「Status Update」
Location: Castle York (House Norwen)
Threat Level: Low
Active Hellschisms: 0
Order Presence: Limited
Available Resources: Scarce
Current Mission: Reinforce Defensive Measures
Orien Majere stood just inside the eastern gate, arms folded as he eyed the loose chain links that sagged from the winch assembly above. Daylight crept across the courtyard stones, turning dust motes into tiny sparks. A handful of retainers knelt near a portable forge—really just a stout metal box on legs—while a squire pumped bellows to coax orange flame from meager coals. A smith in a patched apron cursed softly as he hammered a bent bracket into something resembling a proper link.
Dame Corene paced behind them, keeping a wary eye on the work. Nearby, the scribe who had volunteered last chapter hovered with parchment tucked tight under one arm, his other hand holding a small clay pot of paint. He awaited Orien's instructions.
Orien took a step forward and tapped the old chain with a knuckle. "We'll need at least three new links," he said, speaking softly so as not to spook the exhausted crew. "Anything less is a half measure. The chain must hold if the gate needs to drop in an emergency."
The smith nodded without looking up, forearm muscles bulging as he twisted hot metal with tongs. "Three links, if I can coax enough heat. Good metal's scarce. You sure these scraps can hold weight?"
Orien leaned in, meeting the smith's gaze from under lowered brows. "We're not forging perfection. We're buying time. Even a rough link beats a broken gate when the enemy's at the threshold." He looked toward the scribe. "Once the links cool, we'll paint runes along the chain's length. That should reduce stress and dampen sudden blows."
The scribe nodded, ink-stained fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the pot's rim. "I've never painted wards on iron before. Will the paint hold?"
Orien reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small vial of resin. "Mix a drop of this resin into the paint," he said, handing it over. "It'll help the symbols adhere. When I trace the rune over your paint, my magic will bind more easily."
A quiet shape passed behind him: the squire who had fought the demons the day before, the lad Alden said was cleaning gear behind the barracks. He carried a stack of arrows, fletchings ragged but serviceable, and paused at Orien's side.
"Majere," the squire said, voice uncertain. "Sir Alden sent me. He said I should offer my assistance. I can hold tools or fetch water."
Orien considered him. The boy's face still held that thin, worried tension, but there was a spark of determination. Yesterday's ordeal hadn't broken him; it had shaped him. Orien smiled faintly. "What's your name?"
"Eldric," the squire said, glancing down at his boots. "I was on the line when you sealed that rift."
"Glad you made it through," Orien said. "I can use a steady hand. Help the scribe stir the paint and resin. We need it smooth and ready before the iron cools."
Eldric obeyed, handing off the arrows to a nearby guard and kneeling next to the scribe. Together, they leaned over a small bowl. The scribe tipped the clay pot carefully, blending paint and resin with a slender brush. Eldric's shoulders loosened as he watched the mixture swirl, offering quiet suggestions on consistency.
The smith grunted, lifting the glowing metal from the forge. Sparks jumped as he hammered again, shaping the first link. Corene stepped closer, her armor catching a slant of sunlight. She studied Orien's posture and said, "Once this chain is secure, what then? You mentioned wards for the storeroom too."
"Correct," Orien said. "We'll paint a rune on the doorframe of the storeroom. It won't stop a determined intruder, but it'll slow them. If something breaks through the outer wall, that storeroom might hold spare weapons or supplies. A few extra heartbeats of delay could mean the difference between life and death."
Corene nodded, satisfied. "We've started sorting through crates in that storeroom. No full weapons, but some parts we can fasten onto spear shafts. Every bit helps."
The quiet hum of the work continued. The smith quenched the first link with a hiss of steam, passing it to Corene, who inspected it and handed it to Orien. He tested the weight, nodding approval. "Good. Two more like this."
As the smith hammered the second link, Orien turned to Eldric and the scribe. "Is the paint ready?"
The scribe dipped a brush, inspecting the slow drip of thickened liquid. "Seems good."
"Come," Orien said. He guided them toward the gate mechanism, where the old chain sagged against a pulley. "Paint a stripe along every third link. Leave space for me to inscribe runes afterward. Keep your strokes even."
Eldric steadied the chain, fingers careful not to smudge. The scribe applied the paint with slow precision. When they finished the first few links, Orien raised a hand and summoned a gentle warmth in his palm. No grand flames now, just a mild glow that danced between his fingertips.
He spoke quietly, voice low and measured. "I bind this chain to resist sudden force. Let these marks channel the smallest fraction of my will." He traced his index finger over the painted stripes, leaving behind thin lines of magical script that shimmered before fading into the metal. Eldric watched, mouth parted in quiet awe.
The scribe blinked. "I've seen runes on parchment, but never something like this. It looked like your finger left fire behind."
Orien gave a short nod. "It did, in a way. The paint holds my mana for a time. Weeks, if we're lucky. When the chain takes a hard hit, the runes will absorb some of the shock."
Corene tapped a gauntleted finger against her thigh, impressed but reserved. "Wish we had more paint, more resin. If we could do this to the main doors, the gatehouse beams…"
Orien turned to her. "We'll consider other improvements once we see how these hold up. Better to focus on a few key points than spread ourselves thin."
The second link arrived, and the process repeated. The scribe painted while Eldric steadied the metal. Orien etched new runes. By the time the third link was ready, sweat beaded on everyone's foreheads. The sun climbed, and distant voices carried news that a salvage team had found more scrap near an old orchard. Maybe there would be a second chance to reinforce another weak point later.
Alden approached from across the courtyard, pausing to watch. "You've been busy."
Orien gave him a sideways glance. "We're done forging links. Now we attach them." He nodded at Eldric. "You, help the smith. Hold the chain steady while he fits the new links in place."
Eldric obeyed, voice stronger now. "Yes, sir," he said, ducking under the chain. The smith grunted as he wedged each link open, slipping it where needed before sealing it shut with a few measured hammer blows against a small anvil block carried here just for the task. Sparks flew with each strike.
When it was done, Corene tested the gate mechanism. The chain lifted and lowered the gate with a smoother motion than before. She let it down gently, then gave a firm tug. The links held steady. "Not perfect," she said, "but better than we've had in months."
Alden nodded. "We can set a sentry here. With that horn the steward released from storage, they'll signal if anything approaches. And with these runes, we have a fraction of reassurance."
Orien brushed dust from his cloak. "Then let's move to the storeroom and apply that ward. Where's the paint?"
The scribe held it up, careful not to spill a drop. Eldric rubbed soot from his sleeve and trailed after them, eager to remain useful.
They crossed the courtyard, passing two guards who swapped curious looks. A low murmur followed them, some soldiers whispering about the new mage who fixed the gate chain. There was no open praise, no roaring approval, but Orien sensed a subtle shift. Yesterday he was a stranger with odd claims; today he had shaped metal and magic to reinforce their defenses.
Inside the storeroom corridor, the air smelled of mildew and old straw. The doorframe they needed to ward was a rough wooden arch with iron hinges. Orien tested the wood's surface, nodding when he found it sturdy enough. "Same process: paint stripes at key points."
The scribe knelt, applying careful strokes at the top and sides. Orien placed a hand on Eldric's shoulder. "Hold the lantern higher, so I can see the wood grain."
Eldric complied, lifting the lantern. Warm light played across Orien's face as he invoked the runes again. This time, he used a slightly different pattern, focused on slowing intrusion rather than absorbing force. The magical script glowed faintly and then vanished, leaving no mark save a faint tingle in the air.
Corene watched from a few steps away, arms folded. She seemed pensive. "Majere, if we keep doing small fixes, can we truly hold off what's coming?"
Orien held her gaze. He remembered nightmares, a tide of horrors too vast for one set of walls. "If we do nothing, we fail for certain," he said quietly. "Small steps now buy us time and strength. Time to gather allies, to train recruits, to prepare resources. I can't promise victory, but I can promise that hesitation leads only to regret."
Alden stepped forward, tone low. "We still don't know your past, mage. But these acts speak well enough. We'll stand with you as long as you stand with us."
Orien inclined his head. "Then let's continue. Once we're finished here, we should consider sending word to other Havens. House York stands, but what about Castle Ago or Castle Angell? If we coordinate, we might share methods and supplies. A chain link here, a rune there—it all adds up across many territories."
Corene nodded. "We have a messenger due back in a day or two. If we have instructions ready by then, we can send envoys with news of these improvements."
Orien felt a quiet satisfaction bloom in his chest. This was how they would turn the tide: by treating every problem as solvable and every ally as indispensable. In the silence of the storeroom corridor, he imagined the future spreading out: Havens exchanging knowledge, wards layered across gates far and wide, each House better prepared than last time.
He touched the doorframe once more, feeling the charged hum of the wards settling. Then he turned to Eldric, who still held the lantern. "We're finished here. Good work, all of you."
The scribe tucked his parchment away, relieved. The smith wiped sweat from his brow. Corene gave a curt nod, already thinking of the next task. Alden tilted his head toward the courtyard, inviting them to return to open air.
As they stepped back outside, the sky had shifted to a crisp blue streaked with thin clouds. The castle's old stones looked no less scarred, but Orien sensed a subtle resonance—a shared effort humming in the mortar.
Small steps, he reminded himself. Each a thread in a tapestry of resilience. He would not say it aloud yet, but he believed they could push back against fate. They just needed a spark, a plan, and the will to shape metal and magic into a shield strong enough for the coming storm.