paid no mind to the stares and screams from the public, nor did his eyes bother searching for the inevitable presence of local police. He was far too absorbed in running what was obviously a cherished creation of his, even if it were doing something so normal as carrying a box of goods down the street. "Uplander will love Firebloom! Friendly gobs left and right-left, and plenty of wallspace to build! Wall City has no space at all. Can't build a thing." He had no qualms with voicing his dislike for what seemed to be normal there. Where some saw a blossoming trade, he saw a bunch of people standing around trading rocks all day. There was just no spark here.

Isla lost all thoughts of fear when he heard 'Firebloom'. The name had so much emotional charge to it, and if the people were anything like Sezrix.. it sounded like a paradise full of artful expression. And, apparently, danger. He began to follow the goblin and his machine, but began to wonder about the repercussions of this expression. Looking around at the carnage, the poet decided to try and draw some inspiration from the goblin's chaotic disposition. Pulling out his ledger and quill, Isla quickly muttered the incantation of a haiku of traveling.

"Gentle passenger,
Open a doorway of Light,
Reveal Firebloom."

In front of the duo, a glass panel over ten foot tall and wide appeared from the ether as the ink and paged burned amber, rippling away from the ledger. It overlooked a ravine unknown to Isla, but hopefully Sezrix would recognize it. "This should be a passageway to our destination, so we won't have to make such a long walk." He said with a healthy amount of doubt in his voice.

If either of them made contact with the image, it would be discovered ethereal and transparent. Isla had unknowingly only asked for Firebloom to be scry'd upon. He had never tried to use his abilities for practical means, but there was much time for learning the wording. Well, there would be if armored soldiers hadn't begun to appear from either side. Isla spotted about twelve total, but more would be en route.

The scribe awaited Sezrix to lead the way through the portal.

"What did uplander say?" Sezrix called backward, having completely missed the appearance of the window due to the stockpile of metal blocking his sight. With no interruption to the walk cycle, the machine chugged forward and into the opening, falling through easily.

He halted the machine then. He had passed through something just then, but on looking back he couldn't figure out what it was. Some sort of sudden fog? Unlikely, but what, then?

In his attempt at observation, he finally took notice of the people around them. More specifically, the ones in armor who also happened to have their own weapons weapons. "Hey... Why are new uplanders different?" he asked. They were a change of pace from the ones he'd seen otherwise. While they panicked around the machine, these newcomers seemed to focus on it instead.

Maybe they were the local builders? That would explain so much! Obviously, they were examining his expertise to model their own work after. Normally, he wouldn't mind the attention, but they happened to be blocking the exits, which presented a problem. "Could uplanders let gobbie through, please? Need to get parts to gobbiefriends!"

Apparently Radiant Garden's guards had a bit of a "special" case for the king, Gwain. Normally, there'd be some Heartless threat that they'd be able to take care of with ease, police the streets for any crime and make sure everything was as smooth as can be. But there was a bit of a disturbance that called for his direct attention, so without much hesitation, the stout man had decided to check it out.

That didn't take him much long in all honesty, for he had the aspect of space on his side. After receiving coordinates, there was an adjacent building in the Market District that he had ported to and stood upon. His vantage point had given him view of the grand mecha which descended from the sky, shattered much of the pavement and effectively pushed back the finish date on the area. A light sigh came from his lips. First things first, however.

"Citizens of Radiant Garden! Please stay calm, as your king is here to address this situation. Please, return to your homes and no one linger in the markets. Guard, blockade all exists and entrances!" He announced with a stern voice. The safety of the people mattered above all else.

Now that command washed over the people, who seemingly froze seeing the kingly figure standing proud among the men he called soldiers. These exact same soldiers started to funnel people out in an orderly manner, away from all the destruction caused by that... Thing. It's not that he was annoyed by it all, but it put a damper on his mood, since he really wanted to see the construction be finished within an appropriate amount of time.

"As for you two." Gwain called over towards the Goblin who piloted the mech and the individual who held the tome. "Neither of you are to go anywhere!" The king declared and jumped from his perch onto the ground, in front of the mecha, and giving them a rather serious gaze. "I'll have to ask you to exit the machine and stand where I can see your hands, same to you sir." He ordered both figures to do and stood at the ready, for any form of confrontation that they'd attempt to present (if any). Luckily for them, no one was hurt...

Holy shit is that the King? Sweat began to bleed from Isla's tainted-looking skin. Not sure what to do, his quill quivered over his parchment. What the fuck are you going to do, make it rain? The miasma of negativity almost paralyzed the scribe, but he managed to turn his head to Sezrix's hulking exoskeleton.

"What do we do?" the sound traveled in hushed tones, but loud enough to reach the Goblin. Wait, he was still here. The portal didn't work? Isla scolded himself for his lack of control, but wouldn't make the mistake again, given the chance. It's all about picking the right words.

"Do we run, fight, or talk?" The galled-cheeked man was hoping for the foremost or the latter. Definitely not the middle one. He found himself wondering why he even suggested such an idiotic method of action, but the words were already released into the air. His hand hovered over the ledger, ready for action but frightened by the thought.

Sezrix took some time to process all that the people here were saying. It was all so odd. The clothen ones all fled and left, while the ones in armor stayed in position and a large, ornamented one landed in the street to confront them. Meanwhile, the goblin's friend seemed to be in quite a panic as well, laying out options as if they were in some major conflict. Were they?

The goblin looked around again. He took his time, really absorbing the environment, and finally came to some understanding of what was happening.

This world seemed to retain some traits of the world spoken of in stories, where the goblins first lived. Back then, there were many strong people who preyed on the weak. Pirates, bandits, highwaymen, people who'd catch traders or consumers unaware and try to beat goods and gil out of them. Goblins had a word for them.

"Dirtfighters," he muttered, putting in the command for his mech to lower the wagon to the ground. From how he saw it, these humans around him must be the same sort as in the stories. "Gobbie does not want to fight uplanders," he replied, still planted firmly in his seat. "But gobbie likes Gummi too... Are uplanders going to take Gobbiegummi?"

From what he'd learned, the best method of surviving a robbery was compliance. He could only hope he wouldn't have to give up his creation in the process, but he could already see he may not have the choice.

How did the greasy-haired man expect to be so quiet, if he had to project his voice up to the large mech beside him anyways? It was a flaw in logic on the man's part, to which Gwain simply turned a sharp eye over to him, especially when one of the choices he offered to his comrade was, "fight." The king had placed a cautious hand on the hilt of his blade, Excalibur. Since there weren't any sudden moves on either side just yet, there hadn't been any reason to draw the weapon. That's when the pilot of the mecha had stated his terms. "We will not repo your machine, but you MUST comply with my demands. Deactivate the thing, come down here and then I'll issue you a ticket, in regards to the damage you've caused."

What those two would learn, is that Gwain was a lenient king. When the punishment came in the form of a ticket, he used the singular version of it, because one look at the tainted appearing male told the king all he needed to know.

Those red eyes of his hadn't left neither figure despite his words focused on the one goblin. A light breeze rolled on by to gently sway those ebony locks of his, with the white and black suit of armor he wore, nicely polished, gleamed in the over hanging sunlight. A relief of the Darkson sigil was in the center of the breastplate.

If he got the words right, Isla was sure he could get the two out of here without legal reprimand... but he was also sure of the portal last time. Thankfully, it didn't seem that Sezrix noticed. After the King's flashy entrance, the scribe's fears were realized. They were met by a constant stare of those demonic eyes.

There's no way I could get a full haiku out before he stopped me.. maybe a word..

Isla's hands fell to his side in defeat. He waited for his companion's departure and prepared to try to explain what a ticket was. To the Goblin, it was probably just scrap paper and he might eat it, or something.

"He's not going to take it, Sezrix. He's just going to charge us for the destruction it caused."

And that was reasonable. In fact, Isla was glad to get off relatively lightly. Looking around, the scribe noticed they caused quite a scene of havoc. But damned if it wasn't beautiful, in it's own way.

"Damage..?" Sezrix climbed out of the cockpit and turned around, peeking over the back at the area where it had landed. There, he saw the crater he'd left in the pavement, as well as the many cracks that marked the machine's steps. It was then he finally understood his mistake. He had only seen the pavement as a mere stone flooring, but now he realized that someone had built that, and probably took pride in it.

Then he came in here and put a hole through it. Vandalism. Whoops. The goblin wasted no time after that, almost breaking the lever labeled 'engine' as he pulled it downward with the force of a madman. Afterward, he leapt from his seat onto the ground and fell on to his knees, grovelling before the person who led the soldiers.

"G-Gobbie is sorry! Didn't know floor was important, thought was worldfloor, useless! Won't break it again, swear on pinkies, and thumbs, and all fingers!" As different as this place may be from Firebloom or previous goblin settlements, one thing was certainly universal: Somebody builds something, you don't touch it, and you definitely don't destroy it if it's of no consequence to you. On his very first day visiting this city, he'd tarnished the most respected rule of craftsmanship!

It seemed like both of the bodies responsible had enough sense to realize the gravity of the situation. The goblin who hopped down onto his knees, then approached the king in a groveling fashion, had the Guard standing in their fighting positions, weapons at the ready. However, Gwain called them off with a light chuckle. He knelt to gently pat the goblin. "You're in the Market District, which is currently under construction. We're fixing a lot of things up right now, so you sort of did push back the finish date. However, since you've promised not to damage the place again, I suppose I can let you off just this once, with a warning." He stated with a soft smile.

He stood up straight and gazed at the mecha up and down, before a light chuckle came from him. "Which reminds me, I need to get back into building things myself." The king mumbled, turning his eyes off to the side. Quickly refocusing them, however, he smiled once more and nodded towards them. "I just ask that you please put away the machine, so that you don't scare the people anymore. But I am curious... Why did you call in such a huge thing to begin with?"