Jesse Woodram and the Kobold Menace

Part One

	The train hissed into the station, arcs of galvanic energy cracked and popped across the rails as the train rested. Multicolored light from the noon sun streamed down from the stained glass ceiling of the station, bathing the floor with yellows, reds, blues, and oranges.
	Jesse Woodram stepped out of the train, stretching his muscles. Napping on those stiff seats was a killer on the back and shoulders. He had no idea how some people did it. He yawned, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes. He was wearing his usual attire of baggy brown trousers and a loose, off-white button up that had the top two buttons undone so that the tank top underneath was clearly visible.
	Over that he wore a red coat that had tails that went down to his ankles. The coat had armored padding underneath around the chest, back, shoulders, and arms. Around his neck were a pair of goggles used for when he needed to protect them, either while he was working or in a scrap with some nasty business. On his hands were a pair of fingerless gloves with metal studs on the knuckles for when he needed to get down and dirty.
	He cracked his neck and strolled off the train and onto the station platform, his duffel bag slung on his shoulder, and he ran his fingers through his red hair, which seemed to be more disheveled than usual. He must’ve been asleep longer than he thought.
	He walked through the station, taking in his first taste of Irondale’s local culture. The domed ceiling of the station depicted the story of the hero Altor the Righteous in lavish detail. The stations halls were lined with stands selling pretzels, sausages with honey mustard sauce, and bakeries with what smelled like fresh bread sat next to shops selling knick-knacks made from the town’s eponymous iron, statues and fancy paperweights and the like.

	Outside the station, down its solid stone steps and onto the cobbled streets was Irondale proper. Lines of buildings twisting into streets and alleys spread out a fair distance, the horizon dominated by a tall clock tower from what looked to be the center of town. Men and women walked to and fro along the sidewalks, some were seated outside cafes drinking coffee and tea, and others still squatted wherever it was comfortable playing card games or marbles.
Boys in flat caps and overalls were on the odd street corner trying to sell newspapers to make a few marks. Jesse remembered being there as a kid himself, starving and not a mark to his name. He strode up to one closest to him, a squat kid with a big nose, and bought a paper off him. He barely had enough marks for lunch now, his wallet was almost bare, with only two marks left.

	The smell of the town was just right for an afternoon in the beginning of Fall, with a crisp tinge to it that heralded the harvest season. Cafes and bakeries would be putting out pumpkin and peppermint flavored and themed items, anything from pumpkin pie to peppermint chocolate. It was Jesse’s favorite time of the year, where all the best confections of the land would all show up at once.
	Jesse took in all the scenery of this small town in the middle of the nation’s heartland, feeling it’s life pulse all around him as he walked down the streets. Shop windows displaying the latest in men’s and women’s fashion, books of a wide variety, handcrafted toys for children, and the latest mechanical parts for those with prosthesis and personal automatons. There were even parts for ironhulks.
	He eyed the fashion displays. He had no idea how people lived wearing fitted jackets and slacks, with shoes that clicked with every step. Jesse preferred comfort over fashion.
	Practical, casual, and comfortable. The three tenants of style according to Jesse Woodram. Of course, many objected to his ideas, calling his sense of style sloppy and unprofessional. It was either his mother, his brother, or anyone he had to go on jobs with. Usually accompanied with criticisms of his lifestyle, whether it was he drinks too much or that he got into too many fights with nasty bar-squatters or that he didn’t clean his quarters so that his nudie mags were visible to visitors.
	The last one chafed Jesse the most. How else was he supposed to find them? When he put things away, they had a tendency to disappear. Then he always had to tear his room apart looking for them, and by that point it was back to square one. Better to have controlled chaos. That way the room had some character to it, but didn’t get too messy. So very few people appreciated that, especially in the guild.

	Jesse fixed his hair using a store window as a mirror, much to the chagrin of those inside. He made his way to the nearest tram stop, hopped on the next tram north and let Irondale pass lazily by.  Street performers in shabbier clothes than his own played brass instruments and banjos, or did simple magic tricks for passersby.
	Strange that, really. People are surrounded by magic everyday, from the lights in their homes to the motors in their cars, all of it functioning off magic as an infinite resource. Plus, in the bigger cities towards the central province, you can’t go two steps without tripping over a mage. The buggers were everywhere.
	Around these parts, mages are still something of a novelty, with even the most elementary of magic spells able to draw a crowd of people.

	His hair blew in the breeze of early Fall, the chill of the wind bringing a slight tingle to his face. He stared at the statues carved into the very buildings themselves. Figures of angels, great men and women, saints, demons, animals, soldiers, and plethora more. Saint Kalen and Saint Cerea holding up a lantern that welcomed people into a church of the All-Father. The archangel Tethemos standing victorious over the corpse of a demon on the wall of a post office. King Lucian Rexland relaxing on a bench near a dog park. What a beautiful place.
	The north side came up sooner than expected. Mansions for the wealthy with lawns the size of baseball fields decorated with fountains and hedges cut into the shapes of serpents and elephants or elaborate geometric designs.
	Most just had big steel gates and stone walls to protect them. The mansions belonging to more important people also had armed guards, with either swords or rifles at the ready in bright uniforms and armor. It all seemed like a wasteful display of wealth, a show of “we have more money than you, and we want you to know it”. Like a peacock that needs to strut.
	The tram stopped blocks away from the Mayor’s mansion. Jesse hopped off and continued on foot, taking in the rich and swanky part of town.

	He noticed right off the bat was how tall the streetlamps were. They had to be almost fifteen feet tall compared to the more normal eight feet tall. What was it with rich folks and their obsession of making things so unnecessarily grand? They couldn’t just live in a house, they had to live in the biggest house with the best yard. They couldn’t just have normal old streetlamps, they needed to be taller than a giant.
	And despite all that, they couldn’t even buy good food. Caviar just tasted like salty jelly. nothing beat a bit of beef and potato from the pub. Which pub? Doesn’t matter, really. They all have their own flavor and they’re all good. Rich folks can have their fish eggs.
	He spotted a pair of old ladies out and about, wearing their flowing dresses of snow white and rich blue. One of them walked a small dog, one that had to be no bigger than a large rat. They looked away from him, they didn’t want to sully their good day by looking at such a slovenly dressed commoner, no doubt.

	The mayor’s mansion had tall front gates, and the two blue-uniformed guards posted by them didn’t seem to like Jesse very much. Maybe they didn’t like anyone.
	One of them, a human, had a pair of thick muttonchops and a crooked nose. The other one was a dwarf with a shaved face, though it seemed that his eyebrows made up for the lack of a beard. Jesse flashed his guildsman’s badge. Their expressions didn’t change. Jesse sighed.
	“I’m here to speak with Mayor Vignis,” Jesse said. “I’ve been contracted to deal with your local kobold problem.”

	The human guard grunted to the dwarf and the dwarf approached, holding out his hand. Jesse just rolled his eyes as he presented his paperwork, fishing it out of his coat pocket and sliding the neatly folded slip of paper into the dwarf’s meaty hand.
	The dwarf unfolded the paper and read it over quickly. He probably wasn’t even reading the damn thing, just looking it over and making sure the stamp was on it.
	The guard nodded and handed the paper back to Jesse.
	“Let him in,” the dwarf guard said. His voice was like a chain smoker chewing on gravel.

	The gates crept open, creaking as they parted to let Jesse in. He didn’t even wait for it open all the way, strolling in when the gap was just wide enough for him to enter. This got him a glare from that dwarf.
	The walkway from the gate was short, but lead to a rather substantial staircase which in turn led up to a pair of ten-feet-tall front doors. At eye level, there was a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head with a ring clenched in its jaws snarled outwardly at anyone coming to visit.
	Guy sure does know how to make people feel welcome, Jesse thought to himself.

	He reached out and knocked three times on the door, banging the bronze ring against the wood. A minute passed before a butler cracked the door open to inspect Jesse first. He could read the skepticism on the sliver of the butler’s face. He flashed his guildsman’s badge. The door opened further to reveal the butler and the interior of the mayor’s mansion.
	The butler himself was a rail of a man, tall and thin with a long face and dressed in a clean, dark gray suit. His mouth was covered by a large, almost comically large, mustache that curled inward at the tips. He had a bald head too, a polished one that shined in the light of the foyer.
	“Greetings, master guildsman,” the butler said, his voice that of an ancient man despite his body saying ‘fit sixty-year-old man.’ “Follow me to the sitting room.”
	The butler walked with an even, calculated step. Like an actor going through the motions of a rehearsed play. He swiveled on his heels and seemed to glide across the tiled floor. Jesse followed behind, suddenly self-conscious about his own gait. He put one hand in his pocket and the other around the strap of his duffel bag.
	The foyer was as you could expect in a rich man’s mansion. Big and spacious, with paintings hanging on the walls depicting major historical figures and of the mayor himself. From the paintings, he appeared to be half-elven.
	His ears had points like an elf, his eyes were angular and large and a rich blue in color. His features were fine, with a broad, flat nose. His skin was from his human half, probably his father, as it was dark brown. Very few elves had naturally dark skin, and even then they weren’t as dark as the mayor’s. His hair was cut short and parted from the left. His look was that of ‘no nonsense’, that he didn’t like anything disrupting his calm.

	The butler opened the sitting room’s door, inviting Jesse inside. He strode in,. It was a cozy place, with a crackling hearth on the far wall supplying the room with the heat only burning wood can provide. The walls had bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, filled with what seemed like hundreds of tomes and books.
	Close to the fire was a vacant desk of quality one would expect from regional nobility, fancy but not too lavish. The desk had stacks of books and ledgers on it
	On the desktop lay also a partially completed puzzle cube. Jesse had one of those on his own desk, it helped him think while having to do paperwork. Good to know the mayor and he were kindred spirits. He might get along with him after all.
	“Would you please take a seat, master guildsman,” the butler said, gesturing to a couch that faced the desk.
	The couch itself was rather average, with a dark wood frame and blue cushions decorated with thin lines of gold. The wood had carvings of flowers and vines running along the edges and down the legs. Jesse parked his butt on the couch and put his duffel bag on the coffee table that sat between the couch and the desk. The bag made a heavy, metallic ‘thunk’ when it rested on the coffee table.
	“Master Vignis will be with you shortly,” the butler said, his posture still as stiff as a board.
	“Could I get some snacks or something,” Jesse said, resting his heavy boots on the coffee table, crossing his feet and leaning back in the couch. “I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning when I left from Bullford.”

	The butler scowled at him in reply, not amused. He simply swiveled on his heels and exited the room, closing the door behind him with a click. Some people just have no sense of humor, it seems. Jesse sighed and sunk into the sofa’s plush cushions.
	It must be hard not falling asleep in a place like this, the warmth from the hearth and the softness of the couch made it an ideal resting place. Hell, it was better than his own bed back in Rookerton. While the temptation was strong, he had a job to do. He fought against the urge to just take one more nap.
	Good thing too, since a moment later Mayor Garrin Vignis came into the room. Jesse sat up a bit straighter as the tall, imposing man made his way to his desk.
	Vignis’s eyes were more piercing in person than in his portrait, with a hard stare and a sneer of either contempt for Jesse’s slovenly nature or the fact that he had his feet on the coffee table. Not that it would stop him from resting his legs after such a long journey. Vignis cleared his throat.

	“Good afternoon, master guildsman,” the mayor said, his voice, deep and smooth, with a cold undertone of command. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”
	Jesse could only grin. “Nice to meet you too, Lord Vignis,” he replied, not moving his feet from their resting position. “What’s this I hear about you having a kobold problem?”
	Vignis sighed, making his way to his desk. He strode smoothly across the room and sat in his chair in one, seamless motion. He certainly carried himself like a proper member of the gentry.
	“Yes. A kobold infestation has been plaguing the outer reaches of town,” Vignis said. He leaned forward on his desk, resting his elbows on the surface and lacing his fingers together. “It seemed like standard kobold activity at first. Only stealing shiny objects. Then they started raiding the farms for grain and untended food. Then they stole from the taverns. This isn’t normal kobold scavenging behavior, as my scout master has told me.”
	“So you’ve called me in to investigate and deal with this menace,” Jesse said, twirling a lock of his wine red hair with his finger.
	“Correct,” Lord Vignis said simply.
	“Why contract out to the guild, though,” Jesse asked. “You could easily have a force of guardsmen investigate and exterminate your pest problem.”
	“I don’t want to put more resources than I have to into this. Too many guards out in the farmlands will cause a panic. Thus, I’ve called on the guild to aid me.”
 Jesse smiled. He switched the position of his feet, the movement accompanied by loud thuds, courtesy of his heavy boots. “You’ve called the right man for the job, Lord Vignis,” he said, a satisfied smile creeping across his lips. “I’ll deal with your little problem. Of course, we guildsman don’t work for free.”

	Garrin Vignis groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your payment will be met in full after you fulfill your mission.”
	“Surely, someone as wealthy as you can afford an advanced payment, Lord Vignis.” Thoughts of his anemic wallet flashed in his mind. He would need some cash for the road to cover travel expenses, lodging once he was out in the farmlands, and food along the way. That’s also not taking into account any medical expenses.
 “How’s about,” Jesse tapped his chin, thinking of a good number. “A five thousand mark down payment now and the other ten thousand after I’ve dealt with the ‘bolds?”

	Lord Vignis sighed. He opened a drawer on his desk and sifted through the contents within. He eventually came out with a few stacks of bills, presenting them on his desktop. “Here,” he said. “Three thousand marks in advanced payment. You will not be getting a copper more until the job is done.”
	Vignis’s eyes narrows at Jesse, hostility glistening behind them. Jesse frowned, but got up from his seat, walking over to Vignis’s desk to take the money.
	As he reached out to take the stacks of cash, Garrin grabbed his wrist. Jesse jumped slightly and looked up into the mayor’s piercing blue eyes.
	“You had better be as good as they say you are, Woodram,” Vignis said.
	“Oh, believe me, Lord Vignis,” Jesse replied, a sly smile making its way across his lips. “I’m all that and more.”



Part Two

	It was a few hours taking a cab to the farms outside Irondale proper. Half way on the journey the road turned to dirt, making the later half hell on Jesse’s back. He’d have to splurge a bit on a soft bed to make up for that ride.
	The farm town of Littlespring was a quaint place, small and warm, painted in the reds and oranges of later afternoon. From a layman’s point of view, the farm town was a peaceful place, one where the old ways, the way before industry changed things, were still alive and well. But, when Jesse looked at it, he saw a place where things were tense. A proportionally large number of guards patrolled the streets, people were finishing up early so they could head in early.
	The two storey brick inn and tavern on the main road had its lights on, so at least he could pick up a pint before bed. Jesse strode in, passing a patrol of guardsmen. He looked at their faces, looked at how they held their weapons. Hand gripped halberds too tight, or rested on pommels. Their eyes shifted back and forth, keeping a diligent watch over the road in front of them. The guards almost jumped when they saw Jesse pass them, their hands gripping their weapons a bit tighter.
	Not a good sign, Jesse thought. This place is wound tighter than a clock spring, any tighter and it’ll break.

	The sign for the Hound and Hare hung above the tavern’s porch, swaying placidly in the breeze. Ahead, the swinging doors let the warm, yellow light spill out. It invited anyone and everyone in for a pint and a good round of laughter. Music was playing, a harmonica, banjo, and mandolin played a jaunty tune as the patrons laughed and sang along.
	Jesse stepped inside and saw a packed common room, men and women enjoying a brief spot of light in what seemed to be a troubling time. Jesse couldn’t help but smile at the warm atmosphere.
	He trod over to the bar, taking a seat in an unoccupied stool, dropping his duffel bag next to him. The barkeep came up to him.
	“Aye, welcome stranger,” a gruff female voice said to him. “What’ll it be this fine day?”
	The barkeep was a squat and broad woman, auburn brown hair tied back into a braid with a kerchief tied over head. She rested an arm on the bar, it was thick with muscle and was topped with strong looking hands. She looked to be a half-dwarf.
	“Ale,” Jesse said, slapping a few crisp marks down on the table. “Your best, if you’d please.”

	The barkeeper’s eyes narrowed at Jesse. She obviously didn’t think he could possibly be carrying around such clean looking bills. Hell, they looked freshly printed. She took a few bills and examined them, bringing them up to the light. Her eyes widened, showing off her emerald green eyes once she figured out they were authentic.
	“At once, sir,” the barkeep said, swiftly taking the bills and grabbing a mug.


	Jesse smiled, resting his arms on the bar and taking a brief look around. The other patrons at the bar were the kind of people he could respect. Strong, broad shouldered men with sweat stains on their clothes and calluses on their hands. He noticed one of them was wearing a leather apron that held a hammer and a wrench, it jingled as he moved, meaning he had metal bits inside his pockets.
	“A mechanic,” Jesse asked the man next to him. “This far out from the town?”
	The man turned to him. The man had a strong face, with a thick, brown beard and mustache that had the consistency of a wire brush.
	“Don’t be so surprised, lad,” the mechanic said. “Machines are used, even out here. We  got tractors and combines. Even have a laborhulk.”

	The barkeep slid Jesse his mug. He caught it deftly, not even a drop of foam managed to fall. Jesse didn’t break eye contact with the mechanic.
	“Very nice,” Jesse said, taking a sip from his mug. “You must be making decent money.”
	“Aye,” the mechanic said. “From the looks of ya, ya must be an adventuring type.”
	Jesse grinned. “Am I that easily readable?” He took another sip. The ale was good, sweet with a decent head. It sat thickly on the tongue, just as Jesse liked it.
	“You here to deal with the kobolds?” The mechanic’s voice was hopeful and hushed, he leaned in so no one could hear him. It would spoil the atmosphere if he reminded people of the danger outside their door.
	“As best I can,” Jesse replied. “I’m no Drake Stormwind, but I’m the best you got as of now. And you have my word that, when my job is done, you won’t have to worry about them.”
	The mechanic nodded. “Thank you,” he said. He held out his hand. “My name’s Darius, by the way. “Pleased to meet ya, stranger.”
	Jesse took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Good to meet you, Darius,” Jesse said. “Name’s Jesse.”

	Jesse enjoyed the jovial atmosphere of the Hound and Hare, listening to the musicians play their jaunty tunes. He even sung along with the crowds a few times when they played songs he knew.
	He laughed and joked alongside the villagers as if he was one of them. Over the course of the night, he downed a few more mugs before buying a room.
	He dragged himself up the stairs and into the room, the weight of his canvas bag only worsening his drunken, wobbling balance.

	A rooster cried as the sun rose. It took it crying three times before Jesse roused himself from his slumber. His head throbbed and his mind swam as the hangover he was expecting showed its ugly face. He forced himself up so that he sat on his knees, his head hung and shoulders slack. It felt like his head was being beaten by a drum.
	Eventually, he got out of bed and shuffled to the water basin on the far side of the room. How much money did he drop for this room?
	He felt queasy, but he didn’t throw up. He refused to. Jesse turned the cold water valve and let the water run for a minute. He cupped his hands splashed water on his face. It sent sparks down his spine and shocked him to wakefulness. It didn’t completely get him over the hangover, but that’s what the coffee would be for.

	Jesse looked around the room. His jacket was in the middle of the floor with his goggles resting on top of it, his duffle bag and one of his boots were resting next to the bed. The other boot was resting on the cot. He walked over to this bag, took it, and put it on the bed.
	He opened the bag and unloaded its contents. Contained within the bag was a gun belt with a holster, a handcannon, a sword blade and the accompanying parts for a complete sword, pieces for a galvanic engine, and his tools.
	He looked over the items strewn on the cot and nodded. He slid on the belt and holster through the loops in his pants. Spinning the large revolver with his index by the trigger guard, he slid the gun into its holster. The weight on his hip felt good, like it belonged there.

	The next thing to do was to assemble his sword.He pulled on his goggles and slipped on his gloves. First, he began construction on the galvanic engine. It was the most important part of the sword, what made it more than a normal soldier’s sword.
	Luckily, the engine was mostly constructed, but was split into three large pieces so that assembly was quick and easy. Tightening a few bolts, aligning the runes properly, and making sure the central cylinder rotated smoothly. Once the engine was fully assembled, assembling the sword was easy.
	The sword blade was a large, double edged hunk of metal with a razor sharp edge. A hollow fuller ended a third of the way up the blade that would allow the galvanic engine to slot in. The engine slid in and sat neatly in the groove of the blade. Then the crossguard came, followed by the rubber grip, and finally the pommel to complete the large blade.
	When it was fully assembled, the sword was almost as tall as Jesse was, just shy half a foot. He looked over the sword as it lay on the bed. The metal gleamed slightly in the rising sun. It was his creation, his Scrapsaber.

	Jesse slipped on his armored coat. He picked up his sword and put it against his back. It locked against the back plate, the crossguard stuck with a solid magnetic click. The weight of his weapons and the accompanying jingle they made made him feel complete. This was his element, a man of danger and adventure, ready to throw down at any time. He clenched his fists and grinned, showing off his pearly white teeth to no one. Adrenaline flooded his body, it ached for a good fight. But he controlled his impulses. His hands unclenched and he walked out of his room and down the stairs.

	The barkeep, the half-dwarven woman, was up and doing some upkeep. The kitchen was awash with sound as the cooks began preparing meals. She seemed surprised to see Jesse coming down the stairs and even more surprised to see him wearing a sword and a gun.