An Archer said, “Two days. No report from Zufem in two days.”
A Mage said, “Dark magic hangs over these lands. I feel it in my tusks.”
They could feel through their tusks? Viola didn’t know why she found that amusing. She kept walking within the cover of the crowd. Her height worked to her advantage here especially when they were six to eight feet tall. Ugly lanky giants. Though many were midgets. It was strange.
“No matter,” the leader said. “The King has ordered a grand sacrifice for the next full moons.”
“Grand… Sacrifice?” the Mage said.
Viola did not see who angrily said, “We are weeks from winter. We need those slaves. Don’t be foolish!” That accent and speech cadence was not Trollish. An adventurer?
“Know your place,” the leader growled. “It must be done! Jin’tal was one of our best Shamans. Whatever lurks out there must be rooted out.”
“But fifty slaves! We could build a dozen new settlements!”
“Fifty is nothing, fool.” The leader chuckled.
The adventurer said something lost to the noise of Trolls practicing Archery. Viola had to keep walking. She wasn’t daring enough to stop and listen. She recalled, that in this town, every slave was bound to that Mage, not the leader. Lazy prick.
When she was a dozen yards away from the open gate, she robotically picked up a steel hatchet from a lumber stockpile, then continued on through. The guards looked at her with some suspicion—not too much. But those narrowed eyes were trained on her as though they could hear her drumming heart. She could feel their hostile Troll magic, smothering and putrid.
Sweat dripped down her chin when the chatboox beeped harshly. Her skull jittered for a fraction of a second.
Gabby LeMort (To Viola Everbright): Hiya!
What a great time to say hi.
Viola Everbright: Hey, what is it? I’m trying to escape.
Gabby LeMort: Nothing. Just wanted to say hi! ^_^
What an odd woman.
Viola didn’t waste brain-power pondering about it and kept walking through these crop fields of various greens. A high estimate put it at four to six thousand plots, a seventy-by-seventy unfenced farm. And she knew there were a bunch more at the west gate. Feeding all those Trolls wasn’t an easy task. She swore they had further multiplied since the last visit.
Past the farm, rows upon rows of pine saplings were under the influence of Enhanced Growth. Tiny balls of green mana rose into the air every minute and made for quite a light show—and quite a cover.
At the three hundred yard mark, the stench was at last free from her airways. She breathed deeply, stopped at a semi-mature pine, and subtly glanced back at the gate. She couldn’t tell if they were still glaring at her, but she did see another slave tending to saplings fifty yards down the row. A heroic urge tried to tug her legs toward him.
She didn’t risk it, forcing herself forward.
And when she made it to the first mature pines, she walked into the row.
And ran.
Pine needles blurred into a tunnel of brown and green while her stamina bar drained twice as fast uphill. She didn’t look back—no point. She didn’t listen to her burning legs when her stamina levels dipped below thirty percent—she was going to run until she collapsed, following the severed slave link like a compass. There should be a path nearby.
She found it as her Agility dropped to seven percent.
She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder.
No Trolls were on her tail.
“Woop woop!” she cheered, slowing to a brisk walk. Her legs thanked her, the stamina bar stabilizing.
But her celebration was short-lived. The dead eyes of all those slaves flashed before her. They were all going to be sacrificed—and only Rowan, her Demon master, could do something about it. She composed him a concise message.
Viola Everbright (To Rowan LeMort): I’m back btw—at the Troll’s town. I just overheard something about a “grand sacrifice” of Elf slaves during the next full moons.
Crap. She meant to write just escaped the Troll’s town. The game’s input interpreter wasn’t without flaw.
Rowan’s reply came before she could clarify.
Rowan LeMort: How many? And can you do anything?
Viola Everbright: I meant to say I just escaped, sorry. You’re still my master.
Beepless seconds passed, her breaths hagged as she stepped into a shallow stream. The water was colder than ice. She crouched and drank. This had to be far enough from their droppings.
Another message came when she swallowed two earthy mouthfuls. No foul taste. Phew.
Rowan LeMort: I’m still waiting on the how many.
She choked on a third mouthful. Oops.
Viola Everbright: Like a dozen.
Rowan LeMort: Alright, that’s plenty of time. Like another two weeks, right?
Plenty of time. Only he could be so sure. But the sheer conviction was comforting.
Viola Everbright: Right.
Rowan LeMort: How many Trolls are there?
Viola Everbright: Thousands. Maybe tens of. It’s like slums, a shanty town.
She washed her face and stood, continuing down the recently-cut path. The trail of stumps was yards wide, and following it probably wasn’t the smartest choice. She strayed off into the trees for a bit, just a bit.
When she nearly slipped on a slimy rock, the chatbox beeped for attention again. It wasn’t from Rowan.
Gabby LeMort: Can ya make it here by yourself?
Viola Everbright: It’s like a day of hiking. I can forage.
Gabby LeMort: Kay! Gimme a shake if ya need help!
At least Gab cares about my safety. I doubt she would’ve let me die.
42
Ultimately, Rowan decided to not spend too much time cajoling the two orphan recruits. Time was an increasingly valuable resource, and Tasha had recruited the duo. She was unofficially in charge of them. Rowan would only invest time into the original six (now five) founders and anyone of particular talent or enthusiasm—his inner circle.
His elite.
Instead, he invested time on himself for the time being, testing their autonomy, testing Ayla’s level of cooperation.
On his rocking chair, he was skimming through the Enchanter profession tome, through forum posts. He wasn’t going to brashly rush into something that could kill him and take out a chunk of the settlement. Gabrielle would nag him for decades to come. He could already hear distant echoes of her teasing.
But these recounts and parables written in neat script were less than helpful, though humorous and perplexing. They were truly ancient… from a time before the game systems had been implemented. However, most of the dangers and pitfalls could be avoided these days. Easy.
The chatbox beeped.
Gabby LeMort (To Rowan LeMort): Saeya’s revived. She’s a bit more loyal.
Rowan LeMort: Excellent.
He was a page from the back cover when the chat box, yet again, shook for attention. Violently. Help pings flashed at the right.
Skylar Everbright (Party Chat): Help! Pest Infestation at the farm!
And the daily disasters have returned.
A growl rumbled in Rowan’s nose. “Handle it yourself.” He kept reading, but after three paragraphs about ice-type reagents, a prompt realization sent him to his feet: “My bees!”
And the Frigid Fiber pants!
He stuffed the tome into his pocket, slammed open the door, and sprinted for the open secret side gate in the palisade. “Hang in there, your Demon Lord is coming.” He raced along the spiked wood, breathed a thick bitter-pungent scent. His heart was on the verge of breaking through his chest by the time he made it. He nearly had a stroke.
Everything was covered in a white substance. Fat, slimy, pearly-white worms the size of dogs were munching through baby turnips and freshly-sprouted spinach. Dozens of them. Most were already dead, Ayla dancing silently among them with two foot-long curved daggers slashin
g into their weak flesh.
Gabrielle was stabbing with glee, her Shroud active.
Skylar and Tasha were thrashing on the ground, bound in that white stuff.
But the bees? Were they safe? By the gods, please be safe.
His eyes at last latched onto the intact hive box. Be okay, he prayed.
Crude Pinewood Beehive
Population: 1,421
Honey: 39%
Overall Health: Good
An anxious pressure in Rowan’s skull lifted. He heaved three breaths, ignoring the smell. He left remaining worms for the girls to finish off, smartly did not shoot jets of fire here, and went for those two bound adventurers. The white stuff was a lot like silk. Icky fluids dripped from tiny threads while they wriggling and rolled. The sight was cartoonish in a grotesque way.
Every Agility point active, Rowan dug through with untrimmed finger nails, tore with enough strength that his muscles screamed for a stop. “Shit,” he breathed, his fingers in pain, his tendons in pain. This silk was strong. He held a breath. He tore again with all his strength and more, and the wrapping parted at sticky seams. A slimy bundle kicked free.
“Thanks,” Skylar said. “They caught me off guard.”
Such was the nature of these random magical events. “Carry a dagger from now on,” Rowan suggested off-handedly he ripped into Tasha’s wriggling cocoon.
She came out red-faced. Swaths of silk clung to her purple Mage robes. “Finally! I was pinging for days!”
He smirked. “Had to make sure my bees were safe.”
She looked at him blankly.
Gabrielle laughed. “Knew it! You’re so weirdly attached to them!”
“So what? They’ve saved how many lives now?”
Zaine came out of a jog, saying, “That honey is unusually potent.”
Tasha said, “Wow, you’re actually not joking around. Maybe there’s some tea trees around.”
Ayla looked at the sun. “In this climate? How far north are we?”
“Dunno.” Gabrielle shrugged. “Do ya have a map of Trollheim?”
A memory of a splendid sight faded into Rowan’s mind. “We’re at Swinetooth Peninsula. Gab, check the Plopbox screenshot.”
“Kay…”
Zaine said, “The northern tip is at the sixty-eighth parallel.”
Tasha looked at him inquisitively. “You guys know about latitudes and longitudes?”
Then Saeya said from behind, “Of course. We Elves are not so primitive like the Trolls.”
And Rowan was starting to grow tired of this conversation. “Alright, everyone! Back to work! And gather up this silk for later.” He looked at the farm and not the many worm corpses oozing pinkish goo, asking for a description window.
Fenced Crop Farm, Outdoor Room
Size: 900 plots (104 used)
Crops: Frigid Fiber (27), Primrose (19), Turnip (12), Spinach (10), Ginger (3), Cardamon (4), Weeds (28), Crude Pinewood Beehive (1)
Nothing on the silk. Too bad. And four Frigid Fiber plants were lost—eaten.
Rowan mentally shrugged. It could have been worse; the bees lived. The bees, arguably, were all that mattered. The bees were life. He thanked the gods of nature for keeping them safe.
Tasha said with a touch of sarcasm, “I don’t have professions, Lord LeMort.”
Hauling away worm corpses onto a pile for Skylar to butcher, Ayla said, “Same here.”
Gabrielle’s tongue clicked. “We need a Builder.”
“Not me.”
“Neither.” Ayla was far less enthusiastic.
Rowan did not wish to baby-sit two adventurers. “Then go hunt or something.” An idea sprang; Jin’tal had mentioned Demonic ruins near the manawood tree. “Actually, scout out the area around the spiders’ nest. Use your invisibility skill, Ayla.”
“Why us?” Tasha blurted. Her arachnophobia was showing.
Gabrielle chirped, “Cus out of everyone here, only you two can die without consequence. And if ya die, ya can buy us more supplies.”
Ayla nodded. “Yes, we’d respawn at the Misty Highlands.” She sliced a beckoning glance at Tasha. “Let’s go, you and me—like the good old days.”
Good cooperation, Rowan thought, but I’m not letting her off that easily. Something about her is different. I’m probably just being paranoid.
Tasha chuckled feebly. “Oh, okay, fine.” She followed with her head held high. Her braided chestnut hair tossed about.
Not missing a beat, Saeya said, “I do not have any professions either… my lord.”
“Yeah, I heard before. Just keep a lookout.” Rowan’s head tilted sideways. “What were you doing just then?” he asked in a monotone voice, then added as a thought: My bees were in danger, asshole.
“I was tutoring Jassin.” Saeya’s posture straightened, her hands behind his back. “Apologies if that was not appropriate.”
Rowan saw no reason for apologies, and he saw little possibility that they could be plotting a rebellion. “That’s fine.”
“Great idea actually,” Gabrielle added. She dumped armfuls of silk into a crate.
And, naturally, Jassin came to Seya’s side. “I do not have professions either.” His voice was stronger than before.
Rowan said, “That’s also fine. Just pay attention to the lessons for now. Off you go.” He was tempted to pat that smaller head.
“Yes, Lord LeMort.” Jassin smiled brightly and went off toward the bedroom block.
But Saeya remained. “I have chosen my fate. I would like to become an Equipment Artificer one day. If you can provide me with what I need, you will have my fealty. I will submit to your brand.”
Equipment Artificer—an advanced profession specializing in crafting high-quality outfits, armor, weapons, and pretty much anything that can be worn or wielded. Woodworker, Metalworker, and Clothworker were prerequisites. This was a big ask, an extremely ambitious ask.
But Rowan was somewhat pleased. He kept his expression neutral. “That’s a big investment. We’ll start with Clothworker and see where we can go from there.” He reached into his pouch, fetched the tome from his inventory, and handed it over without extra consideration. Clothworker Tomes were cheap, relatively speaking.
Her eyes widened unnaturally. “I did not think you would—”
“Just take it,” Gabrielle said, giggling. “We are fair rulers.”
Her gloved hand was almost afraid to reach out and took hold of her gift. Magic that radiated from her fingers was weaker than before. She was close to death. Her heath bar was at nine percent, then dipped to eight percent when she bowed and walked through the fence gate.
And then there was Zaine. He had waited penitently to say this: “Why did you not have Tasha buy a Priest or Shaman Tome? Did you forget about my arm? You promised you’d have it restored upon the town hall’s completion.”
“Unfortunately,” Rowan said, “the markets were sold out of class tomes.”
“Where did you buy those four Swordsmen tomes?”
Gabrielle said, “Ayla got lucky. Her fate is The Thief, and that means we’ll have to keep a close eye her.”
Zaine made a groaning noise only a teenage boy could.
“Look,” Rowan said. “I know I promised you, but things happened out of my control. If Tasha dies at the spiders’ nest, she’ll respawn at the Misty Highlands. She’ll look around for you there, okay?”
A quiet moment churned before Zaine nodded. His posture deflated. “Fine.”
Gabrielle was beaming. “Thank you! You’re the best one-arm slave boy!”
Rowan made an OK sign with his hand. “Now off to work. Let’s get that high quality marble mined. How far are you?”
“Not even past the topsoil yet,” Zaine grumbled and strode off.
Feeling a twinge of sympathy, Rowan watched him saunter away into the trees. Having only one arm couldn’t be fun. At least Zaine didn’t ask about his mother again. Rowan already had too many tasks and worries queued up. Viola for one. A lone El
f hiking through untamed forests was nothing less than asking for disaster.
Rowan let left them to work, headed back inside. He flipped through the last pages, read nothing of importance. His thumb brushed against the inside of the back cover. Invisible runes lit up.
Would you like to become an Enchanter?
Yes.
The sensation was akin to his Swordsman ascension; knowledge trickled into his brain while the drome was drained of its magic. He now was fluent in a vocabulary of runic words.
The usual transparent windows expanded one by one.
Congratulations, you are now an Enchanter! Arguably the trickiest basic profession, your talents will be of in great demand by all other professions.
- - - - - - -
New passive skill: Basic Rune Library
You now have an intrinsic grasp over basic runes. Focusing on runes will now reveal their names.
- - - - - - -
New Skill: Runecraft
Etches a word from your library onto runestone
Wordless Invocation
Cooldown: 5 seconds
- - - - - - -
New Skill: Enchant
You may cast an enchantment on a target.
Cooldown: 15 seconds
Maximum Runes: 3
Maximum Reagents: 3
- - - - - - -
New Crafting Recipe: Enchanter’s Table (Work Station)
+30 Luck when invoking Enchanter skills.
Enchanter skills cast 20% faster
Reduces runestone consumption by 5%
Cost (in standard units): 0.5 lumber, 1 cloth, 2 glass, 1 unetched runestone
- - - - - - -
Congratulations, You have obtained your first crafting recipe. You simply need to gather the necessary crafting materials and invoke the recipe. Your magic will do the rest.
Sweet. Time to get to work. But not in the crowded Workshop. Their hovel was now a temporary Enchanter’s Studio. Raiding the storeroom, he found enough salvaged cloth, glass panes, and runestone slabs for two Tables. One was enough.
And how generous of Ayla to donate ten units of runestone.
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