Artificers Guild. (Under Construction)

  "'Nd stay outta trouble!" Constable Bigsby declared as he, once again, deposited Dylan off at the guild. While he had been relegated to keeping the peace between the colony and the elvish workers, Dylan's... rambunctiousness, forced him to leave matters and deal with the gnome himself!

  Which he already regretted as he just knew that without his firm hand the halfling colonists would be taking the chance to harass the elves. He groaned and pointed threateningly at the spectacled gnome with the end of his Billy club.

  "Last warnin' Diomede! Mayor's orders er not, ifin I finds you causin' mischief again It'll be you diggin' shitters!"

  With a firm nod of his cap, the constable huffs and marches away and back towards the semi-permanent line of bobbies he's had stationed between the two groups.

  Leaving Alban, and the oil covered Dylan, to shuffle nervously as nearby halflings glowered, glared, and muttered while pointing at them as they hurried on by.

  Dylan wasn't sure what the bother was, he was just tinkering with some of the inner workings of that strange metal crane thing the humans were using to move dirt and rock.

  Sure he may have caused a small fire, or two, or five. But he put them out! Though the last one got a little bigger because of the spilled oil, and he may have tried to put it out with a jug of water. Which turned out to NOT be water as it almost blew up him and Alban for their trouble!

  But at least he tinkered while no one was using it! This time. He learned that lesson the first couple times the humans saw him poking around the strange machines they used. Especially since he almost lost a finger to one of their buzzing saws!

  They tried to fix the crane when they were done! How was he supposed to know how the machine worked without tinkering with it?! But as he was pulling apart tubes of coolant and sparking wires was when the human workers arrived for their shift and hurried over. Constable Bigsby wasn't far behind.

  Dylan sighed and grabbed a rag to wipe himself off, though the rag itself was used for such things so often that all it really did was spread the thick oil and grease around rather than wiping it off.

  He turned his head to where the remnants of the mana batteries laid in a scrap pile. He hated leaving a job half done, even if it was because of lack of materials. So much so that he swallowed stone and wrote a requisition form to the Ulrin Clan for more materials to continue his work.

  However, he wasn't hopeful for the materials, or a response really. At this point he was all but exiled. Still under contract for if he ever succeeded in making something that they found profitable, but more or less out of their beards until such a day ever came.

  He glanced at the piles of scrap and trash that more or less made up their "workshop". They haven't been just tinkering he would say in their defense. They did manage to throw together a simple scrap home for the two of them.

  Though it was more Alban's than his. He was content with his tool bag. Especially since Alban could carry it around with him and their tools in it! While he was sure Clive was working on getting them supplies, he understood if he was busy with other things.

  They were used to it. Being ignored until they did something that demanded a reaction from someone. But they didn't mind it. Less interaction meant more time to tinker and experiment, Dylan thought as he and Alban entered the simple scrap hut which held their few personal affects out of the weather and elements.

  Which wasn't really much. Other than their sketches and some personal clothes as well as some stored rations that they kept for emergencies.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He wandered over to the scrap desk that they used and gazed at the mess of papers and oil. So many plans he wanted to experiment with. Ones that now seemed within reach just from what he's seen of this world so far, if not already achieved by someone else in this world.

  He wanted to stay out of trouble for all Clive has done for them so far. But how could he when there was so much to see, learn, and tinker! He almost felt like breaking out in song and dance!

  Almost. Gnomes don't sing and dance like the halflings do. At least not that he's heard or seen. Making instruments sure, but actually using them was a different question.

  Maybe he could solve two equations at once, Dylan thought as he considered that perhaps throwing together some musical instruments might buy them some goodwill among the halflings! At least enough to where they stopped dumping their trash by their workshop.

  Although the strange bird bones from the other day made some remarkably good quills! But of course he ran into the same issue that's been plaguing him. Which does he do first? For someone else of any race they'd be able to simply decide and move on. But gnomes don't work like that.

  Instead they built up a manic energy that resulted in fevered focus on specific things regardless of actual priority. Most of his people, especially those working for the dwarves, can channel it into productive work.

  But with him now "untethered" from a single project to focus on and dozens if not hundreds of possibilities available, he was rather fidgety about things.

  Which more oft resulted in said trouble from before. Yet while he could easily think of solutions to problems fairly easily, his mind forced him to focus on a single thing with such manic energy it may as well be called an obsession!

  Dozens of things he could do to secure goodwill with the humans, dwarves, and even the halflings. Thrown away because a part of his brain drove him in a certain direction and refused to relent even in the face of danger or trouble.

  Sure back when he was disheartened and low for the increasing failures of the mana batteries had put a damper on such impulses, with everything around him how could he be down when there was so much to drive his mind wild with inspiration?!

  Tinker toys were forgotten in favor of mechanical powered tools. Gestures of goodwill cast aside in favor of pursuing... anything really! He cast a brief glance at an assortment of said tinker toys before his spectacled-eyes were forced to a blank scrap of parchment and his fingers took on minds of their own as they pulled out his charcoal stick and set about fervent ideas and plans.

  Leaving Alban to do the actual task of creating simpler things. Despite his adopted brother's mania, Alban was keen-eyed enough to know the inner workings of his mind.

  Most times.

  So with a grunt he started collecting bits of scrap and fashioning them into simple things. Mainly tinker toys for the humans and halflings. Sure he would have to pull Dylan away now and again for the things that requires his smaller hands and fingers, but the gnome quickly returned to his mania.

  He doubt they'll get much for them, Alban thought. But it would be a source of income they didn't have. Which meant they could afford things like more supplies. Or repairing "tinkered" things.

  He soon gathered up the small collection of tinker toys and scrap knickknacks and made his way out the simple hut they called home. He cast a final glance at Dylan as the gnome continued to burn through parchment like it grew on trees.

  He should be fine, Alban thought as he left the gnome to his mania and set out to collect some funds for the guild of two. He walked easily to the market where the halflings did business with one another. His nose filled with succulent meats and sweet fruits and pastries.

  His ears filled with the noise of commerce as halflings bartered and traded their goods and wares to friends and neighbors. He smiled as he watches the hustle. He enjoyed markets. Part of him wished to return to making tinker toys full time and set aside the fickle trade of artificery.

  But that wasn't what Dylan wanted. He wanted to not only create, but innovate as well, Alban thought as he sat down the box of crafts and waved and gestured to those around in an effort to draw business.

  Which was easy enough to do being the only dwarf in the colony. But "talking shop" or haggling? Not so much as evidenced by a halfling and his quarterling giving him awkward smiles and hurrying along.

  "Wha' a queer dwarf." He heard the halfling say when he thought he was out of earshot.

  Which wouldn't be the last time, Alban thought as he struggled to sell anything to the halflings. He exhaled through his nose and made to wash his hands for today when one of the local humans reached down and pulled a clockwork chicken from his box.

  The worn and weary human had a soft smile on his face as he turned the small tuning dial that wound it up and caused the small thing to rock back and forth, the clicking of the gears almost sounding like small light clucks. He chuckled lightly before turning to Alban.

  "How much?"

  Alban stared at the human for a moment before gesturing out the price he thought was fair. Though he was sure this would end like with the halflings. At least until the human nodded and pulled out a leather wallet and produced a single green piece of what seemed to be either paper or fabric, he couldn't tell, that had a bearded human in the center.

  Alban reached out and took up the rather soft piece of currency he knew the local humans used. It was so soft and fragile feeling, he thought as he looked up and saw the human walk away with a smile and a wave.

  He knew enough Common to know the five in the corners of the bill. This was more than twice what he said it was, Alban thought as he made to run after the human before being stopped by another couple of humans that reached down and took a few more tinker toys and a scrap noise maker.

  "Kids'll love these."

  Before Alban could do anything, he found another of the five printed bills and five bills that hand a one in the corners placed into his hand before the humans smiled with a nod towards him and departed.

  Before Alban knew it, he had sold out. An entire box that would've taken months to get rid of was gone in the better part of an hour. He glanced between the empty box and the rather hefty pile of "cash", as the local humans called it, in his hand. Maybe they really should just switch back to tinker toys, Alban thought.

  That is until he saw the constables running by muttering something about "tha' gnome again!". Which prompted Alban to stuff the cash into his metal coin purse and hurry after them, ready to get his brother out of trouble.

  Again.