“Grum!” Seeing no other option, Dean ran forward into the fray, using his quarterstaff like a spear to strike at the wounded Orc.
“Gak!”
2 Damage!
He thumped the beast squarely between the eyes, his own quarterstaff seeming able to move easily through the shield while the Orc’s could not.
Crack! Another sizzle as the cleaver bit the field, and Dean knew that it was weakening. He could see white cracks all over it, and any moment now—
“Hyagh!” another blow from Grum with his solid metal block of a hammer – and still the Orc wouldn’t die.
“What does it take to kill these things!” Dean found himself shouting, as the second brought his cleaver down once more—
Crack! With a flash, the shield exploded, temporarily blinding everyone. But when the light faded, the dwarf and the mage were left facing two very large and very angry Orcs.
“Bolt!” Dean threw his hand out, almost into the face of Cleaver-Orc, but nothing happened.
*
Insufficient Mana.
You will need to perform one of the following to regain Mana points: a night’s rest; a meal; a visit to your chosen deity’s shrine; a potion; a visit to a Well of Healing.
*
“What!?” Dean almost shouted. Why hadn’t anyone told him that earlier? Why didn’t Marcy tell him that he only had a little amount of Mana for his spells? Oh yeah, because she was annoyed with him. He watched as Cleaver’s face twitched in a victorious snarl, striding forward and raising his weapon in what must surely be a killing blow—
I’m going to die. I’m going to die… Dean felt his heart race.
“Hyargh!” It was Grum, pushing his young apprentice out of the way to intercept the blow. Dean heard a pained grunt as he sprawled on the floor, spitting rock dust out of his mouth and turning over to see, horribly, that Grum had the Orc’s weapon lodged into his chest. He grabbed the Orc’s hand, holding it down as he raised his own hammer – and brought it down on the creature’s face.
The Orc fell backwards, Grum on top of him – and Dean wasn’t sure if either of them was alive. Grum!
No time to grieve, however, as there was still the other Scimitar-Orc to account for. This one was struggling to stand upright after Grum had collapsed one of his calves, and Dean attacked savagely, thrusting and swinging his quarterstaff with abandon.
2 Damage!
3 Damage!
“How dare you! He was my friend!” Dean attacked, feeling the rage that had been lying coiled within him, dormant, ever since those men had broken into his store and broken him. “How could you!” Dean was shouting, hitting again and again.
2 Damage!
4 Damage!
“Ssss!” the Orc hissed, staggering backwards under the onslaught of blows and skidding on the rough shingle and rock chips. It went down, but as it did so it swung wildly with its scimitar, catching Dean across the arms.
-4 Health!
Dean’s own status bar suddenly flashed red, losing a sizeable chunk of his available health, but he didn’t stop – he struck again, and it only had to be once on the prone Scimitar-Orc.
Orc raider Vanquished! 25 XP!
Dean stumbled backwards to where Grum was still lying over the body of his own victory – if victory was what indeed it could be called. The mage dragged him off the horrible body of his foe, a little way away from the battle scene. Grum looked bad, his skin now pale and blotchy, his eyes wide.
“Grum? Master…” Dean said, reaching for his spell list. Bless. I can bless him, can’t I? But he didn’t have the Mana left. He had to have a meal or a night’s rest or any other of the things that he couldn’t do right now. “Oh no, Grum…!” Dean found himself tearing up as the dwarf coughed once, patting one large gauntleted hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Ha. Looks like this is the end, boy. Don’t be upset. I died doing the third best thing in the world…” Grum whispered in his croaky, gravelly voice. “And you helped me do that, you brought me out of that dirty, backstabbing city to be out here, amongst the rocks of my people.” He stopped, wheezed. “For that, I thank you – even if you are a human. Now, if only I had the chance to teach you everything that I wanted you to learn. My workshop is yours to use as you see fit – but you have to look after Hephaestus and Alphonse, mind!”
Being near death apparently didn’t stop the dwarf from managing a cantankerous tone.
“I’ll look after them, Master,” Dean said sadly. “And thank you, thank you for agreeing to teach me.”
“Everything that you need to know, the workshop will teach you. I made notes all through my career – find my journal and you can learn to be almost as good as I was. You are only human, after all…”
New Story! Grum’s Legacy.
Accept? Y/N
Y.
It was unthinkable to Dean at that moment to reject it. How could he, after he had been the one to convince Grum to fight these two much larger enemies for him? Dean looked back at the dwarf, to see his eyes slowly close.
“One thing, Winters…” His voice was whisper-soft. “Don’t open the…”
To Dean’s magical eyes, he could see a brief, soft flare of light around Grum’s body as his spirit passed into whatever dwarfish heaven or hell they went to, and then became peaceful, carved like a statue. Dwarves, it seemed, turned to rock when they died – and within moments, Dean was now looking at a carved stone plinth of a sleeping Grum.
*
Add to inventory:
Hammer of Grum +5 STR, +3 Artificer
Troll-Hide Gauntlets, +3 against fire
Orcish Scimitar, +3 STR
Buckler Shield, +7 CON
27 Silver bits, assorted bone dice, and a troll’s tusk
*
Dean felt shocked as he moved around the battlefield, picking up the discarded items of the dead Orcs and his friend. He felt also a little numbed by the sudden loss of someone he had thought he would take time to get to know. It was in this daze that he almost stumbled over the prone form of the elvish maiden, still where she lay, and apparently unconscious.
She was wrapped in a voluminous green cloak, with her white-silver hair spilling from the top, and her pale features as carefully posed as if she were a dummy. Dean crouched down beside her, worrying for a moment that she might even be dead – and all of this had been for nothing – until her eyes flashed open, and they glowed.
Chapter 12: The Lady of Efen
“Holy crap!” Dean fell backwards from the elf, reaching for his staff. There was something unnatural about her – and it wasn’t just the fact that she was an elf. Marcy definitely didn’t look like this…
No, there was definitely something else that was odd about her, Dean thought. The fact that her skin gave off an almost luminescent glow, or that electric-white light spilled from her white eyes maybe. Oh yeah, the fact that she’s levitating off the ground…
Dean watched as the body of the woman started to rise higher into the air, and a strange wind localized around her. Her voluminous green cloak fluttered behind her as she righted herself in front of him, her limbs making languid, sleepy movements. She wore a near-transparent white gown underneath, and Dean instantly flushed – but the perfection of this being’s body was the last thing on his mind, as he was entranced by the waves of power radiating from her.
“Winters,” she said, but her blush-pink lips didn’t even move. Dean heard the word in his mind; sultry and strong, they reminded him of the beginning howl of a gale.
“Er … yes?” Dean wasn’t sure how to address a clearly more magical and more superior being than he ever could be.
“You have released me from my slumber, and for that I thank you.” The words stormed into his mind once more. The woman was making soft, swaying movements with her hands as if she were swimming, keeping herself afloat with minimal effort.
“I did?” Dean said. In his mind, he rather thought
that it must have been Grum, if anyone had…
“You did.” The elf raised a perfectly white, long-fingered hand to show him where some of Grum’s red blood had fallen on her. Very slowly, and very horribly, she raised her fingers to those pink lips, and carefully licked the blood off.
Oh no Dean thought, suddenly thinking that maybe this wasn’t the sort of person that he should release from a magical slumber.
“You have given me your comrade’s blood; a noble sacrifice,” the elvish being said, looking at the caves behind her. “I have been trapped in those darks for many long centuries.” Her beautiful, reposed face twisted a little in consternation. “Many long centuries, it appears human. But at least, I must take heart that my enemies who trapped me in there are now dead.” A satisfied smile.
“So, uhm…” Dean looked confusedly at the bodies before him. “Did the Orcs free you then? Did they dig you up?”
The floating elf said nothing but raised an eyebrow at the bodies of the Orcs, her disgust apparent. Shaking her free-floating hair from her shoulders, she instead turned to her apparent ‘savior’ before her. “As a gift for your service, human, I will allow you to call upon my aid should you need it – but only if it is in the direst of circumstances, do you understand? I have many centuries to catch up on, and many wrongs committed in my absence that will need to be righted!”
Dean opened and closed his mouth. “Sure, okay… What do I call you?”
“The Lady of Efen.” The woman nodded, before drawing a little closer to the human on the ground before her, and Dean got the sudden impression that she was stalking and about to attack him, like a predatory cat.
*
New Spell added to Level One List!
The Lady of Efen
*
“You are young, and inexperienced yet, Winters…” the elvish lady said in his mind. “But you will grow. In time, you may even do very well indeed.”
Very well for what? Dean wanted to say, but before he could, the wind from around the elf was whipping up faster, and she was rising into the air on invisible wings. Her eyes glowed stronger and stronger, becoming a dazzling white glow that eclipsed her body in a sun-like dazzle of light, before she became fainter and fainter as she ascended higher into the heavens.
What was that all about? Dean thought, his heart hammering as silence once again returned to Jodo Canyons.
And the fact of Grum’s death, hitting him like a sledgehammer. He hadn’t realized how fond he had grown of the brusque and surly old dwarf until he was gone, and now he was left on his own, in the wilds – and with the dwarf’s workshop to look after.
A noise from the trail made Dean jump, but it was only Alphonse the mule, nosing at some of the straggly weeds as he crept closer.
“Looks like your back is going to be a whole lot lighter on the way back now, friend.” Dean sighed, pushing himself up from the ground in front of the canyon walls, pocked with holes and tunnels.
“Although – maybe not…” Dean said, picking up his quarterstaff and venturing towards the largest tunnel. “What was it Grum said – that there was a rich seam of dragon iron in here?” the mage muttered to himself, stepping into the cavern and wishing that he had any Mana left at all. He couldn’t even summon a light, but luckily for him, the inventory that he had packed included a small lantern and tinderbox.
Spark. Woosh! With a flare of lantern light, Dean saw that the entrance cavern was indeed large – larger than Grum’s entire house (although not as large as the Iron Halls). The floor was flat and dry, but in the sides of the rooms lay heaps and piles of rock chips from the scarred walls.
“How am I ever going to find the Ore in all of this?” Dean started to wonder, before the light of the lantern brought one of the alcoves into sharp relief. The rocks and the stone fragments were scattered all about, and there were deep white scars as of recent excavations. I guess that’s where the Orcs found the Lady of Efen? Dean thought, and, with nothing else to go on, he decided to check it out.
The corridor beyond was much smaller than the entrance cavern, and it was blocked by the boulders broken by the Orcs in their search. It dove steeply down, and down again, turning on itself like a spiral staircase made of the very bones of the earth. “But how did the Orcs know to search here?” Dean wondered as the stone spiral straightened out into a low cavern, where something glittered on the walls.
A thick vein of rock that was a deep onyx black, but its edges glittered with a green-blue luminescence.
I bet any money in my pouch that this is dragon iron Dean thought, stepping into the cavern proper.
It held only one other object, a pure creamy-white stone sarcophagus, empty. On the floor a heavy matching stone slab was broken into fragments.
“So, at least the strange naked floaty lady was telling the truth,” Dean mumbled to himself, moving to the stone bier to see that its sides held the ghosts of ancient carvings. Letters like the movements of ripples, or the tracks of birds – or were they just abstract drawings?
Read Old High Elvish?
Task Failed! Unable to translate script!
Oh yeah, I can’t actually read Old High Elvish – yet, Dean thought, turning from the empty stone sarcophagus to the walls. Whatever the mysteries of the elvish lady from Efen were, he knew that he couldn’t get to the bottom of them yet. Instead, he settled for the next best thing that he could do here; unshouldering the large canvas bag he had brought, along with one of Grum’s work picks.
*
It took considerably longer than he thought it would to fill the four sacks of dragon iron, and Dean lost a further 2 Health in the effort as his body started to tire and weaken on him as he swung the pick against the stone walls, breaking off ingots and lumps the size of his head. By the time he had filled the bags and hauled them all the back up the curving staircase to the entrance of the Jodo Canyons, the light was starting to fade and it was growing dark.
“I wonder if I should set a fire and have a meal and some rest,” Dean thought, knowing that it would result in more Mana – but just one look back at the battlefield behind him —with the now darkened humps that had been Orcs, and the stone statue Grum had become — convinced him to move.
“We’ll not sleep here,” he reassured the mule. “Best get as far as we can before resting.” It was odd, he didn’t feel like he needed to rest, but he knew that his health was low, and that he would have to if he wanted to survive.
But for now, he turned his mule and his winnings towards the King’s City road, and towards his new home.
Chapter 13: Homeless in Two Cities
The journey back to King’s City passed without incident, mostly thanks to Dean hiding, with Alphonse and the dragon ore, every time he thought he heard the distant approach of feet or hooves. Several times on the journey back to the western coast he had to quickly dive off the road as a band of mounted, red-sashed Freebooters galloped past, looking annoyed.
I know they’re not looking for me, but still… Dean thought when they had gone. He didn’t wish to bump into them on his own, with no Mana and half his health depleted.
“All we have to do is get back to the workshop without incident, and we’ll be fine,” he said to the mule (who only regarded him warily).
The walls of the Outer Gate soon loomed tall ahead of him, and above it the storm-gray skies of the coast that always seemed to hover over King’s City. Dean could see why Grum had been glad to leave there, actually – it was a dismal place, glum and febrile with the atmosphere of panic and revolt.
“Steady! Woah there!” Shouts from down near the gate, as Dean once again encouraged Alphonse off the wide road. A phalanx of mounted knights – proper knights in shining metal this time, not mercenary Freebooters – emerged from the gate and started marshalling outside.
Five, ten, twenty… Dean counted as he continued to walk towards the city, picking his way along the edge of the field by the road.
Thirt
y, forty, Dean guessed. That was a lot of people! A full battle group. As he approached, he saw the knights were sorting their weapons and waiting for orders, so he called out.
“Ho sirs! What trouble?”
The nearest, a young human knight with short blonde hair, looked over to him as he was struggling to contain his nervy mule.
“Something’s attacked one of the King’s Forts to the northeast of here not a few hours ago, in the Forest of Shardwick. We’re being sent out to find out who it was,” he said, looking a little unimpressed. “My money’s on House Gwylar…”
“Well, good luck!” Dean called, and meant it.
“Hm. We’ll need it…” the young knight said ominously, before his captain called them to attention. Almost as one flock, they swiveled their horses and started to canter up the road Dean had come down, their hooves kicking up a heavy plume of dust behind them.
At the gates, Dean was waved on through by the burly guards as ‘a citizen of King’s Landing’ and into the busy and bustling marketplaces beyond. Cries of magical items next to armaments rang in his ears, along with the shout and shriek of the ever-present gulls in the air.
“Get your best armor here! Here!” one trader was shouting. “Be ready for when those devils Gwylar attack!”
“Never mind Gwylar – it should be the Darklings you’re worrying about!” shouted the trader next door to the arms trader, a big, burly human selling shanks of meat.
“Why’s that?” Dean asked as he trudged up to the stall, intending to buy some food from the man and restore a little of his health. “I thought the Darklings were still way out in the Far Realms?”
“Ha!” The butcher laughed. He untied one of the rack of ribs and started to wrap it, as if he knew Dean was about to purchase it from him. “If you believe half of what the High King says then you’re a fool, young sir!” he grumbled, causing a disturbed mutter in the crowd around Dean.
“What? It’s true and you all know it!” the butcher scolded them loudly, before turning back to Dean and saying in a much kinder voice, “That’ll be three silver bits, please sir. The High King tells us the Darklings are far away out there, but I was chatting to an explorer just the other day, who said a farm in the Near Kingdoms, right here, got attacked. Not a soul left behind – they all vanished, and the building was torn to the ground.” The butcher nodded sagely. “And now that’s the tell-tale work of the Darklings. All I’m saying is the High King is trying to not let everyone know he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing!”
Tales of the Gemsmith Page 10