Steel Orc- Player Reborn

by Deck Davis

  “Dad…”

  “Don’t be modest, boy.”

  “I better go.”

  “Good luck, Milo. Remember what I told you.”

  “If I get nervous, imagine them naked.”

  “Aye. Naked with their tits and cocks hanging out.”

  The teen nodded at Tripp. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” said Tripp.

  When they were alone, Konrad jumped up so that he was sitting on a counter with his legs dangling over the edge, and he faced him. It was as though he was looking at him, but Tripp knew that was impossible.

  “I appreciate you coming by,” said Konrad. “Most would-be apprentices, when they realize they’re too much of a wimp to be able to complete my quest, they just hurry on to the next one.”

  “You’ve had other people come here?”

  “Sure. I might not look like much, but I can teach crafting skills that most pretenders can’t dream of. It’s like I just told my boy; there’s no shame trying and failing. The only shame is quittin’ because you’re too much of a pussy to face defeat.”

  Tripp couldn’t help smiling as he reached into his bag and took out the sleel tentacle. Jon and Warren might have robbed him of loot, but at least they couldn’t take that.

  “Actually…” he said.

  Konrad reached out and grabbed the tentacle and felt it, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “Smack my bare arse with a kipper, you’ve only gone and feckin’ done it!”

  Quest Completed: Become Apprenticed to an Armorer.

  Well done, Tin Man! You have returned to Konrad with a freshly-sliced sleel tentacle, earning not only his approval but a place as his apprentice.

  - 500 EXP received

  - Crafting card received: Steel Gauntlet

  On seeing his quest show as completed, he felt a rush of warmth in his chest. The 500 EXP was welcome even though it didn’t level him up, but the gauntlet crafting card was the best prize. Now, he’d be able to complete his steel armor set. He couldn’t wait to get started.

  “Well done, lad,” said Konrad. “I must have judged you wrong after all. Tell me something; why does a big lunk like you want to become an armorer?”

  “Good question,” said Bee.

  Tripp didn’t want to go into everything with Konrad, he didn’t want to explain about Uncle James’s woodwork space and about the acid. He also didn’t want to lie, so he decided on sharing half the reason.

  “The way I see it,” said Tripp, “Nothing makes people around here happier than getting something unique. Awesome armor, a cool sword. Mostly they buy them from traders or they get them after killing monsters, but the weapons have to come from somewhere, right? I want to be that guy.”

  “Hmm. Usually, the answer is ‘I want lots of gold.’”

  “Sure, I want gold. Mostly I want to create.”

  “Then how about I give you your first lesson?”

  “Sounds great!”

  Konrad unbuttoned his shirt and took it off so that he was bare-chested. He had an ink tattoo of a spiral pattern on his right torso, and although he had a little middle-age flab, his work had helped keep him toned.

  Tripp remembered that Konrad had been in a similar state of semi-undress when he’d first walked into his shop.

  “Is this really necessary? Is it some kind of armorer thing I don’t know about?”

  “The way I work, I build up a sweat, and my wife’s sick of washing sweat-covered shirts every day.”

  “Then why not wash them yourself?” said Bee.

  “Rule one in our new apprenticeship,” said Konrad. “The orb doesn’t talk.”

  “You jumped up little…”

  “Bee,” said Tripp, and she was quiet. “Sorry, Konrad, but I’m not going to ban her from talking. Get to know her a little and you’ll like her.”

  Konrad muttered something under his breath about “feckin’ orbs” and then approached his wooden work counter.

  He pointed at a steel sword lying across it. The workmanship was astounding; the metal sharpened to perfection, the hilt with the intricate carving of an eagle on it. Every inch of the weapon advertised what a master Konrad was.

  “See this?” said Konrad. “When I made the sword, I did it using my armorer skill, okay?”

  “Right.”

  He slapped the tentacle onto the bench. “When I use the sleel’s shock powers and add them to the blade, that’s called artificery. Different skills, but interwoven. Like having a cook and a pastry chef in the same kitchen; together, they complete the menu.”

  Next, he reached to a shelf below the counter and took out a large mallet. It was made of metal and had rows of spikes on one end, like the kind of mallet a chef might use to tenderize meat.

  “This is a Deconstructor mallet. Watch what I do with it.”

  Konrad pounded the tentacle again and again, and soon, Tripp saw why he worked the way he did; beads of sweat glistened on his skin.

  Before long the tentacle was separated into two piles. One was a pile of guts and flesh, the other was purple dust.

  “See?” said Konrad. “The Deconstructor mallet will separate something into its components. Here we’ve got the stuff we don’t need; slop, meat, skin. I sell those to Goplin, the kennel master. He’s raising a bunch of wolf pups. Next, we have the lovely stuff; the shock essence. Now you’ll see the magic of artificery.”

  He took something else from the row below the counter. “Here. My first present as your master,” he said, passing Tripp a pair of goggles.

  Item Received: Artificer’s Goggles

  Artificer’s goggles have two functions; they will let you see the intricate bonding of an item, allowing you to view the gaps where an artificer can insert essence.

  They also have the dual use of protecting the artificer’s eyes from the glare and heat sometimes involved in this work. They look pretty cool, too.

  Restriction: Goggles only work when you have the artificery skill

  Added bonus: +1 magic resistance when worn.

  Konrad strapped his own pair of goggles to his face. “I assume the orb doesn’t need them?”

  “You assumed right, genius,” said Bee.

  “Watch this, Tripp,” said Konrad.

  “I don’t understand this, Konrad. Why do you need goggles?”

  “Why the feckin hell do you think? Didn’t you noticed that I don’t have eyes?”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “My goggles are artificed; they act as my eyes for the intricate artificery work.”

  “What about everything else? You don’t act…I don’t know how to say this without being insensitive. You don’t act…”

  “Like a blind person? I was a mess after my accident. Thought that I’d never work again. But Glora pulled me out of that pit, she made me start practicing. Using my other senses. Sure, my accident robbed me of my sight, and that’s something that I’ll never get back. If you wallow in it, if you label yourself with it, that’s all you’ll ever be.”

  His words were a homing missile. If you wallow in it, that’s all you’ll ever be. Back in the hospital room, Tripp had seen his life crash around him. He was pinning everything on the regrowth pod working, but what if it didn’t? Would that have to be the end, or could he get through it?

  Even as he tried to cling to that hope, a shard of icy logic made it slip away.

  “You can’t just think your way out of having a disability like that.”

  “I didn’t say you could, but you’d be surprised what a person can do when they put their mind, and a little artificery, to it. A man is only limited by the ambitions he sets himself, and by whether he sees problems as excuses to quit, or reasons to try harder.”

  Tripp found himself looking at Konrad in a new light. When he stared at the dwarf, he saw strength and resilience, and he wished he had half as much.

  “Watch,” said Konrad.

  He took a pinch of the shock essence and then leaned close to the sword, sprinklin
g grains of it in precise locations over the blade. This took him 10 minutes, and Tripp spent that time unsure of what he was seeing.

  Finally, Konrad held his palm over the blade, which was now dotted with shock essence dust. His palm glowed blue, almost mist-like. The light seeped from him and onto the blade, and then the shock essence sank into the metal, bonding with it.

  An aroma burst into the air, like sulfur but sweeter. Tripp guessed that was the smell of manus, the essence of magic in Soulboxe.

  When Konrad was finished, it didn’t look like a normal steel sword anymore. It had a purple tint, and rivulets of lightning zapped across the blade.

  Tripp couldn’t take his eyes off it. The flashes of light dancing over the metal enchanted him. He’d been right. Screw just buying swords or looting them. Seeing this, seeing a normal weapon turned into something much greater, this was art.

  Konrad took his goggles off. Tripp had already noticed that he didn’t seem to need them for normal things, but he didn’t act like a blind person who had adapted to his surroundings; this was something else.

  Well, he knew that artificery had a magic element to it now. Maybe there was more to Konrad than he’d thought.

  “What do you reckon?” said Konrad. “A beaut, ain’t she?”

  Bee flew close to the sword, awe shot in her gold face. “It really is,” she said. “Imagine what you could do with that thing. Konrad…I got you wrong. You’re a master.”

  “Thank you, darling. Maybe I’ll revise the rule about not talking after all. So, Tripp. What do you say? You’ve seen what an armorer and an artificer can do. Do you still want to learn?”

  “There’s not a single doubt in my mind.”

  “Then here,” said Konrad. “My second gift to you.”

  Item received: Armorer’s Belt

  “What does it do?”

  “Put it on.”

  He clipped the belt around his waist where his steel chest plate ended. When he did, a dialogue box appeared.

  Armorer’s belt equipped:

  - Crafting speed increased by 20%

  Armorer skill leveled up to Nickel 3!

  Equipping an armorer’s belt for the first time has given you a permanent skill boost!

  - You can now craft [iron] tools

  - You can now craft low-level armor

  - You can now craft low-level weapons

  Tripp couldn’t hide his smile. He thought back to the to-do list he’d created early in his Soulboxe time; three of the items had been to find a better weapon, get another steel gauntlet to complete his armor set, and to find a Deconstructor mallet so he could use his underlay skill.

  Now, he had the crafting card for the gauntlet, he’d looted a morning star, and he had the mallet.

  For a day where he’d been double-crossed by a bunch of bastards and had died, it was going rather well.

  “What now? Can we get started? Can you show me how to artifice something? I still haven’t learned that skill yet.”

  Konrad laughed. “Steady on. I have a few orders I need to finish, so we’re not starting your education just yet. You can entertain yourself for tonight. Since you have an armorer’s belt you’ll get access to the Craftsman’s Guild. It’s on the far side of town, a real fine-looking building, you can’t miss it. Maybe you’ll want to go to the Slaughterman’s Inn, too. That’s where all the weapon makers and smithies hang out. Ya know, all the real craftsman.”

  “Got it. Looking forward to getting started.”

  “I like a guy with optimism. Hold on to that, you hear? The thing is, I don’t teach things the same way most masters do. You might find my way of learnin’ a little worrying, and definitely a little dangerous.”

  “Dangerous how?”

  “You’ll see, my boy. You’ll see. I hope you don’t scare easily.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Why was it that when you needed to hurry, time moved slower than a guest who’d outstayed their welcome, always promising to move, then pausing at your doorway when you thought they were going?

  Just like the houseguest who extended their stay by asking questions, now time asked questions of Tripp. Like, what would he learn from Konrad? How long would it take? What would it allow him to make?

  Another question broke his thoughts.

  “What now, Tripp?” said Bee.

  “I figure it’s time I completed my armor set. Seems a shame leaving it unfinished now that I have the gauntlet crafting card.”

  When he’d equipped his steel armor, Boxe had notified him that he was only one gauntlet away from having a set, and completing it would give him a special bonus. He checked his crafting card to see how he was supposed to make the gauntlet.

  Crafting card: Steel Gauntlets

  Armorer Level Required: 2

  Materials needed: Steel piece x1

  “Doesn’t seem too complicated,” said Tripp. “I guess I have to pay for the steel, though - it doesn’t grow on trees. Then again, this is Soulboxe. It wouldn’t surprise me to see people out in the plains, shaving steel from metal flora. Konrad must have his own supplier.”

  “As your guide, this might just be a rare time when I can help,” said Bee. “Some armorers might buy their materials, but others will employ staff to get them from the source. There’s a reason the dwarves built their town near the mountain, I’m guessing; they will have a mining operation.”

  “So much for writing out the clichés from the game.”

  “You need the balance of some originality, but not too original. People want and expect some kind of familiarity in their game-world.”

  “I guess in future I can pick up the mining skill and go get my own stuff. For now, I’m going to buy it. I really want to make a gauntlet.”

  “You’re impatient, aren’t you? You’re like a kid.”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Then let’s go to the plaza and find a trader.”

  Tripp shook his head. “Nope. Visiting the plaza traders is like eating at a restaurant outside a tourist trap. They’ll gouge you for prices because they think you don’t know anywhere better to go. I can access the crating guild now, and they’re bound to have cheaper suppliers.”

  The crafter’s guild, as he’d expected given the profession of the people who owned it, was the most refined building in Mountmend. Tripp looked at it and he saw balance; a mix of beauty in the azure stone they’d used to build it, but practicality in that it looked sturdy enough to withstand a hurricane. It was a building someone had put careful thought into, every inch of it carved to perfection.

  There was two statues either side of the main doors, one of a hammer, the other an anvil, and they were like sentinels guarding the craftsman guild from strangers.

  He opened the door to see the inner guild itself, which had a cavernous ceiling and rows and rows of tables that made it resemble a German beerhouse. A swell of sound swept at him, mostly the cheery noises of people laughing and music from a lute. There were also a few frank discussions going on at some tables. He listened in to the conversations as he walked by.

  “I’m tellin’ you, you can’t use black steel for that. It’ll fall apart.”

  “Ah, to hell with you. You make crappy axes, anyway.”

  “I’m running low on warg essence. Do you know anyone who won’t charge a fortune?”

  It wasn’t only full of dwarves. There were NPCs and players of all races, from human to elf to reptile. No orcs, though. Tripp wondered if he was the first orc to join the Mountmend crafters gold. Maybe he’d get a sticker or something.

  A giant stick insect stepped out in front of him. Its limbs were twice its body length and looked ready to snap, and its bulging eyes leered down on him, black and stern.

  Memories swam to the surface of his mind of taking care of the class stick insect during the summer holidays back in middle school. Dilbert the stick insect, to be precise. Tripp had taken great care of him right until a week before school was due to start again when Rory unscrewed the li
d of its habitat jar and Dilbert scuttled and hopped for freedom.

  Tripp could have told the teacher that it died, or he could have blamed Rory and got him into trouble. Instead, he’d told Mr. Putter that he had left the lid off and that it was his own fault, not anyone else’s. He expected the mother of all punishments, but Mr. Putter kneeled down so he was level with him and whispered, “Shit happens, Tripp. And don’t tell anyone I said that. It took guts to tell me.”

  He guessed that was the start of him learning that if you helped people, you got rewards. That it was the right thing to do. Maybe not anymore though, not after the muggers and the woman. He wasn’t sure what he thought now.

  The monster in front of Tripp now was nothing like little Dilbert. It had legs like green, wooden planks, and its swollen eyes looked like fruit.

  Tripp instinctively reached for his morning star. Usually, monstrous in-game insects weren’t there to be your friend.

  Then he saw the tag above its head.

  Winthrop Melton – Craftsman’s Guild Vice Chairman

  “Are you lost, orc?” said Winthrop.

  “Only If I found my way into an insectarium.”

  “Jokes about my race. Clever. Low-hanging fruit is often the sourest.”

  “Maybe you can explain why you asked me if I was lost,” said Tripp, “when clearly, I’m wearing an armorer’s belt? Why did you need to mention that I’m an orc? So much for not talking about race.”

  “Pah. Orcs. Never would have let them set foot in the door in the glory days,” said Winthrop.

  He turned away without a word and skittered across the guild, threading in and out of the row of tables with surprising dexterity. Tripp watched him leave, wondering exactly what he’d done to provoke such hostility, but ultimately not caring.

  “So much for making friends in here,” said Bee.

  “Must be my natural charisma.”

  Tripp heard a snigger. To his right, a lone human craftsman had been watching the exchange. He had the red face flush of a man five beers deep into an afternoon of heavy drinking.