The Trapped Mind Project (Emerilia Book 1)

by Michael Chatfield

  “You too, Wender. I see that our brothers and sisters are making an impression.” He indicated to the camp that lay just a distance down their hill.

  “That is true. I sent their best mages down to the citadel. They say we have four more months—just as spring sets in, the citadel will rise,” Wender said.

  Lox nodded, thankful for the time but scared for what the cultists might be doing in that same time. As we prepare, so will they.

  “How was your patrol, other than the sprite?” Wender asked.

  “The forest is lively and dangerous. We had to beat a retreat more than once and less of the bastards boomeranged. It seems that the Earth Lord has pulled their bonds to their spawn free,” Lox grumbled, stroking his braided beard.

  Wender nodded. “We’ve had much the same reports. More animals—the higher level ones—are coming out of the wild, attracted to us. Sprites have attacked more than one patrol. Herko’s men were hit pretty bad. She’s got some fine new scars herself.”

  Lox grimaced. He didn’t wish it had turned out this way, but there was little he could do. “What are your orders?”

  “Rest, train. Get some shelter together for the winter. You’ll be on farm watch. We’ve got a month until those crops come up. The animals seem to sense it and are eating everything they can and attacking our farmers. Need to keep them back and our people safe so that we have food for the coming winter,” Wender said.

  “Aye. I’ll have a talk with Dave and see if he’ll allow my warband to stay there. Be close to the southern gate to Omal. Ready if there are any troubles,” Lox said.

  Wender nodded in knowing. “Aye, might help with telling those Players to piss off with running around our smithies, trying to pester us for knowledge and jumping on any anvil they see if they get half a chance.” Wender shook his head.

  “Do they not know how to conduct themselves in a forge?” Lox muttered, hoping what he was imagining wasn’t as bad as the reality.

  “No. Thankfully, it seems that Dave showed them how to build smithies and they’ve gone into overdrive. Helped to ease the strain on our own people. Got all kinds of quests going for them to gather the materials and supplies we need. Just put up a board and nailed requests to it. They take them and run away, happy as a dwarf finding a new vein.” Wender shook his head at their bizarre behavior.

  “Good that we’re able to put them to some use,” Lox said.

  Wender grunted. “Saves us having to go find clay for the kilns and chop down wood when we could be watching over our people. He’s a resourceful one, your Dave.”

  “That he is. I’m off to get my warband’s rations and get some damn sleep. Armor’s in with the smiths,” Lox said.

  “Be seeing you.” Wender turned back to his board as Lox left, dropping by the quartermaster for the food and supplies his warband was rationed.

  He got back to the camp; everyone was there except Tounk and Joko. He passed by the smithy, seeing Dave hard at work turning ebony ore into ingots. He’ll be working on Mithril in no time, he thought with inner pride as he got to the fire.

  Gurren was asleep and Max was filling Deia in on their patrol.

  Lox nodded to them and put down the rations. “Everything good back home?” Lox sat down against the log.

  “Yeah, everyone’s fine and clans are now actively hunting the Earth Lord’s sprites that are commanding animals to attack. None will make it,” Deia promised.

  Lox nodded. “What a time we live in, when we fight the gods themselves.”

  ***

  “So how are we looking?” Fend fell into his seat at the table. He wore the enchanted armor of his family.

  “Better than you. I swear, how do the people handle you going out in public?” Doxos, Fend’s good friend and the leader of Mithsia’s warbands, said.

  Fend threw dried fruit at his old friend. The four massive mountain dogs eagerly chased the food.

  Doxos laughed heavily as Gronen, the leader of the master smiths, and Kayl, the leader of the Dwarves mages, shook their heads at the two’s antics.

  Their sub-leaders were there as well, a few of them hiding their grins.

  “Such a waste of food,” Eas’Davar said. The old Elf watched the dogs eat the dried fruit and smiled as he scratched behind Brutus’ ear. The big dog sat there happily, moving into the old ranger’s hand, his eyes closed and tongue wagging.

  “Tell a man before you steal his dog!” Fend growled, a smile on his lips. “Now, other than comments on my most lovely appearance, and the metal plate that is stabbing me in the ass, how goes the fight?”

  As soon as the lower reaches were checked and secured, Fend had moved out with his forces.

  “Kufo’tel has been reinforced. The walls of the Mithsia Mountains have been raised and are on watch. The watchtowers are scanning the area for issues.” The watchtowers were parts of the Mithsia Mountain that had been carved out so that viewing platforms with massive telescopes and high magnification viewing magic could look over the forest.

  They also had big-assed artillery on them so people could see the effect of their shots and call corrections onto the targets immediately.

  “Our Elven Fire mages are reinforcing the Dwarves. So far there have been only a few minor fights. In each time, the Earth Lord’s minions were destroyed. We are using the hidden southeastern and northwestern roads and sweeping down.” Eas’Davar indicated on the map that showed the Mithsia Mountains as a range that ran on an angle from the northwest to southeast, with the Kufo’tel Elves’ home forest nestled in a large valley to their east. Above them there were massive ice plains that turned into marshes when it wasn’t winter.

  “Due to the threat of Boran-al’s Citadel, we were stepping up more warclans to reinforce them. Now it looks like we won’t be able to do that. They are the two warclans we have pushing outward to clear the forests of the Dark and Earth fucker’s creatures.” Doxos scratched his bald head.

  “Organizing supplies has been a pain in the ass but we’ll have the supplies that we need to put five more warclans into motion in a month’s time. It’ll put them in the field right as winter is starting. It will mean that we can clear through faster without worrying about having gaps in our lines.”

  Fend nodded his head. Having gaps between his people was liable to allow their enemies to sneak something past their shield bearers. The warclans had marched out, meeting with the Elves of Kufo’tel to reinforce their home forest. Now the rangers and shield bearers were moving out through the forest, sweeping it clear of anything that showed a loyalty to the lords of Dark or Earth.

  It was a slow-going process but aided with maps and Elven rangers, the Dwarves had used old and hidden roads to maneuver through the forests. If anyone came into their home wood, they were prepared to do everything in their power to defend it.

  Dwarves didn’t get into many fights now, but they had made preparations on preparations to make sure that if they were ever threatened that they were ready for battle. With the addition of Elves, they were a paranoid bunch.

  “What do the master smiths say?” Fend looked to Gronen.

  “Well, they aren’t much pleased with the whole mess.” Gronen’s voice carried with magic he wasn’t even trying to use, making his calm words heard throughout the hall.

  The lords under the mountains led the Dwarves, but the master smiths—they were the power behind the lords.

  They were almost a religious symbol in their own right, a show of men and women who had put all of their skills into a singular craft. All types of magic were encouraged, as well as crafting, and there were other subsets of different groups that had bled into the master smiths. But they only held a few seats at the table; a master smith earned their own place there.

  If you had the skills for it, then you got your seat. It was kind of like a senate of sorts, a group that lived in the histories of the Dwarves, offering advice as well as guidance.

  Although the Dwarves were not always united and together, the master smiths
were a unifying force. So, when Gronen talked for the master smiths, he was talking for all Dwarves across Emerilia.

  Everyone listened to Gronen as he took a deep breath, as if he wasn’t really ready to say what he had to.

  “By vote of the master smiths, we will no longer follow the Pantheon. They have shown again that their faith is something only to be broken. We will make our way based on our own merits, not out of the benevolence of some childish, so-called gods.” Gronen’s voice rose in heat and anger as the words rang through the hall. Not a soul dared to break the silence after that moment.

  “So, the master smiths are urging us to not make devotions to the Earth and Dark gods?” Fend clarified.

  Gronen looked to Fend, his expression dark as a cold smile passed over his face. “Fuck the lot of them and their damned blessings. They can go and shove them right back up their polished arses. We follow no god, lord, or lady. We will work by our own acts and our own acts alone.”

  Fend couldn’t really believe what he was hearing as he leaned in.

  “What do the other clans say?” Fend asked.

  “Fuck ’em.” Gronen snorted

  Silence settled through the room like a physical presence. A smile cracked Fend’s face as he laughed.

  The majority of Dwarves, across the entirety of Emerilia, had listened to the Mithsia Dwarves’ plight, to their master smiths, and they were holding their devotions, their very Mana and power for their own use. As the lords reflected their people, Fend knew that today marked an occasion not seen before.

  The gods deigned to give some of those who gave them devotions a gift, maybe a blessing, or something to show that they were around. With the latest backstabbing, it seemed that the gods had finally gone overboard.

  Fend didn’t know what that kind of power would mean. There were millions of Dwarves and all of them had just turned off the power tap to the Pantheon of Affinities.

  He knew one thing: the gods wouldn’t forget. They would try to get them to shift on their position with force or by bribery.

  “Hmm, that sounds rather interesting. I’ll have to bring that up with the Elven council.” Eas’Davar looked to Fend, who was wiping tears away after his bout of laughter.

  He knew that look. If Eas’Davar had his way, then the Elven council would be making a similar proclamation.

  “Today we are entering a new age, an age where the gods themselves are made responsible for their actions. I think it’s going to be a pretty lively one,” Fend said.

  Chapter 10: Taking a Breath

  Dave looked up from his work with tired, dry eyes from the hours spent hammering ebony into ingots and then Kol showing him how to use the ebony.

  It was rare that ebony armor was just made by itself. Usually, limited quantities were combined with other metals in order to create some truly powerful magical runes on them.

  Kol had him make ebony sheets and various pieces that could be bonded with armor and other materials, passing the rune’s strength to it and the ebony’s innate ability to increase the power of the rune.

  “Go home, Dave,” Kol said.

  “See you tomorrow, Kol.” Dave moved to clean up his tools and put his work to the side so someone else could use his anvil for the night shift.

  “I’ll see you in three days. Need to train up that fighting ability,” Kol said.

  “Huh?” Dave expanded the reach of his Touch of the Land, finding six familiar presences.

  A smile spread across his face as he finished clearing his space.

  He checked his skills.

  Active Skill: Smithing

  Level: Expert Level 1

  Effect: 65% improved quality of smithing creation.

  With working with two different types of metals and then working on ebony, his progress had surged for a few levels. The skill was getting so high that getting an increase was getting harder and harder. He knew that working with the ebony, it would once again slow down until he was slugging through the higher levels. He’d get another boost working with Mithril. If the Dwarves deemed him as a worthy apprentice. Learning the way of Mithril was not just about smithing; it was a skill that very few Dwarves had mastered. It was a holy experience to them, and a skill that few, if any, knew of outside the Dwarven lands.

  You could only get Mithril armor repaired by Dwarves. It was expensive, but the promised power outweighed those costs. There had yet to be a single piece of Mithril armor to be found. People thought that the armor was so rare that no one was high enough to even find it. Debates raged about it in the forums.

  Dave’s mind turned from the Mithril and his smithing to his other notifications.

  Active Skill: Magical Circuits

  Level: Journeyman level 3

  Effect: 49% chance of creating better Magical Circuits and understanding them.

  Cost: Dependent

  His Magical Circuit level had increased in leaps and bounds with his theories and testing. It was the one skill that although it was getting harder to get new levels, they were constantly going up. Magical Circuits were just like writing code or soldering a computer chip together. People had put pictures of all kinds of Magical Circuits across the forums.

  It was like a github for Magical Circuits.

  His own experimentation had borne fruit as he’d taken and refined the circuits. Every person who made Magical Circuits did it in a different way. It was as if he were trying to compile tens of different coding languages. The best runes, combined into the best circuits, for the most power and least Mana.

  Dave didn’t deny that he was having fun.

  Magical Circuits could be made in anything, anywhere; enchanters actually affixed the runes to the equipment, sealing them to the weapons with the power of a soul gem.

  He hadn’t actually enchanted that many things but Bob and Kol had talked to him about it. With the Evolving aspect of his skills and stats, he put it down to the fact he’d found it easy when it was probably damn difficult to put runes to ebony.

  The Dwarves were laughing and joking, deep in their mead ration as Dave joined them. Noises of greeting and grins appeared as he got closer. They hugged and slapped one another’s backs.

  “Oi, you filthy bugger! Got my shirt all dirty!”

  “Ah, it’s your own fault, Max, you sweaty bastard,” Dave said, shooting back remarks and words with his friends. Gurren gave him a bowl and Lox made to hand him some mead.

  “Ahh, I’ve got my own tipple here.” Dave checked that none of the NPCs or Players in the area were staring at them. A tankard identical to the one in Lox’s hand appeared, filled with his own brew.

  “Well then, give us a share!” Lox growled, holding out his hand.

  Dave laughed, happy to be surrounded by his friends as he gave Lox his mug.

  The dwarf took a healthy gulp from it and wiped some foam from his beard.

  “Not bad that!” He passed it around. They talked as Dave dug into the meat, vegetables, and potatoes.

  Dave made another mug, filling it with beer as it got passed around.

  They all laughed and joked—Dwarf, Elf, and Halfling. happy to be safe and well. Back together after a trying time. Dark citadels, levels, Players, fighting: it faded as their laughter, smiles, and not a little booze flavored the night.

  Dave moved to retire for the night, wobbling a bit from the booze. As the night had gone on, he’d accidentally messed with the content of the two tankards he’d created, greatly increasing their alcohol content.

  The Dwarves and Deia, who hadn’t drunk for weeks, certainly felt the effects.

  “Whoa! Watch that there, gonna fall over!” Tounk laughed as Dave held his arms out to keep himself upright.

  “Deia, make sure the Halfling gets home. Damn Elves and their drinking tolerance!” Lox complained sleepily. Good booze, good food, and good company had left them tired.

  “Lazy Dwarves can’t hold their booze!” Deia swayed ever so slightly.

  “Wez likez to have fun, Elfy!” Max de
clared, slumping back against the log with the alcohol’s effects.

  Dave tried to concentrate on walking. He found Deia guiding him to his house. He blinked as they reached his house. His face was lit up by the magical light he’d found months ago in an abandoned cabin. “Well, wanna come in for a nightcap?” Dave asked.

  “Nightcap?” Deia asked, confused.

  “Right, Emerilia, not Earth. Uggh, planets.” Dave sighed, using the doorway to stay up.

  “Dave.” Deia’s voice was soft and it took him a moment to realize she had said anything.

  “Hmm?”

  “I…I want to… Well, I’d like to…”

  “Finish the darned sentence?” Dave grinned.

  “No, you, well, oh shut up!” Deia punched him in the shoulder. “I’d like to court you.” She turned away.

  Dave could see the blush on her cheeks. Court like judge court, or tennis court or…court court, like date court? His eyes widened as he looked at her peeking back at him. She was a few inches taller than him and stunningly beautiful.

  That’s not what left him speechless. Well, not much—he was drunk. It was that it was Deia. She was pretty damn brilliant. She’d shown him the forest—its various resources, how to read it, how to fight in it, and much more. Through that, he’d come to know her as the sly and kind woman she was. He laughed at the way her eyes lit up with the Dwarves’ tales.

  “Like date?” Wow, Dave, you are a goddamn poet. You could make up ballads.

  “Date?” Deia asked, confused.

  “Like, go out with each other…romantically.” As he said the last word, he hoped he hadn’t got the wrong idea with all of this.

  “Ye-es?” Deia sounded unsure and nervous.

  “I’m fine with that, though I haven’t dated in…a while.” He wasn’t actually sure how long it had been since he’d simply dated someone instead of going out with them to some gala or event. Maybe twenty years? Since college?