Absalom’s Trials
Page 9
Now that was settled, it was past time to get rid of all this junk. Where to go first was the question. Remembering back to when I was last in Stalburgh, I suddenly realized the obvious answer. The Gnarish blacksmith I'd bought my steel scales from was bound to have good stuff. Hopefully, he'd be interested in buying as well.
I pulled up my map and meandered my way around using my map and intermittent signposts to find it. A helpful feature became apparent now that I was navigating on my own: the buildings I had visited were labeled. My eyes lingered on Farelle's Hut for a moment. She was better off this way, staying among family; I had to keep that in mind.
Tearing my gaze away, I found the smithy set off toward my destination. Eventually, the familiar chimney came into view, and I hurried over to it. Rapping on the door, there was a long pause before I heard someone bustling in the backroom.
“Come in!” the Gnarish’s gravelly voice called out.
I entered. The shop was much the same as I remembered, as was the Gnarish, though this time he had a lot more soot smeared down his apron and through his beard. "Hello," I said cheerfully. "Remember me?"
The smith squinted at me before a grin broke out beneath his bushy beard. “Well, Omagnar smite me where I stand! You're that boy who came through here a few weeks back! No more than a lump of unprocessed ore back then, you were. Now look at you! Fine iron!” His eyes narrowed as they fell on my hauberk. “But you should be caring for my armor a bit more, young master.”
I grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I should. Sorry about that.”
“But why else come to a smithy? I’ll get you sorted out right away. What can I do for you first?”
“Do you buy old weapons and armor?”
“Do I ever! Go ahead and show me what you have.” He eyed me up and down. “It can't be much from the look of you. Don't you even have a pack?”
I grinned again. “Just you wait. You'll understand.”
I started taking out all the stuff I'd acquired, and the gnome-like man’s eyes grew wider and wider. They were white moons in his ash-smeared face by the time I'd piled it up on his counter. “How did you…?” he started to ask, then shook his head. “Never mind. You adventurers are strange folk.”
The Gnarish blacksmith — whose name I only just realized I didn’t know — began sorting through my possessions and muttering to himself. As he finished, he said, “This is an interesting haul for certain, though a lot of this is good for naught but melting down.”
“Okay.” That didn't sound profitable, but I could hardly expect anything more of crudely fashioned weapons and armor.
“But a few of these I'd pay good coin for,” the smith continued. “This axe, for example.”
He was talking about my Obsidian Axe of Wrath. I'd put it up with the rest as I'd decided I’d invested too much in swords and daggers to go down a new path. Besides, it just wasn't my style. “Yeah, that one’s enchanted.”
“Of course it is! You think I don't know that? That's exactly why I'd take it! Somewhat crude in make, but it's quite functional.”
“So do you have an offer for the lot?”
“For everything altogether? How about… 5000?”
I stared. Had I really gathered that much of value? My Steel Scaled Hauberk had cost around 100 coins when I bought it. I had a feeling the axe and my other enchanted items in there brought my profits up quite a bit. “Deal,” I said without haggling. I didn’t know anything of their true value, and I trusted this Gnarish, even if I still didn't know his name.
He grinned. “Fantastic!”
He extended his hand, and I took it. As I did, I finally asked his name.
“Holdur,” he said without sounding the least bit offended. “And yours?”
“Marrow.”
“I'll remember that! No doubt I'll hear everyone saying it soon.” His eyes twinkled.
Catalyst, soon to be Absalom's Champion — I intended to make his fortune right, even if he was only joking.
“Now, I'll take these, and you take this…”
+5000 coins!
I still couldn't believe my purse had swelled so much. And I didn't even have to give half to Farelle! Though there was a tinge of sadness to that thought.
“Now,” Holdur said when he returned, “can I take some of that money back? Fix up your hauberk or other armor at all?”
In the end, I let him take my cloak and swords for repairs, but I started examining his wares to see if I could trade up. I always hungered for new spells and channels, but I knew this time I had to spend my money on better protection. Absalom's Champion couldn't go strutting about in iron and cow’s leather.
Still, after running my problem by Holdur, I found a lot of the upgrades were still out of my price range. That dragonscale armor, for example, still hovered far above what my purse could hope to hold anytime soon. In some ways, money was even more restrictive than levels in the Everlands, or perhaps just for me, with my rise being what you might call meteoric.
But there were some upgrades that suited my requirements for relatively stealthy armor:
Mithril Scaled Hauberk
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
Basilisk Leather Gauntlets
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
Basilisk Leather Boots
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
Basilisk Leather Greaves
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
Basilisk leather was all the rage from the way Holdur told it. “Tougher than horse, lighter than air,” he said with a grin. “Nothing much better than it that I know of, save dragon leather of course!”
With my current armor thrown in the bargain, the damage came to 3600. Expensive, but my adventures had already shown how good Holdur’s work was, so I was willing to pay it.
I thought I was done, but Holdur said, “And what about weapons?”
"What about them?" I asked blankly. It hadn't occurred to me to look into them.
“What else! Why don't you take a look and see if anything interests you?”
Now that I thought about it, my knives at least could use some updating. And there was no harm in looking. “Sure, let's see them.”
He took me around the shop and showed me what he had. In the end, for 600 coins, I picked up a couple of useful things:
Mithril Dagger
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
Steel Throwing Knives (10)
Quality: Fine (50/50)
Rarity: Common
I'd have to practice if I really wanted the throwing knives to be of much use, but I figured it’d be good to have another ranged attack option just in case.
“Give me a few hours to repair the rest of your things,” Holdur said after I handed him the 600, plus an additional 250 for the repairs. “And remember about that dragonscale! I think one day you'll get your shot at it, eh?”
I left the smithy feeling pretty good. I wasn't totally decked out in all my badass glory, but I was pretty close. The basilisk leather was so dark brown it was almost black, while the mithril was a dark bluish silver. Once I had my journeyman’s cloak on again, I’d strike quite the heroic figure.
Where to next? I had just under 1000 coins still. My first preference was to get something enchanted, or at least feel out how much it cost to do so. Failing that, 1000 coins ought to get me some new magic.
I started asking around for an enchanter, but the NPCs on the streets weren't very open to my questions. Discouraged and missing Farelle's guidance, I started wondering if there was some way to contact her or send her a message. Where were those couriers that always hounded you when you didn't want them?
Instead, my shin suddenly felt a tap on it. Coming out of my thoughts, I blinked down at an urchin. He’d just kicked my shin from the way he held his toe and moaned. It looked like my new greaves would ser
ve me well — I'd barely felt it.
Then I realized I knew this particular twerp. "Tip," I said darkly.
“Cheater!” the autumn elf boy yelled up at me, tiny fists balled like he wanted to fight.
“What do you want? Looking to eat my dust again?”
He stuck out his tongue. “You beat a kid!” he sneered.
“I beat you.”
“That's what I'm saying!”
I shook my head. “Okay, great seeing you.” I started walking around the urchin, but Tip slipped back in my way.
“Wait! You haven't heard my message yet!”
That stopped me in my tracks. “What message?”
The little snot held out his hand. Like I was going to pay him! I grabbed one of his long pointy ears. “That's not how this works,” I said as he cried out. “They paid you to do this, so do it.”
-1 Alignment: Moral
I rolled my eyes at my continuing decline and waited for an answer.
"Fine! Fine!" the kid cried out.
I let him go. People were starting to look, and I could only be so nefarious at one time.
Tip spat at me before spilling his message. "Malik wants you. Says you're way past time to report."
Way past time? Even if I'd headed directly back to Stalburgh after my poisoning mission in J’anteau, I probably would have still taken many more days to arrive back here. Still, reasonability wasn't something I expected from that scoundrel, nor the Noble Ignobles in general. “Fine. Anything else?”
“He said the duke will want a report, too.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically. “Does he want me to report to you too?”
The orphan boy made a sign at me that I had to assume was vulgar. Then he had the gall to ask, “Coin?”
I sighed. “Fine, whatever.” I flipped him a coin, and he deftly caught it.
He laughed and spun, and I was almost proud of being the bigger man. At least until Tip promptly turned back and threw a mud clot at me, catching me on the temple. I glowered at his retreating back and fading shrieks of laughter.
But I had some places to report and no time to waste. Mustering my dignity, I wiped away the mud and headed in the opposite direction.
10
The Second Trial
I headed for The Golden Goat first, seeing as that was the inn where Brandeur Three-Horned, leader of the Noble Ignobles, and his mercenaries had holed up before. I had no inclination to report to Duke Rodalt; no interesting quest was going to come from that big oaf. At least Brandeur and Malik were halfway entertaining.
Walking into the Goat, I was struck by a bout of nostalgia. Inside one of these rooms was where I'd first spawned in the Everlands after my strange tutorial. It looked smaller somehow, the patrons more ordinary. I'd seen a lot since I was last here, and it seemed to have changed my outlook in ways I hadn't realized. I was becoming the seasoned adventurer after all.
"Finally he shows up. Taking his sweet time, isn’t he?”
I spun at the sleazy voice and saw exactly whom I expected: Malik, a greasy-haired, stained leather-wearing sort of rogue who was a lackey to the leader of the Ignobles.
“Malik,” I greeted him. “Thanks for the heads up about killing those priests by the way. Might have been good to know.”
The rogue shrugged. “If you ain't smart enough to figure it out yourself, you're lucky to be walking still, eh?”
“Tip mentioned you wanted me to report. Thing is, I'm not in a very talkative mood. I've also been of the opinion that factions should look out for their members, not send them on death missions.”
There must have been a good deal of threat in my tone, for the rogue put his hands up. “Hey, hey, I was just following orders, alright? If you got a problem with them, you'll have to take it up with the boss man.”
"Maybe I will.” Now I was getting into dangerous territory. But just how dangerous? Since I'd been new when I first came through, I hadn't thought to examine everybody I came across, so I didn't know what level the Noble Ignobles were at. No time like the present to right that mistake.
Malik (Lvl 12) [Noble Ignobles] - The personal assistant to Brandeur Three-Horned, Captain of the Noble Ignobles, he's a chatty scoundrel and an unscrupulous rogue who only plays nice with the ladies.
Level 12?! This guy was a pushover! Brandeur was bound to be higher though. Not that I could let it come to a fight — starting one with the leader of a mercenary faction seemed a decision I’d regret. Still, I might as well talk with him and sort things out. Who knew, maybe I'd get a quest or something out of it.
“Take me to him,” I demanded of Malik. “To Brandeur.”
“We're going, we're going,” the rogue muttered. “This way.” He looked furtively to the left and right, then headed up a narrow staircase. I followed.
Not quite able to trust these mercenaries after the last time they set me up, I used Detect Traps as I walked. The inn was clean as far as I could see. Malik led me up two more flights of stairs to the top floor before stopping in front of a set of double doors.
Malik jabbed a thumb at them. "He's in there."
“Announce me. I insist.”
The rogue’s frown deepened. Likely he wasn't supposed to lead people up for conferences with his boss. Still, he muttered something and tapped lightly on the door.
“Surely that's not a knock on the door right now,” a rich baritone voice said, muffled by the door. “Not when someone is about to hang onto all three horns.”
I rolled my eyes and, pushing the latch on the door, yanked it open. Brandeur Three-Horned, as massive a Satyr as I'd ever seen, sprawled his eight feet in height across a bed that extended halfway across the room. No less than three women were in bed with him, and each a different race: Human, Gnarish, and Devalyn. At my entrance, the women grabbed for blankets to cover themselves, while Brandeur sat up, revealing his muscular chest matted with curling nut-brown hair. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, the charming tone lost.
Keeping with my earlier resolution, I examined his stats first thing:
Brandeur Three-Horned (Lvl 31) [Noble Ignobles] - A captain among captains in the Noble Ignobles, he charms or fights his way through all obstacles. Except, perhaps, his slothness and lust.
He wasn't as much of a sop as Malik, and had likely earned his way to the top. Or rather, he'd been programmed to seem that way. Still, I found myself saying with a sardonic salute, “Hello, Captain, my Captain. Miss me?”
His eyes scrunched up as he tried to place me, then widened as he did. "The peasant boy I picked up on a whim! Whom we sent for that… Ah." He suddenly realized the whole of the context of our beef.
“Yeah, thanks for that. Really appreciate being sent to a city several weeks away on a death mission.”
“But you didn't die!” Brandeur exclaimed. “And look at you — quite the adventurer it seems! I should — I should welcome you back!”
I stared at the fumbling Satyr. What was going on here? Surely he wasn't thrown off by the situation. And I doubted my increased charisma, which did seem to give me more authority when dealing with people, would make him this muddled. This whole situation stank of something foul. Was this another trick?
After a long pause, during which everyone shifted uncomfortably, I responded cautiously, "Thank you for the welcome."
“Yes, yes! In fact…” Brandeur’s eyes went distant. Even stranger — it didn't seem in character for him to get lost in thought mid-sentence. He shook his head and seemed to come back to his wits a moment later. “In fact,” he said, his voice pitching higher, “a man as accomplished as yourself and who sacrificed so much ought to be rewarded! My boy, how would you like to be my captain? Second in command only to me?”
You have advanced in your faction: Noble Ignobles. You are now a Captain!
As a Captain, you can now command the mercenary troops of your faction. No guarantees on them listening though! You also have the privilege of attending war councils and orchestrating battle
strategy. Your effectiveness as a Captain correlates with the attribute charisma.
I stared at him, not saying anything. Everything had clicked into place. Such a dramatic change and opportunity falling into my lap — I recognized the Pantheon's hook when it was this blatant. But though I knew it must come from them, I couldn't help but want to take it. So rare an opportunity was before me, I wasn't sure I could pass it up.
“Thank you for the offer — honor,” I corrected myself. This wasn't like a job at Walmart or anything; I could treat it with a bit of respect, even among vagrants like these. “It's a lot to consider. Could you give me a few hours to think it over?”
The Ignobles’ head captain looked put off, but he nodded. “Of course. When you've decided, just let me know.”
I nodded. Then with barely another word, I fled the room. I didn't know where I was going to go to think this through. One major question had come to mind: how did this affect the Second Trial? Surely the gods wouldn't give me a boon just for nothing. There was an angle here I hadn't quite worked out.
“Look at you, Mister Big Britches.”
I turned, muddled from being lost in thought. Malik had slipped out after me and stared at me with an ugly expression. Of course — he'd probably been with the Ignobles for years and had had to work his way up the ladder, while here I was skipping to the top.
But I didn't have time for the rogue's feelings. “Careful. I could be your superior soon.”
He spat. “Over my cold corpse!”
I set a hand on my new mithril dagger. “Watch what you say. And be sure you mean it.”
The rogue froze. As I'd expected, his cowardice won out, and his face broke out into a sickly smile. "Of course I didn't mean it. Just a joke."