One More Mug: Black and blue smith

“I’ve never seen a man take a beating like you,” the rogue said, laughing as he raised his drink. The tavern buzzed with lively patrons in the warmth of the afternoon as he and his party rested.

“I mean, I do need to defend you guys, haha!” the large blacksmith laughed, chugging down his drink.

“We were never in danger—we were literally in the next room of the dungeon,” the archer replied snarkily.

“I just wanted to make sure we were safe on the way back. So, you’re welcome,” the blacksmith joked.

“You’re so gullible,” the archer laughed. “I mean, sure, we didn’t have to worry, but you still got hurt. And don’t get me started on the merchant who sold you that ‘metal’ for your gear.”

“It looked durable when he showed it to me!” the blacksmith shot back.

“He painted scrap iron. We told you not to buy it—but no, you said it was an upgrade,” the archer said, shaking his head.

The assassin smirked. “I’d forgive you if it was your first time…”

“It was, in fact, your tenth time being swindled,” the rogue added.

“I don’t understand… what if that time it was real?” the blacksmith said.

The two exchanged a look.

“Has one ever been right?” the archer asked.

“N-no, but…you know… one day,” he replied defensively.

The assassin muttered quietly, “I entered once… and won.”

“I still won’t forgive you!” the blacksmith snapped. “That was supposed to be my win!”

“Well, at least you manage to earn some coins somehow,” the archer said. “They just… don’t stay very long.”

The group continued teasing the blacksmith when the assassin asked, “So, is she coming?”

“Oh yes,” the blacksmith smirked. “You have to see her in action—you’ll be impressed!”

Slowly, the air grew colder as a witch entered the tavern. The patrons tensed, even the party

…except the blacksmith.

“Hey!! You made it!” he waved enthusiastically. “Men, I’d like you to meet the witch who helped me last week with an ice troll. Oh, don’t worry, she’s chill… pun intended.”

He smiled proudly.

“Greetings,” the witch said coldly.

“Hello,” the assassin nodded.

“Hi,” the rogue added.

“Pleasure to meet you,” the archer said.

“Sorry if he looks a bit red,” the archer continued. “We’ve been talking about how he’s still alive.”

The witch tilted her head slightly, surprised—but then nodded in agreement.

“Oh. Indeed. He took a hit meant for me last time… and went down. I am quite surprised to see him drinking.”

“Did he go down in one hit?” the rogue grinned.

“I went down in two hits!” the blacksmith snapped back.

“No,” she corrected calmly. “You went down in one. You hit your head on a rock when you landed… if that is what you are counting.”

The table burst into laughter.

The witch looked at them, slightly confused.

The blacksmith covered his face.

“Ugh… but hey, I’ll still defend everyone I care about—even if I can barely take a hit!” he said, trying to straighten his posture.

“Even if there’s a roach coming at us?” the rogue snickered.

The whole table erupted as the blacksmith tried to answer, “I-I mean… there are other ways to save you all!”

“I am sorry?” the witch asked, confused.

“Oh, big guy here has a HUGE fear of roaches, I’ve seen him run faster than anyone in this tavern,” the archer said, grinning. “I actually never told him a roach landed on his face while we were camping.”

The blacksmith froze.

“…what?”

His eyes widened. Without another word, he grabbed his ale and splashed it onto his face, scrubbing frantically as the table burst into even louder laughter—even the witch let out a faint chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “It seems everyone is aware of your weakness. You never told me.”

He straightened again, trying to regain dignity.

“Such trivial things do not need to be said,” he declared, almost poetically.

“But why are you afraid of them?” she asked.

“Are they magic?” the rogue cut in.

“No,” the blacksmith answered.

“Are they lethal?” the archer added.

“No!” the blacksmith shot back.

“Cursed?” the assassin questioned.

He paused.

“…they fly!”

The table burst into laughter.

The witch gave a faint smile. “…Noted.”

“..and if you’ll excuse me,” he added quickly, “I need to… clean myself.”

As the archer’s laughter died down, he turned to the witch.

“He may be a big goof,” the archer said, “but most of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

The witch tilted her head slightly. “How?”

“Back then, I was about to be hit by an arrow that would’ve ended me,” the archer said. “He stepped in.”

“He pulled me out from under a boulder while I was exploring,” the rogue added.

“He spared me,” the assassin muttered.

The archer glanced at the witch. “Do you owe him in any way?”

“Not really. I’m just curious to join a party,” she said.

“I see, but we got one rule,” the rogue stated

The archer sighed. “Just… don’t praise him too much.”

“He gets big-headed and ends up in even worse trouble.”

“Everyone got it?” the archer asked.

“As always,” the rogue said.

“Yeah,” the assassin nodded.

“Got it,” the witch confirmed.

The others continued talking.

The witch sat quietly, watching the door. She didn’t look at the others when they spoke. After a moment, she stood and headed for the restroom.

Near the entrance, she saw the blacksmith stepping out.

“Hey. Everything okay?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, it’s just, are you sure about this? I never liked working with people or getting along either,” she replied exhaustedly.

“I am sure, and if they don’t get you, I always have everyone’s back, and that includes you,” he reassured her.

“Thank you,” she gently smiled and left to continue using the restroom as the blacksmith returned to the table.

“Did I miss anything?” the blacksmith asked.

“Oh, nothing much,” the archer said. “The rogue and I were just betting whether you’d fall into the toilet and come back bruised again.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” the blacksmith shot back. “Anyway, I’m feeling light and ready now. How about you all?”

The group nodded.

“Let’s go already!” the rogue said.

The blacksmith turned, already taking a step, then paused.

“Oh, wait, the witch,” he said. “She’s probably done.”

As if on cue, the witch stepped out and joined them, a faint smile on her face.

The blacksmith grinned. “Alright, she’s here, let’s go!” he said. “I heard there’s a quest where we can fight a dire bear.”

“We know what you’re planning,” the archer replied. “And no, you’re not fighting it alone.”

The group laughed as they packed up. The blacksmith lingered behind to pay, then caught up, walking just behind them.

“But we talked about this!! I can take it on! please?!” he pleaded “And if I get in trouble, we've got her.” He looked at the witch.

Suddenly, the air grew colder.

The witch glanced behind him.

A faint flutter echoed as she pointed.

“…there’s a roach behind you,” she muttered.

A beat.

The door burst open.

Outside, across the street, the blacksmith was already waving at them.

“What are you all waiting for?! Let’s go!”

The rogue snorted. “And that makes him second fastest in the group.”

The assassin asked, disinterested, “Second?”

The rogue grinned, patting his shoulder as they met the blacksmith, but the archer glanced back toward the doorway.

A small roach of ice skittered briefly, then melted into nothing.

He looked at the witch.

She said nothing.

The archer smirked… and gave a small thumbs up.

The witch walked past him and walked near the blacksmith and the gang.