Waking up uncertain where you are is disconcerting. Not knowing who you are, well, that escalates things. 

Sounds of nearby construction set a tempo for the pounding in my head, I took comfort that I was lying on something soft at least. Cracking my eyes open, I flinched as the daylight shot a fresh lance of pain through my eyes. I’d found myself in a whitewashed room with a few well-padded beds like my own. It felt intentionally sparse and sterile - if in a rustic manner - but my stirring did not go unnoticed by the room’s other occupant, resting on the singular wooden chair. I placed the guy as early thirties, dressed in a pale robe with a vivid blue sash, he looked equal parts relieved and concerned. My swirling brain offered a single word without context, sage. 

“It’s good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?” 

“Thanks, I feel like I drank a keg and then my head got used for batting practice.” My weak attempt at humour only seemed to make him more concerned, so I figured I’d best get straight to the point, “I’ll be honest though mate, I don’t even remember my own name right now, so any details you could fill in would be great.” 

Whatever response he’d been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been that. Thankfully my headache was starting to ease, unfortunately without bringing any memories with it. 

“Damn.” He paused, “Well then, I’m Argat the sage. A pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. You’re within the sanctuary by the adventurer’s guild where you normally ply your trade. That may not mean much to you currently, but you are safe here.” 

“Sage? Somehow, I knew that...” 

“Hopefully it’s a sign your memories will return with time. Take things slow.” 

I was already shifting to sit up in bed, the fading headache didn’t resurge, but it did send a wave of nausea. Oddly, I didn’t seem much higher than when I started. 

“Adventurers’ guild? Was I an adventurer then?” That didn’t feel right even as I said it. 

“Oh no, you’re a craftsman. Actually...” His expression stayed pleasant, but his brow furrowed, and eyes narrowed as if straining to see something through me, “I do believe congratulations are in order, at least once you’re feeling better. You’re now a master craftsman.” 

He said it with such weight I knew it was some major milestone. Some part of me also knew it to be true, like it fit. Yet, it wasn’t my immediate priority. 

“So, what exactly happened? And you never did tell me my name.” 

For the first time he looked uncomfortable, “I’m afraid I only know you as Vaul. In dwarven culture names are composed of several pieces, and perhaps someone else like the guildmaster could-” 

“Wait! DWARVEN?!” Giving myself a once over for the first time I found a hairy barrel chest and stocky frame, calloused fingers and old burns and scars that told the truth of my craft. My beard was short, slightly singed but satisfyingly thick. “I’m a dwarf.” I breathed, almost hysteric. 

“I... Apologies, it hadn’t occurred to me you didn’t know. If you would like to talk about that we can?” 

“Nah, it’s fine. Probably good even if I’m a craftsman, just caught me off-guard is all. I think I’d better find out how exactly this all happened.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give a great deal of specifics. You were working with relatively unknown materials sourced from the dungeon monitored by this branch of the guild. It seems there was some sort of adverse reaction as you were processing them, and given your lack of memory it would seem your historical aspect has become severely overstrained.”  

“Historical aspect?” 

He winced, “You don’t remember about aspects? What about the fundamental resources: spirit, stamina, qi, mana and experience?” 

“I mean stamina I’m familiar with, and experience, though a resource wouldn’t be my first way of describing it. I feel like I’ve heard o’ the other terms, but I wouldn’t really say I could define them.” 

“Sounds like we should start from the beginning then, but this isn’t something that can be covered in one sitting. For now, let’s start with the widely accepted concept, that sentient life is composed of at least five aspects: emotional, physical, vital, magical and historical. Just as someone can expend stamina to plough a field, or in your case forge a sword, which in moderation will strengthen their physical aspect over the long term in exchange for short term weakness, the same is roughly true for the other four aspects and the resources derived from them. Though they each have their own quirks.” His smile made me think quirks might be an understatement. “However, just as overwork where you push too far or too often past the limits of your stamina can harm your physical health, overstraining any other aspect has a detrimental effect on the health of that aspect. In many ways the physical is considered the most forgiving in that regard.” 

“So, I strained my historical aspect working with unusual materials, and that’s why my memories are messed up?” Only the fact the guy clearly seemed to be trying to help, and I didn’t want to accidentally offend him, prevented me from using air quotes. “From the fundamental resources you mentioned, I’m guessing the historical one is experience? How does one even overspend experience?” 

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Essentially yes. Experience is the fundamental resource of your historical aspect; however, it isn’t the only resource drawn from that aspect. Getting into exactly what the others are, and how blended resources work, would be a bit much for right now. Despite all the knowledge we sages collect, we’re only scratching the surface of understanding classes, skills and resources. I’m afraid past the fundamentals there are many theories but little consensus. I can however tell you, that skills which use experience typically help with either iterations of the same activity, or applying expertise in one area to related fields. One of the often theorised, but less agreed uses for experience is to advance classes. It would help explain why moments of pivotal breakthrough in stressful situations can feel like a blur after the fact. I’m hopeful your case will be one of short-term strain rather than long-term damage. There are things we can try to help mitigate the issue, and you’re among friends here Vaul, whatever happens you’re not alone. Honestly, given your advancement to master craftsman, you’d be in demand even if there wasn’t a small horde of friends ready to beat down my door wanting to check on you.” 

His smile and words were reassuring, but I couldn’t help but think he was forgetting one important thing. 

“But Argat, I don’t remember how to make anything.” 

*** 

I’d been doubtful when Argat had decided to bring me to the workshop after apparently passing the word to give me some space, but as soon as we entered it became clear it was the right choice. I was peripherally aware of him giving some warnings about not overdoing things, but my eyes were darting from item to item inside the huge room. I saw the forge and remembered just how the bellows would stoke the flames. I saw treadles and knew how the various grades of grindstone could be connected to one while the other was linked to a sewing machine. I saw a pair of barrels, one overflowing with weapons needing repair, and immediately focused on the bent bronze shortsword lying abandoned on the ground just beside it.  

Everything else faded away as I retrieved the discarded weapon, a quiet anger in my chest at the lack of care and respect. I knew I could fix it. The only question became how? Resting it on a large anvil seemed like the logical place to start – a trivial first step but it lent me confidence. I wanted to fix the warping first, and sure enough there was a hammer nearby, my hand already reaching for it by habit. The heft and smooth wood of the handle just feeling somehow right in my hand.  

In a flash of decisiveness, I brought the hammer down hard on the warped blade. Lifting it gingerly I saw the cold metal had barely moved, but it had moved. It was enough. Over and over, I brought the hammer down, the other arm flipping the blade occasionally as my strikes bent sections a little too far the other way. The clanging metal felt like it reached a constant rhythm, and a satisfied smile split my face as I saw the form return to how I pictured it should be. Pulling the handle close to my face so I could look down the blade I saw a slight kink remained. A few deft blows more and the sword was straight, though the edge wavered. 

Looking over the blade, none would doubt it had seen some repair, but was at least somewhat functional now, if a far cry from good. The edge held several rolls where the soft metal had hit something harder, that would be my next goal. As I was about to step away from the anvil it came to me that the edges of bronze blades were work hardened. It should already be complete, but this would also let be bring the edge back closer to consistently centred. I grabbed a much smaller hammer and carefully picked out more gentle blows along the edge. Raising it to my eye again I was pleasantly surprised with how straight the edge ran down the centre of the blade. With a nod I moved to the grindstone. 

Unsure what grit to use, I kept to the one currently in place, noting I’d have to investigate that later. A thick set of leather gloves and a surprisingly well-made set of glass goggles rested beside the device, and I took the hint and slipped them on. The lazy but steady up and down motion of my feet on the treadle set the stone at a slow spin, but as I carefully pressed the edge of the blade against it, it proved more than enough for the soft metal, work hardened or not. No sparks flew but flakes of bronze were scraped from the edge of the blade. A quick examination once I’d run the full length of each side showed I’d done a thorough job, though it was looking a little wavy. Perhaps a more even pressure or finer grit was needed? Or... suddenly my hand found the dried husk of some sort of plant or vine.  

Flashing through my mind, with a sense of vivid colour none of my memories up till now possessed, images of a reed growing amidst the trees of the wetland nearby flew through my mind. A weed of sorts, I saw it growing through even cracks in shallow stone. It was known by many names, but I knew it best as scouring rush. It could have medicinal uses, though I didn’t know what, but more commonly it was dried and used for scouring as the name suggested.  

“You doin’ alright there Vaul?” Argat’s words steadied me, “Looks like you just used a skill. Like I said earlier, probably best to leave that for a day or two, though we can have a chat about your new class if you like?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just suddenly saw all these images and knew all this stuff about scouring rush. Caught me off guard a bit. The rest has been me making best guesses and muscle memory, like my instincts are still there even if I don’t know how I learned them. This was oddly... vivid. Like someone shoved a bunch of information in my head” 

It was then I noticed that Argat’s mouth had dropped open. 

“Damn, an appraisal skill. It makes sense for your class now I think about it, and is probably experience based, which mixed in with the memory loss...” He seemed to trail off into his own train of thought. 

“Is it good?” 

“Oh yes, absolutely. Incredibly useful both for your line of work and in general.” He chuckled, “The guildmaster will be thrilled if you tell her. And if you reduce the amount of time Kete has to spend evaluating loot, he might just throw you a parade.” 

“You say if I tell her?” 

“Ah, I should have clarified, as a sage anything you say with me, I won’t repeat. Part of our role is to be individuals anyone can come to in confidence with questions about their class or life in general. Having said that, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the guildmaster’s hearing can be quite exceptional, and while I doubt she’d act on something she’d overheard shared in confidence out of politeness, I don’t have the usual precautions in place in this workshop that I would have in the sanctuary. Regardless I would advise you tell her at least, even if you for some reason choose to tell no one else. This isn’t the sort of skill one would generally hide.” 

“Fair enough. Could you fill me in on the basics of classes and skills?” 

“Gladly, but might I suggest we do it over some food? That looks just about finished and we’re a little after lunch” 

Glancing down I saw I’d been unconsciously sanding the blade through our conversation. It felt like there was a bit more I could do, but this seemed like a good enough point to take a break. Setting the blade down reverently on the workbench and returning each tool to its proper place I followed Argat to see what the food was like here. I had a feeling it was going to be good.