Turning my eyes to the steel on my anvil, the base pattern is composed of broad streaks of silver-grey light. I do not know what they mean, but I can tell that it is the steel. Scattered inside of the silver-grey there are patches of other colored light. Are those the impurities in the metal?
Swinging my hammer, I focus on the other lights inside the silver-grey. With each blow one of those lights shatters in a polychromatic spray a dozen times more dazzling than when I was just swinging blindly.
CLANG! clink. CLANG! clink. CLANG! clink. CLANG! clink.
After fifteen hammer blows, the remaining impurities are specks too small for me to focus the force of the blows on them. I release the spell pattern and look at the silver-grey lump of almost pure steel.
“What are the secrets of steel?” Roderick's voice is soft, as he stands next me staring at the steel.
“Pain. Cruelty.”
“Then that is the core of your soul. What you Make will always be painful and cruel, a hard path for a Maker to walk.”
I raise my left arm, looking at the scars. Garion told me they were self-inflicted. He was probably right. “It's the only way I know how to live.”
The Postmen
*** Emer Valley - The Lands of Despair ***
The Great Fuck Over: Day 87
Thorrin Hammerfist stared out from the wall at the south end of Emer Valley, as it had recently been named in the First Alliance Council. Thug Horde's army had over 2,500 core members and nearly 3,000 from their tributary guilds.
Looking to either side, he had less than 2,500 people in total, and many of them were not top of the line combatants. Most of the people guarding this southern wall were newer players or players who had played Taereun for the chance to be craftsmen and traders. They had come to Emer, hoping for a safe place to hide, while others pursued The Nameless' quest.
The southern wall was still under construction. While the outer face of the wall was stone, the platforms behind it were still mostly hastily constructed from wood. The only crenelations along the wall were in the central part, where the stout wooden gates blocked the road.
Damn cocksuckers. It's almost like they knew the undead were going to attack. If nothing else, I'm going to take that piece of shit Menton with me. Thorrin kept his bitter conjectures to himself. The Alliance's morale was so fragile the wrong word would completely shatter it.
From his position atop the wall, Thorrin's Dvergar eyes could easily see the smug smile on Menton's face. Menton, the guild leader of Thug Horde, was standing in front of his massed troops. Almost two hours had passed since they arrived, but so far, there had been no attacks and no demands. Menton was allowing the presence of Thug Horde wear away at the nerves of the Emer Valley's defenders.
I may be a Dvergar, but most of my Power is focused as a Smith. That bastard Meton is an Umbral Sorcerer. The difference in the Powers we use and how we use them is night and day. Still, there is no one else in the Alliance that has any hope of taking that fucker on. Thorrin was waiting. He would not provoke the imminent confrontation, hoping to buy as much time as possible.
Thorrin turned his head as the sound of explosions reached his ears from the north. Damn the undead must be attacking the north wall already. Our scouts said there were close 100,000 of them, but they were wrong. Talon told me that it's closer to a quarter million. No one else believed him, of course. They called him a liar. They're all idiots. As a scout or a fighter, Talon is better than any of them, but they're so arrogant they can't see it.
The idiots on the Steering Committee ordered me to come here, so that they wouldn't have to hear my opinions about how they intend to ruin the battle. They think that their game experience, in a “Fantasy” setting, is more important, than my training and experience in the real world military. Connor is better than I am. He has a lot more combat experience, and those imbeciles still ignore him. They don't have a clue how terrifying a real battle is, one where there is no coming back from death. Even with the north wall to fight from, they'll be lucky to keep their forces form breaking and running.
Looking back toward Thug Horde, Thorrin watched as their casters began weaving spells. Thug Horde was still outside the effective range of his casters and archers. Attacking now would simply demoralize his forces, when they saw their attacks were ineffective. Thorrin could do nothing but watch as the shields of wind and stone appeared in front of and over the enemy force.
“Hold your fire, until I call for it! Don't waste arrows and mana! Wait for my orders!” Thorrin's gravelly voice was easily heard at the far ends of the wall. Thug Horde was well able to hear it, as well.
I don't know what that bastard Talon's secret is, but I've never been able to bind him in a whisper charm. Hurry, Nessa. If you don't find Talon quick, it won't matter what happens at the north wall.
The Thug Horde forces began to advance under the cover of their magic defenses. When they reached an effective range for their own spells and archers, Meton still did not give the order to attack. When the front line of troops was thirty yards from the wall, Menton raised his hand. The advance stopped, and the stone shields settled into the ground.
A warrior, dressed in red lacquered plate armor, with a halberd in his left hand, stepped forward. He planted the butt of the halberd on the ground and raised his helm's visor. His face was filled with malicious glee, as he scanned the top of the wall.
“Surrender now! Everyone who does not surrender now will be killed!”
Turning, the warrior walked behind the stone shields again.
On top of the wall, many of the former players were looking to the people at their sides. Some were resolute, but they were in the minority.
“Stand firm! To kill you, they have take the walls. If you surrender, Thug Horde will make you slaves. Stand and fight like men!”
A handful of cheers answered Thorrin's words, but they were mostly from the members of Thorrin's Hammers.
“Begin.” Even though Menton's voice was only at a conversational volume, everyone along the length of the wall heard it.
“Casters, get your shields up! Now!” Thorrin's yell was audible along the length of the wall, as well.
Menton and twelve other casters began to weave spells. All of their spell patterns were being woven with black Umbral Power, and all of them were weaving the identical patterns.
The Alliance casters, scattered among the defenders, begin to weave spells of their own.
“Steel is stubbornness.” Thorrin's words were to quiet for anyone else to hear them.
Thorrin grabbed a spear that was leaning against the wall next to him. Staring at the spear, he exercised his Power. In his hands, the common looking spear took on a sheen of Power, and Thorrin's frown deepened.
At first, I couldn't use the skills of a Smith. Even though I have the superhuman body of a Dvergar, I would eventually fall behind, if I could not use my Power. It took weeks for me to realize such a simple fact, about why I could not use the skills of a Smith. The real Thorrin's secret of steel was different from my own. His secret was resolution. My secret is just plain old stubbornness.
Drawing back his arm, Thorrin hurled the spear at Menton, who ignored it. Striking the wind shield over Menton, the spear released a brilliant silver-grey light and penetrated. Menton tried to dodge, but the spear still left a gash in his left shoulder.
The red armored warrior spun toward Menton, his posture revealing his shock. “Archers! Attack the wall! Suppress that filthy dwarf!”
Dozens of spells and thousands of arrows pounded the defensive shields at the top of the walls, but they were not enough to break the spells of the defenders. Still, the defenders found themselves unable to retaliate effectively. All of their casters were tied up in the maintenance of the spells, and they lacked the numbers of archers needed to break the attackers' shields.
The attackers' casters reinforced the spells defending Menton, and Thorrin did not attempt to break them again. Instead, he took up his axe, a thick slab of
metal weighing over a hundred pounds, but its massive weight paled next to his shield's. Forged for a Dvergar's superlative strength, the octagonal sheet of metal, three feet edge to edge and an inch thick, was so heavy the strongest of human adepts could not use it effectively.
Thorrin's gaze was drawn to a lone figure behind the Thug Horde army. Unnoticed, he was sauntering up to the oblivious Thugs in the rear.
Talon, you bastard, it took you long enough to get here.
*** Tallifer (Divine Wind's Fort) - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 101
The DokkAlfar appeared without warning in Jinmu's office. There were no sounds to expose his movements, and the office door never opened.
The stare Jinmu turned on the Kra'cha'len promised death. “So, was that your Power or your god's that allowed you reach this point unnoticed?”
Kra'cha'len smiled coldly and began to weave a spell pattern. He did not say a word before the spell sealed the office against sound.
“You wanted proof of your daughter's condition. An agent of the the DokkAlfar is about to enter the brothel, where your daughter is spreading her legs. Would you like to watch?”
Jinmu was barely able to suppress his rage, as he stared coldly at the DokkAlfar Priest-Wizard, but he was desperate to know about his daughter's fate.
“Show me.”
A large black crystal materialized in Kra'cha'len's hand, and he briefly closed his eyes.
“You are in luck. The agent is about to enter your daughter's room.”
Black light flared from the crystal, and a globe about two feet in diameter appeared floating over it. After a few seconds, an image appeared in the globe.
A fat woman in a low-cut red dress was walking with her back to the images point of view.. There were doors every twelve or so feet along the hall she was walking down. She stopped next to one and opened it. The center point of the image seemed to be about four and half feet off the floor.
“This is that Alfar slut. It's an extra ten thousand gold if you kill her and a hundred gold for every cut, burn, or broken bone. We have a list of every injury on her body, so don't try to play games. Enjoy yourself.”
The image moved into the room revealing a naked girl, with silver hair, laying on her side in a bed, at the back of the room. A collar with dimly glowing runes was locked around her neck, and a chain secured it to the wall behind the bed. The girls skin was a dusky grey color, and her small breasts were tipped with sooty black nipples. As she rolled onto her back and spread her legs, she revealed a hairless vagina with a labia as sooty black as her nipples. Her body was covered with welts, abrasions, and burns.
Smiling toward the top of the image with vacant eyes, the girl spread the lips of her vagina with her fingers, revealing the pink flesh inside. “Selestra will make Master feel good. Stick your dick in Selestra, Master.”
The image closed in to the side of the bed.
“There is no way to know if that is my daughter or not.”
The girl on the bed looked around, her face a shocked mask.
“She is your daughter. She can hear you if you talk to her.”
“Girl, what is you name.” Jinmu's tone was flat.
The girl started cackling madly.
“If you don't answer, I'll take a belt to your tits.” The voice was angry and hostile.
The girl started talking in English. “I've lost it. I'm going crazy. I though I heard Otousan's voice. Maybe, I'll be too crazy to know what's happening soon.”
The girl started crying, and violently wiped the tears away. “I can't cry. That's what they want. They get hornier and hurt me more, when I cry. Fuck, why am I talking to myself.”
Jinmu changed to English. “What is your name on Earth? Tell me!”
“Mei. Mei Urehara. Otousan, I'm insane. I think I hear your voice. I hope this ends soon. I just want it all to end so I can see Okaasan.”
“Mei, it's Papa. You hold on. I'm coming to get you. Papa is going to come take you out of there.”
Selestra started laughing, and her burgeoning insanity could be clearly heard in the sound.
Jinmu turned to Kra'cha'len, his eyes so cold that the DokkAlfar felt a trace of fear.
“Take me to that place!”
Kra'cha'len smiled. “If you want to be taken to your daughter, you have to pay the prices.”
“What prices?”
“Serve the Great God. You will swear yourself to Yggr and be Spirit Bonded, to become his Medium.”
Jinmu's steely glare never wavered. “I accept. What else?”
Kra'cha'len's smile broadened. “You will give us Brand. Give him to us collared and helpless.”
Jinmu's face paled, he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He stared at Kra'cha'len, without saying anything.
Kra'cha'len's smile turned malicious. “Well, will you give us Brand? It is all or nothing. If you do not meet both conditions, you can hope that Brand will get you to Free Port. He might eventually find a way out of the Battleground. There is no way you will make it on your own.”
Jinmu's teeth were clenched, as he hissed his reply. “I will give you Brand.”
“Excellent. Kneel and I will take your oath to the Great God.”
*** Tallifer (City of Tallifer) - Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 133
Roderick stares at me, with a broad grin. “I've never met anyone that took to Smithing the way you have, but that armor is truly frightening. Knowing your secrets, I can see them all to easily in the shape of the plates and that mask, but why did you cast it in the face of a Dvergar?”
“In remembrance of the dead.” Roderick does not need to know more than that.
I move in front of the window in Roderick's office and stare at my reflection. The face I do not want to forget, the face I wore for eleven years, stares back at me. Even if it is formed from steel alloy, the facial features hammered into the mask of my armor is an exact replica of my Half-Dvergar face. The beard abruptly ends below my chin, but it would be ridiculous if I had made the full length of my old beard. This new armor is made of plates molded to fit the lineaments my body, to point where the outlines of my musculature are cast in clear relief. The only chain left in the armor is there to cover the gaps at my joints.
The most important feature of this armor is that it has been Patterned and is tied to me with a soul thread. The Power contained in the armor causes it to fit like a second skin, once donned. Even though it weighs more that the chain that was melted down to form the base of the alloy, this new armor is far less restrictive to my movements than the old chain.
“That armor is worthy of being a masterwork. You are the equal of a Master Smith. Now, you need only practice your craft. There is virtually nothing left that I could teach you. Though how you managed to absorb so much knowledge in barely more than a month is beyond me. Maybe, you were born to be a Maker.”
I only shrug. I have no answers to Roderick's questions. I do not understand how I was able master his Smithing techniques so quickly. I find it hard to believe that Roderick has taught me everything needed to become a Master Smith, but the sullenly jealous expressions of the journeymen in the Smithy attest to the truth of it.
Drawn by something odd about my eyes, I move closer to the office window. My eyes used to be a yellowish-green, but now they are a deep green, with silver and black mixed in.
“Your eyes have been changing as you mastered the art of Smiting. Didn't you notice?”
“If you looked like me, would you spend much time looking at your own reflection?”
Roderick chuckles softly. “Probably not.”
“Perzey likes Brand's eyes. Brand is special.” The words are whispered by Perzey, while she does not quite meet my eyes.
I find myself staring at Perzey blankly, not sure how to react to her words. She has changed so much from when I first saw her naked in that cell, that I do not know quite to make of her. She was typical of the modern American tras
h that I had dealt with all my life, but she broke so easily. I never considered that normal people might have been oppressed to the breaking point under the twisted social system that exists in America.
Is that why Taereun had such fanatical followers? It was anything but a mainstream game. It had no leader boards, no internet RMT (Real Money Transaction) marketplace, not even any stats that players could brag about, but the people who played it still put so much time and effort into the game. For me, it was a life where I could live by my own strength and hurt people without avoiding the social cameras, but what was it for other people?
Perzey's hair is almost down to her waist now. The almost constant air currents that surround her play with that wild, uncombed brown curtain. She does not resist, when I take her chin between thumb and forefinger, and turn her face toward me. The hunger in her eyes is still as strong as when I first woke it in the Swamp of the Lost, but she seems more wild than insane.
“You've changed.”
Perzey smiles. “Brand changed Perzey.”
I do not say anything. I think I might be afraid of what she will say, if I ask the question in my thoughts. I no longer hate Perzey, but I might never have hated Perzey, only Helen.
Looking around the forge, I am filled with a sense of incongruity. This is not my place. While I was learning Smithing, I did not pay attention to the ambiance, but now, I perceive the dislike and hostility of Roderick's apprentices and journeymen. The two Master Smiths who work for Roderick are looking me with ironic miens.
I cannot keep the acerbity out of my voice. “I don't belong here, any more than Perzey does.”
Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God Page 35