Steel Orc- Player Reborn

by Deck Davis

  “Every skill I learned so far, there was a base action that earned it. A simple effort that got me the skill. Like when I repaired my armor, or when I mixed the frorarg pheromones. Right? So what’s the base action for artificery that will get me the skill?”

  “Have you tried just using the frorarg essence?”

  “Like how?”

  “Maybe rubbing it on the iron?”

  “That seems too simple.”

  And it was. He rubbed a pinch of the red frorarg essence on the iron, but the only thing he accomplished was wasting it.

  This wasn’t working, but he didn’t know what he was missing. The way he saw it, there were two ways to get artificery.

  One, pay someone to train him. That was a no-go; he already knew Boxe5 had closed off that avenue for him.

  The second was to just ask Konrad, but he knew the dwarf wasn’t going to flat-out tell him. Hell, Konrad was probably watching him now. He probably had some little peephole that he stared through and observed how Tripp was handling things.

  There was only one other way he could think of. Remembering what Stefan had told him in the Slaughterman’s inn, he approached the bench again.

  He readjusted his artificer goggles, and he stared at the iron.

  This time, he tried to concentrate. Not in a harder way. Instead, he actually forced himself to relax, to let everything around him fade away.

  No thoughts about what he was trying to do, no tension about not being able to do it. Just him, wearing his goggles and looking at the iron. He let his thoughts become like the dust motes in the work studio, hanging in the air, floating without force or purpose.

  That was when he saw it.

  A little groove in the iron piece, no bigger than a pinprick. It was as though it had just appeared, as if someone had stabbed the metal.

  I’m getting there.

  No sooner had he had the thought, no sooner had a small flutter of excitement danced in his stomach, then the pinprick disappeared.

  “So this is why I need to load up in mind points,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m close to a eureka moment.”

  He concentrated again. His peripheral vision dimmed, and the sounds from outside the work studio grew mute. He gazed at that the iron, at its color, its shape, its contours.

  The pinprick reappeared. He took a deep breath and pushed his thoughts even further until one by one, more pinpricks appeared as if the metal was a cloud-covered night sky, and the pinpricks were stars that twinkled when the clouds shifted.

  It was a struggle just to keep his focus now because he knew he’d done it.

  He leaned over the metal, and that was when he noticed something else. There were six tiny holes in the metal now. Ones that were so small that he guessed if he took off his artificer goggles, he wouldn’t see them.

  But that wasn’t what snatched his interest; looking at them closer, he saw that three of the holes were shaped like octagons, while three were perfect circles.

  What did that mean?

  He’d already watched Konrad use artificery, so he knew what to do.

  He took a pinch of frorarg fire essence and carefully let it fall from his fingertips and into a circle shaped hole. It only took a tiny bit of essence to fill it. He did this three times, filling all three circles.

  Skill Gained: Artificery

  Calibrating level…

  Evaluating existing skills…

  Level calibrated.

  Level: Nickel 5

  You have begun to learn the secrets of fusing magic into your items. Keep learning, and more secrets will unfold. I promise.

  Bonus: Artificery holes are easier to see

  Need: Artificer’s goggles, essence, items

  Related skillsets: Armorer, blacksmithing

  There was no point trying to act cool now. He felt a smile spread so wide on his face that he probably looked like a clown.

  Not only had he earned the artificery skill, but he didn’t have to start with the Nickel rank.

  “You did it!” said Bee, and he could hear in her voice that she was genuinely excited.

  “You bet I did! See, this crafting stuff isn’t so dull after all, eh? But why did I start as a level five Nickel?”

  “Every time you earn a skill, you see related skillsets, right? Boxe takes these into account. You’re already advanced as an armorer, and that skill is linked to artificery. The more related skillsets you earn, the stronger your new ones will be.”

  He picked up the newly-artificed iron, and when he stared at it, a dialogue box showed its properties.

  Iron piece

  Effects: Fire resistance

  He’d taken a normal piece of iron and he’d given it a magical effect. Not just that, though. He’d mined the iron himself. He’d killed the frorarg and ground it into essence himself.

  “So now you just have to artifice the other five, and then we can go, right?” said Bee.

  “Yup. But look at this; can you see anything interesting?”

  “Iron is iron.”

  “Yep, but there were two different kinds of holes to put the essence into. I’m guessing that the circular ones add resistance to something. That means if I had put essence into the octagonal holes it would have added fire damage. That’s how artificers use essence to get different effects.”

  “That makes sense! But what about this? Maybe if you get different kinds of essence and use your alchemy to mix them together…”

  He felt a swell of excitement rush through him then. “If I do that, I’ll get different effects! And guess what? I’d bet we can make essence from herbs and stuff, too. It’s lucky that someone got the herbalism skill, eh?”

  “Now what?”

  “We have a labyrinth to beat,” said Tripp.

  CHAPTER 32

  Mountains used to have hearts blacker than charcoal. Tripp couldn’t shake the thought as he walked down the tunnel, alone save for Bee, hearing murmurs and muttering coming from darkened ventricles. He wondered if a part of Old Kimby was still alive now, if she could sense him there, and if that made her angry.

  With thoughts like that there could be no doubt about it; he was nervous. Despite his new iron shield and his fire-resistant iron pieces, he still felt tension in his muscles, and he had to pause at every sound. He soon discovered the source of the whispers when he passed the mining tunnels and heard the distant sounds of pickaxes and goblin chatter. Feeling a little better, he headed north until he reached the door to the labyrinth.

  The air was warm and cloying and seeped with a sense of dread. It was as though the air in Old Kimby was a being of its own, and the presence of the labyrinth bathed it with dark bodings.

  Standing there, it was impossible not to feel doubt about his plan. He knew doubt intimately; he was good friends with it. Or at least, it was the friend he’d made without wanting to.

  If he looked back, he guessed that was why he picked up so many hobbies. Playing guitar, drawing, painting, rock climbing, any hobby with an ing attached to it, he’d tried it.

  He’d been lying to himself about why. He was starting to realize that now, and it was the lies you told yourself that were the strongest. No other person, no matter how practiced in deception, could put as much weight into their lies as your own mind.

  He’d quit all of his hobbies because of doubt. Not because they didn’t interest him, but because when once they became tough enough, he became a matador losing control in a bullfight. He’d walked into the arena willingly enough, but now he wanted out before the beast charged at him.

  Is that who I am outside of Soulboxe? A guy who just gives up?

  He liked to believe he wasn’t. After all, it had taken him years to learn carpentry to a competent level. Long hours where he was desperate to go to bed but had work to finish, more splinters than he could count. Even a visit to the emergency department after he sliced a chunk off his index finger and bled all over a customer’s antique chest.

 
This made him wonder about something, though. He’d worked so hard to get to the point of opening his own business, and the minute he got it, he’d ruined it by helping the woman. Had he done it on purpose, try to sabotage himself?

  No. He couldn’t have known what would happen. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that until now, he’d held back from finishing things.

  All he could do to shake the thought was to grip the labyrinth door handle and open it. To deny himself the time to think. Just take a step forward so that the door closed behind him.

  Standing inside the first labyrinth room, he felt a glow on his face. He was on a platform now, with a pool of lava separating him from the other platform where four covered alcoves and a lever waited.

  The lava churned. From the way it moved in a slow semi-circle, it was almost alive, almost a living thing of heat and treacle-like thickness. Hissing, spitting, red like forge coals in some places, charred in the others. It made him want to back off.

  “Try the lever,” he told Bee.

  Bee swooped over the lava and to the other platform. She positioned herself over the lever like a bumble bee preparing to land on a bud, and she let herself fall.

  She clunked the lever, but it didn’t move.

  “It’ll take more force than I can manage,” she called to him.

  “Okay, get back over here,” he said.

  He might have a long stay pass in Soulboxe, but time was as precious as a hellbrick in the labyrinth itself.

  He put the iron shield in front of him so that he was protected from the arrows when the alcoves opened, propping it in place by balancing his morning star against it.

  He put his six fire-resistant iron pieces on the floor in a pile. This was the part that sparked fear in him.

  Were they big enough for his feet? Was his artificery good enough?

  A whining sound came from the other platform. It might as well been an air-raid siren because knowing what it was, it had the same effect in his body, making his stomach churn and his hairs stand up.

  “Bee, get behind the shield.”

  Three more whining sounds joined the first. Kneeling behind his shield, Tripp wished he wasn’t a giant orc. Right now, the dwarven race seemed like the only choice any sane man would make. Anything so that the shield covered him enough.

  The idea of the unseen archers in their alcoves wasn’t the worst thing about it all. It was the wait before they acted, this silent period where he hunkered behind the iron, where the only sound was the lava hissing.

  And then he heard a sound. Something cutting through the air, once, twice, three times, then again.

  Arrows thwacked into the outside of his shield and then bounced off. They jolted the metal, and Tripp felt it shake against him.

  He looked over his shield. He saw crossbows in the alcoves, but nobody behind them. The way they fired must have been mechanical, and that gave him an idea.

  “Count the seconds until they fire again,” he told Bee, while he checked his shield.

  Iron Shield

  Durability: 24/28

  “This is what happens when you’re a Nickel armorer,” he said. “Every arrow takes away one durability point.”

  He wanted to get to work, but it was more important to control himself now. To see how long the silence held.

  Thwack

  Thwack

  Thwack

  Thwack

  The shield vibrated against him, and four more durability points leaked from it.

  “How long was that?” he said.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Okay, you can be my timer. When the arrows stop, county to thirty seconds. Warn me when I’m five seconds away from another round.”

  He approached the edge of the platform, every step warming his face more. It was growing so hot in the room that if he died this time, then he was going to bring cookie dough in on his next attempts. If he was going to spend time in a giant oven, he might as well get something tasty from it.

  Judging the distance from one platform to the other, he threw an iron piece into the lava.

  It landed exactly where he’d wanted it to; close enough to the platform so that when he lowered himself down, he could step on it.

  His plan had been easier to stomach when he was in Konrad’s workshop. Having the same thought now, faced with a swirling mass of lava, his idea turned poisonous in his head, and his brain flashed warning signs to the rest of his body.

  He was sweating but felt a shiver on his back at the same time. His pulse was a pneumatic drill. It was his brain’s conflict in full flow, two opposing sides of his own head rattling off shots at one another. Thoughts that seemed like gold in one context could turn out to be fool’s gold in another.

  He aimed the second piece of iron two feet in front of the first, laying the beginnings of stepping stones over the pool while his brain screamed at him, telling him that this was crazy.

  “Tripp,” said Bee.

  He retreated behind his shield and felt another four arrows thud against it. Sweat was pouring from him now, and he was just glad that he’d had the foresight to take off his steel armor outside the room. He guessed he’d need it in future rooms, but a suit of metal and a pool of lava didn’t mix.

  With the arrows spent, he went to lay another of his iron steps on the lava pool.

  That was when he saw that the first two pieces he’d laid in place were melted now, the iron spreading out over the lava like gloopy chocolate.

  “This isn’t working,” he said. “My artificery wasn’t good enough. It looks like the iron resisted the lava for a bit, but then it melted.”

  “Tripp – five seconds.”

  He hunkered down behind the shield. Where before he’d felt the arrows smash into the shield and had been proud of his work, now every arrow was a reminder of defeat, a grain of sand falling down, and the emptying of the hourglass would mean his shield failing and then he’d have a choice to make.

  That age-old choice all men faced once in their lives: did you choose to die my arrows, or by lava?

  His shield had 16 durability points left. That meant it would survive four more volleys of arrows, each of them thirty seconds apart.

  He had two minutes to either think of a way out of this or die so he could get out of the room and come up with something else.

  There were two problems there; even with muted pain sensations, the arrows or the lava would hurt like hell. Secondly, the shield and fire-resistant iron was the only idea he could think of that was within his skill capabilities. If this worked, he was stumped.

  “Bee, try the lever on the other platform again. Bash the hell out of it.”

  “What about the arrows?”

  “They’ll be trained on me; you’ll be safe. Just keep counting in your head.”

  Bee flew across the pool, swerving right to avoid the spurts from where lava burst in one section. Reaching the lever, she flew above it and then throttled down hard, hitting it.

  “It’s not budging!”

  “Just keep trying.”

  With Bee working on the lever, that left Tripp needing to do something. He didn’t know what; just something to try rather than face his upcoming death without a fight.

  “Okay. Items…what have I got?”

  “Tripp!” called Bee.

  He kneeled behind his shield and checked his inventory while he waited for the arrows to strike.

  There was nothing he could use; just his weapons, his skill tools, his kindling, and other stuff. Nothing that would help with lava.

  So what about his skills? What had he learned that might get him through this?

  Cooking, alchemy, and tracking were all out. He didn’t have the time or materials for more armorer or artificery work.

  Maybe underlay? Was there something he was missing?

  “Tripp!” called Bee, then grunted as she tried to move the lever again.

  He waited for the four thuds and then stood up. His shield was down to 12 points. T
hree more rounds and he was done.

  “This lever is a stubborn bastard,” shouted Bee.

  “Just keep trying.”

  Tripp cast underlay around him now, starting on the walls surrounding the platform. All he got back was a useless analysis that said the walls of the room were made from stone. Nothing valuable in them.

  Worse, the time it took for the analysis to come back meant Bee had to warn him again.

  He ducked behind the shield and waited out the arrows, then reemerged. Eight points left now. Soon there’d be no shield, no protection. The air was stifling, like the draught you got when you opened an oven door or what he imagined it’d be like to feel the air inside a hot-air balloon.

  Underlay wasn’t telling him much. He could try the floor or the ceiling, but he’d just be wasting time.

  What about the lever across the room? Was there anything he could throw at it to help Bee move it? Nope, it’d just be a waste of whatever item he threw.

  Desperate, he cast underlay again. This time he used his quick underlay, aiming it at the platform floor so that the stone under his feet changed color to show what was in it. Then he saw something.

  “Tripp!”

  “Got it.”

  He let the shield absorb the arrow strikes, dropping down to four points. One more volley was all his shield had left.

  Maybe that was enough time. While his underlay had colored most of the platform brown to show that it was only made from stone, there was a patch of yellow at the far end.

  He ran over to it and stood on it, hoping that it was a pressure plate or a switch.

  Nope.

  He heard Bee call to him, so he ducked back behind his shield. This time when the arrows hit, the shield shattered.

  Pieces of iron cracked and tinkled down on the stone floor, leaving him unprotected with four alcoves staring at him from across the room and the lava spurting from the pool.

  CHAPTER 33

  The sound of sand emptying from an hourglass was louder than he’d expected, especially since he only had thirty seconds of it. But the sand was only in his mind, pouring down over his thoughts as a gristly rain. Every time a solution reared its head the sand buried it, suffocated it, and soon the solutions were too scared to show themselves.