Tales of the Gemsmith

by Jared Mandani

  I’m going to keep one of everything I make, he thought, thankful for the +3 against fire, but more than that, thankful just to have something he had managed to sell in his own possession.

  “Let this be a reminder,” Dean said as he closed his shop that day. “This ring will remind me I am good at something, and that’s all I need to concentrate on!”

  Whistling, happier now that he had made 250 gold pieces as well as 250 XP, Dean turned to make his way back to Grum’s workshop, intending to log out.

  “Mage Winters! Mage Winters?” It was Lathar, the Market Guide hurrying towards him. The white-skinned elf looked flustered, shocked even.

  “Lathar? What’s up?” Dean said, pausing.

  “I’ve just heard from one of the other sellers that you are selling magical rings, is that true?” Lathar said.

  Oh no. I knew there had to be a catch. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean’s hope plummeted. Don’t tell me I’ve gone and done something wrong again, so soon after getting out of the Duma jail!

  “Well, I was led to believe you were selling them for twenty-five gold pieces!” Lathar said in alarm.

  “Yes…? Is that too much?” Dean wondered if the elf was about to demand some money from him. Well, he will have a fight on his hands – because I’m not giving up my hard-earned takings!

  “Too much? Goodness me no. They’re magical, Mage Winters. You could charge four times that price and still have customers!” Lathar looked appalled. “Now, I have no authority to order you to up your prices, of course, but some of the other market stall holders were quite annoyed that a newcomer here undercut them so ruthlessly…”

  “I didn’t know,” Dean said. “And actually, I tried to raise the price earlier.”

  “All prices are set when you enter the Market, I’m afraid, to avoid … unscrupulous trading,” Lathar said with a sigh. “Well, at least now you know. You can do whatever you want, but it doesn’t do well to annoy the other market stall holders here…” he cautioned.

  “Of course not, Guide.” Dean started to smile.

  You want me to raise my prices, huh? Higher prices will mean more money and more experience points for me, won’t it?

  “I think I can do that,” the mage said.

  Interlude II: The Stewards of Shardwick

  “Are you certain?” the thin, balding man with a beak-like nose questioned his younger, disheveled guest.

  The guest in question was feeling a lot better since eating and resting, and taking what restoratives the Lord Alpin’s fort had to offer. I’ve almost got my health levels back, Ramesh thought gratefully. Just one more thing to do here, and then I can be on the move again….

  “You have my word when I tell you, Lord Alpin,” Ramesh the Red Hand said from his seat by the fire in the Lord Steward’s tower, “that I am certain. The Lady of Efen has risen again, and the crystals are in danger.”

  “But how?” the Steward said, turning to look miserably into the fireplace. The pair of men sat by the fire in the comfortable study of the Lord’s tower room, as the Lord Alpin had returned from his envoy to the court of the High King just a little while ago. “How could this evil have been released? How could this come to pass? She will destroy all of us!”

  “Aye, she will,” Ramesh said.

  “Hmph.” The Lord Steward shrugged as he muttered. “The irony of having to trust the most renowned thief in all of the Three Realms for my information does not escape me, Red….”

  “I am not after gold, Alpin!” Ramesh felt suddenly angry. “I was the one who first recovered one of the Ouroborax Crystals in the modern age. I know full well their power!” He held up his hand to the light of the fire, with its perfectly unchanging red scar.

  “I know you do,” Alpin sighed. “And your services have been invaluable to me in the past.”

  “Indeed.” Ramesh nodded. He had discovered a long time ago that as he levelled up, it was less and less interesting breaking into nests of Orcs and Kobolds to steal their treasure, and much more profitable and fun to offer his services to lords like Alpin, Fabrio, and Vella. They were all Lord Stewards of Shardwick Forest, which also meant that, at the same time as guarding the borders of the Near Realm, they were also party to a very important secret.

  That this place used to be a sacred site for the elvish Judgment, before the Realms fractured, Ramesh thought.

  “So, do you still have it? Or did Lord Fabrio take it back?” the highwayman leaned forward and whispered, even though it was dark outside the windows, and neither of them could hear any sound other than the muted hooting of owls, and the crackle of logs in the fire grate.

  “I have it,” the Lord Alpin said wearily, and his eyes slid across the room for just a moment.

  Aha! Ramesh stood up immediately. He had no time to waste.

  “Wait, Red Hand!” Alpin stood up quickly behind him. “I am still uncertain whether this crystal would be best protected in the High King’s vaults. The High King has hundreds of knights, he has multiple strong walls, inscribed with protections and enchantments, he has the Aeturnum itself there, ready to protect the city with its greatest witches and wizards…. Surely, even the Lady of Efen couldn’t approach it there…!”

  The Lord Alpin has a point, Ramesh thought, but he could not slow his step as he moved to the picture on the wall where the old man’s eyes had flickered a moment ago. Removing it quickly, he saw there was a rune of protection over one of the bricks.

  “But you know what I can do, Lord Alpin,” the Red Hand said, summoning a simple Break Enchantment spell as he laid his hands atop the rune. There was a sizzle as the sigil flared into nothingness.

  “I do…” the lord’s voice faltered, confused. “I have seen your strange powers, Red Hand…” Usually the NPCs of the game didn’t blink an eye when Ramesh flickered in and out of the game, jumping locations as he had to. Their algorithms just called it a glitch, or a Teleportation spell – but the Lord Alpin was a Steward of Shardwick, and a Holder of the Green Ouroborax. He had a much more developed A.I. behind him. Ramesh scowled briefly for a moment as he tapped and tugged at the loose brick, pulling it away from the wall. And that means the Lord Alpin can ask questions, and is confused by the way I hacked the game.

  “But even so … surely the Crystal is best protected somewhere safe – even you cannot run forever, Red Hand,” Alpin argued futilely behind him, as Ramesh reached into the wall cavity to bring out a fold of blue velvet, with something large and heavy inside. He teased at the fabric bundle in his hand, careful that none of his skin should actually touch the crystal itself.

  It was a large shard of green crystal with smaller, perfectly geometric shapes along its length.

  “It’s beautiful,” Ramesh whispered, as he swore he could feel the wash of raw power from the thing. Carefully, he wrapped the velvet over it again, concealing its inner light.

  “Even you cannot run forever, Ramesh,” said Alpin’s voice behind him.

  “I know. You said that already.” The Red Hand shook his head as he put the Green Ouroborax away into his tool belt, before his mind caught up with him. Lord Alpin called me Ramesh.

  Oh no. He turned to look up, just in time to see the features of Lord Alpin changing, morphing, his skin growing paler, his eyes growing redder.

  The Archon. The Archon has found me! Ramesh had made a mistake; he hesitated for a moment in fear, and that was all the Archon needed to take control over the NPC that was Lord Alpin. With a gesture of his hand, a field of force hit the Red Hand and threw him against a wall of books with a shuddering crash.

  -7 Health!

  “Thought you could get away from us that easily, did you, Ramesh?” the Archon said. It had horribly twisted Lord Alpin’s face and form, so he was taller and his mouth was filled with white, sharp teeth.

  But it wasn’t in its full, realized form, Ramesh saw in terror, as he reached for one of his most dangerous spells.

  “Soulquake!”
He pointed at the thing, and he felt a shudder run through his body as his Mana dropped by over a half. It was enough to completely evaporate even the most heroic characters, and would give even a fire dragon pause for thought.

  But Ramesh watched in horror as the curse broke around the twisted Lord Alpin like waves breaking over a beach.

  “Oh dear, you really think your little spells and cantrips bother me, Ramesh?” The Archon that had hunted him in the mountains of the Far Realms laughed. “I wrote half of them, you know.” Another wave of his hand, and this time the highwayman was flung across the other side of the room to smash against the stone wall there.

  -5 Health!

  “I know,” the Red Hand spat, and did the only thing the Archon probably wasn’t expecting as he staggered to his feet, raising his fists as if to fight.

  “Really? Really?” The thing doubled over, howling in mirth at the pathetic sight.

  And that precise moment was when Ramesh took the opportunity to dive out of the window of Steward Alpin’s fort, several stories up.

  “AIIII!”

  Even though it was a game, Ramesh screamed as he fell, and the hard cobbles swept up towards him. He tried to reach his hands up to his head. Quit. Quit, damn you!

  Quit Game? Y/N.

  “Yes!!” Ramesh screamed.

  Y.

  Chapter 16: Airborne

  “Level Seven already!? What sort of magic juice have you been guzzling!?” Crusher looked at Dean with his mouth hanging open when he arrived at Grum’s workshop the next day.

  Dean looked up from the large central anvil and his character yawned, copying his real-world yawn inside the VRM helmet.

  “Were you pulling an all-nighter? Grinding out the experience?” Crusher laughed and shook his head. “But even so… That is still a lot of experience for twelve hours or so.”

  “Not an all-nighter. I think I got to sleep at some point,” Dean said wearily. “I woke up in here, with Hephaestus on top of me, so…”

  “Ah yeah, the game does that. It’s a fail safe,” Crusher – or Isaiah – informed him. “If a user falls asleep in the game, it detects it from your brain patterns and puts you into a holding mode. For me, I wake up in my rooms at the Iron Hall.”

  “Your character lodges at the Iron Hall?” Dean was surprised, given the frosty reception he had received there.

  “Ah yeah, well – that’s because I kind of work for them,” Crusher said.

  Aha. I knew it. I knew there was a reason he ambassador had selected Crusher to be my ‘guard’, Dean thought. Not that he didn’t trust the dwarf – but it made sense now.

  “But enough about me,” Crusher said hastily. “That still doesn’t explain how you got up to Level Seven in such a short time!”

  “Here, head’s up!” Dean picked up one of the objects from the workbench and threw it over to him.

  “Woah!” Crusher caught the shaped piece of metal in his thick gauntlets, turning it over in his hands. “Nice work, what is it — you found a treasure trove?”

  “Where do you think I found it?” Dean laughed, holding his hands out to the furnace and forge around them. “I made it.”

  “Blimey, Winters…” Crusher looked at the item again. It appeared to be a simple rounded scoop of steel, with buckle attachments at either edge, but glittering black and gold lines worked their way through the metal itself and shone as Crusher turned it to catch the light. On its face, Dean had welded another delicate and interlocking piece of knotwork that was simply stunning in its intricacy.

  “Steel is more stubborn to shape than silver or gold, but it’s actually easier to be working on such a large scale,” Dean offered by way of an explanation.

  “Huh?” Crusher said.

  “Oh, sorry – I’m a goldsmith in my real life – I was, I mean. Marcy, or Mirelle – you remember the elf you met with me?” Dean said, and Crusher nodded. “She’s my nurse. I got into a fight, kind of.”

  “Well, if you can make this kind of stuff just with your mind, Winters, then I am sure you will be making real stuff in no time…” Crusher started to compliment him, but Dean was having none of it.

  “Whatever. I don’t care about that,” he lied. A surge of self-loathing washed over him as he thought about his real hands, how crooked and inept they were. But at least in here I can still make things, useful things, too. “I used Enchant item on it, and it’s got the last of the dragon iron in it, so it has +3 against fire, and +2 CON,” Dean said, happy to change the subject from his miserable real life. “I’ve been selling them down at the Dockside Markets all morning…” Another yawn.

  “Wow, well, no wonder you’re making your experience – and money, I don’t doubt, if you’re churning this kind of stuff out.” Crusher made to hand the shoulder guard back to the sorcerer.

  “No. It’s yours,” Dean said in a tight voice.

  “What?” Crusher looked confused.

  “I mean it, it’s yours. I made it for you,” he said awkwardly. It only seemed fair, after all, if he was able to make all of these magical items, that he should share them with someone.

  “Thank you, my friend…” Crusher looked delighted, immediately putting it on, where it fit perfectly over his left shoulder.

  “Well anyway, it’s the last one as I am all out of the Sea Quartz and the dragon ore to make any more.” Dean shrugged. “And steel, as it goes…”

  “Then we need to get you some more then, don’t we?” Crusher smiled uneasily. “At this rate – you’ll be hitting Level Ten in no time!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Dean frowned. He had hit a plateau with his XP, as the gap between Level 7 and 8 was huge. It had been 200 XP for Level 5, and then a further 300 XP for Level 6, and then another 500 XP for Level 7. He had completely exhausted the market for magic fire-resisting Winter Rings, and had instead turned his hand to small pieces of armor, with the shoulder guards being the best of the bunch, in his opinion.

  Even with his increased prices now, he was losing more stock and materials every time he made an item, and then had to try and sell them at a rate other characters could afford. The XP he needed for Level 8 was a whopping 800 XP, and he didn’t have the resources to make something that special.

  But I have bought myself a whole lot more spells and skills, though, Dean thought with a smile.

  *

  Artificer Specialism – armor smithing +2 skill.

  Artificer Specialism – weapon smithing +2 skill.

  Artificer Specialism – gold smithing +2 skill.

  Polearm Specialism – Quarterstaff +2 attack and defense, +1 damage.

  Small Weapons Specialism – Dagger +2 attack and defense, Fast Strike +3 damage.

  *

  Path of the Sorcerer

  Level 3: Banish Spirit. Cost: 8 Mana. Banishes Level One spirits, or 10 damage to spirits of a higher level.

  Level 4: Magic Scan. Cost: 5 Mana. Finds simply hidden items and magical powers. Note: Items protected by invisibility or wards are not revealed.

  Level 5: Summon Lightning. Cost: 12 Mana. 20 damage.

  Level 6: Fireball. Cost: 15 Mana. 8-15 damage.

  Level 7: Trap Spirit. Cost: 15 Mana.

  *

  “Well, Level Seven isn’t shabby, Winters,” Crusher advised him. “And there’s another reason why I’m checking on you.” He pulled out a scroll from his jerkin, and handed it over, looking sheepish. “It’s from the Duma. Our employers.”

  “Oh great. Now what do they want us to do?” Dean groaned as he unfurled the scroll and started to read it through.

  Dear Agent S.C.,

  It is with the utmost urgency that you attend to this matter. I cannot impress upon you just how much is at stake.

  Just a few days ago, we found out the terrible calamity that has befallen us all. That the Lady of Efen has been released, and that any moment now, she is sure to continue her terrible campaign of mayhem against all the free a
nd right-thinking peoples of Aldaron. As you know, we set our most illumined viziers on the problem, to ascertain if there is a way to reverse the damage, and to re-create the enchantment that put her to sleep.

  There is not, as far as we know. But that is not the bad tidings I have to pass onto you.

  A few days ago, one of the King’s Forts in the Forest of Shardwick was attacked, and the High King sent out a phalanx of knights to respond to the threat. The humans believed it was the work of the human secessionists, House Gwylar, but we have heard on good authority that it is not.

  It is the work of the Lady of Efen. She attacked the fort for whatever ludicrous reason is in her head, and, when the human knights approached she attacked THEM as well.

  Luckily for us, the humans have still not recognized this evil for what she is. Once they do, they will seek to blame us, the dwarves, for releasing her! They believe she is just a very powerful, evil sorceress who is attacking their lands.

  In the name of all that is good and just in the world, and because THAT HUMAN is the one responsible for this mess, I charge you, Agent S.C., to collect Mage Winters and investigate. Travel to Shardwick Forest. See what you can find out. See why the Lady of Efen attacked there. See if there is any sign of weakness in her powers or skills.

  And, by the deep bones of the earth, do it quickly!

  Signed, the Ambassador

  Dean rolled up the scroll once more and handed it back without saying a word, but the look on his face was clear.

  “It’ll just be a scouting mission to start with,” Crusher said, almost apologetically. “And you’re Level Seven now, right…?”

  “Agent S.C.?” Dean said angrily. “As in, Agent Skullcrusher?”

  “Ah, yeah.” The dwarf looked chagrined. “That is why I reside at the Iron Halls, and why they trust me enough to go with you. I do ‘jobs’ for the Duma,” he said.