Fields of Ice

[Dr. McNinja]

Kushi and Mack were standing shoulder-to-hip just outside their bar. They were in the middle of painting a sign, when they fell into an argument about the name of the bar. Mack thought "Barrels of Thunder" was a great name, while Kushi thought it was crude and inaccurate as the sake was not stored in barrels. Kushi wanted some more nip-knees nonsense like "Leaves of May". Mack was admittedly unsure of what Kushi actually wanted to name the bar, he was just too upset that he was stuck with an employer that didn't think "Barrels of Thunder" was a good name. In the middle of Mack once more howling, "Dwarves dinnae like me'aphors!", they heard three sharp knocks on their door.

Outside was, unsurprisingly, a dwarf. He was wearing heavy-set and rusty goggles, as if to block out the snow. Traveler, then. Behind him was a rickety old motorized sled. It was in poor condition. He clearly didn't make it, and it definitely was not dwarven technology. A traveler from far away, then, with non-dwarven friends. He didn't seem to want to go inside, so he was probably a merchant selling something. The dwarf scratched his chin.

"Welcome tah the Barrels of Thunder," Mack proudly announced.

The dwarf chuckled approvingly. "Grea' name."

"That's not the name-" Kushi stopped herself. "Anyways, we're not open for business yet. Can we help you?"

"Yer rice shipmen'," the dwarf grunted.

Mack grunted and made his way around to the back of the sled, where maybe 4 or 5 boxes were stacked and roped together. Some of the ropes had snapped and were trailing behind the sled.

"There's no way this is all of it," Kushi noted.

"I go' attacked," the dwarf grunted, "by some trolls outside Dwarfholm."

"You don't seem like you got attacked," Kushi replied, pointing how relatively unharmed he was.

"Ye should see me brother. He's in a ditch being et."

Kushi gasped. "Go shuushou sama desu. I did not know."

Mack was looking at the shipment, or what was left of it. The boxes that were still with the trader were more or less usable, save for one. Even Mack, who had never seen rice before working with Kushi, knew that a giant green web of mildew and the smell of outhouses could not be a good thing.

"Ahm sorry bou' yer brother, pal," Mack groaned.

The trader nodded glumly.

"But we can't pay fer more than three crates. This last one is right disgusting."

The trader looked back. He started fuming. "I los' a brother getting this t'you!"

"An' again, ahm sorry for yer loss. Bu' this is righ' ridiculous."

Mack would normally not be so harsh, but when he ordered food he generally expected it not to be pulsing green.

"We cannae work with this, sar."

The trader sighed, letting his head hang back. Kushi couldn't stand the sight of it.

"But we'll pay for two nights of food and sleep at the tavern," she interrupted, "Help you get back on your feet."

Mack's jaw dropped in disbelief while the trader nodded and bowed to her.

"Thank ye, ma'am. Yer very kind."

Kushi paid the trader for the three crates as Mack moved them inside. The trader boarded the sled once more. With a raspy shudder, the sled began to slide slowly down the street, ropes trailing behind. Mack snapped his head to Kushi.

"What are ye doin' that fer?"

"Doing what?"

"Payin' his bills!"

Kushi's eyes flared. "His brother died. In my culture, when someone loses a close relative, you send them consolation in the form of gifts. It was the least I could do."

"Tha' dwarf is a Dwarfholm trader," Mack snapped, "Anno it's tragic but he knows the risks of runnin' a caravan, and if he didin, then that's on him. Waste o' money, tha' is."

Mack stormed inside the bar. Kushi could barely temper her own rage.

"Where are you going, McMickson-ssan?"

"Ahm gettin' my stuff," the dwarf shouted from the storeroom.

"You're going to quit because of my generosity?" Kushi almost shouted.

"Qui'?"

Mack poked his head out from the storeroom. "Who said ahm quittin'?"

Kushi blinked a few times. She quickly realized Mack was now wearing a leather helmet with small teeth lining the middle. In his right hand was a worn battleaxe about half of his size. Despite the outrageous size, Mack seemed to have no trouble holding the weapon, giving it a few practice swings.

"Ye said that in yer culture, ye send wee gifts to the grievin'," Mack grunted triumphantly, "In mah culture, we send them the heads of the bastards who dun it."

Mack stormed out the door. Kushi tried to stop him, but it was quite clear that Mack could not hear well in his helmet. She crossed her arms and huffed as she watched her employee storm out of town. The next day, Mack returned to town, dragging behind him two large crates of rice and a troll head. Kushi grinned as she watched Mack struggle with the incredibly heavy shipment.

"Ye gonna help me or nah'?"

Kushi shrugged, repressing her smile. "After you apologize for storming out during business hours."

"Now ye sound like me missus," Mack huffed, groaning as he pulled the crate behind him.

"I didn't know you have a wife," Kushi remarked.

"Not anymore," Mack replied.

Kushi's mocking expression faded. She dusted off her hands and picked up a crate.

"Which inn is the trader stayin' a'?" Mack asked.

"Oh, he just left," Kushi replied.

Mack stared at her in disbelief. "Yer jokin'."

Kushi chuckled. "Yes, I am. He's just down the road."

Mack sighed in relief. "I cannae believe you'd try and trick me like tha'," he muttered as he made his way towards the inn, the troll's head slung around his shoulder. Kushi smiled widely.

"You're a good man, McMickson-ssan," Kushi called out mockingly.

"I know yer tryin' to mock me that 'man' haver," Mack called back in reply.