Morgan awoke early, as usual, with cats walking all over him and headbutting him in the face. He could hear heavy rain pattering on the window and falling in the street outside. Looking out from the crude glass panes, he could see the sunlight trying in vain to pierce the heavy clouds that loomed above. His eyes flitted to the Bag of Cats that sat on the nightstand next to him. He resisted the urge to Bag the cats and go back to sleep, instead swinging himself out of bed and setting to his morning routine.
Clothed and fed, he headed out into the town. He was already soaked by the time he’d completed the short walk to the blacksmith’s shop, his canvas shoes squelching with each step. Tag greeted him warmly as he arrived, handing him his freshly repaired sword and sickle as Morgan moved instinctively to loiter by the heat of the forge. Handing over a gold coin and 80 silvers, he soon found himself the proud owner of the chainmail he’d had his eye on. He identified it before putting it on.
[Identify – Chainmail Shirt]
[Durability – 110/110]
[Defence – 45]
[Medium armour - -8 Dexterity : -4 Strength : -10% SP Regen]
He removed his bandolier before slipping the chainmail over his head, nodding in satisfaction as the hem of the garment fell to his thighs. He moved around the workshop experimentally. it was fairly heavy on his shoulders and gave a gentle chinking sound if he moved sharply, but it felt comfortingly solid. He turned to Tag as he placed his bandolier over the chainmail and grinned, “It feels great, Tag. Could you explain the defence stat to me?”
The blacksmith replied with a grimace, “I can try, but it's complicated. So, this here piece has 45 defence, see? That means that any attacks that hit it that do below 45 damage will be negated – most of the time. Anything above the 45 damage will still hurt you, but the blow will be dampened. The higher the damage dealt to you, the less it will be dampened, OK? So, say you are hit by a sword that does 55 damage. The 10 damage that is over the 45 defence level will be dampened so you’ll probably only take a few points of damage. If you’re hit with a great axe, on the other hand, that does, say, 250 damage, the 205 left after the defence level will only be further negated by a couple of points of damage. It’ll change a lot depending on what you’re facing. Armour is great against light damage and slashing attacks, however, there are weapons that are made to pierce or crush armour, and they’ll be different. You’ll still negate some damage, but not as much.”
Morgan was quiet for a moment as he tried to digest this information, before he responded. “OK, I think I get it, kind of. The stronger the armour, the more it negates light damage completely and dampens heavier blows.”
Tag nodded, “Thats the essence of it. Your strength and willpower stats will play a part, though it’ll only be a meaningful difference at much higher levels so I won't confuse the issue further by trying to explain. You’ll see that it has a cost though - a negative effect on strength and dexterity – again, the heavier the armour, the more the negative effect. Simply because it’s heavy. Yes?”
Morgan smiled at the blacksmith’s explanation, “That makes sense. Thanks for explaining all that, I appreciate it. Long story short, I’m invincible to butter knives, but still vulnerable to big hammers, and heavy armour is heavy.”
Tag laughed, “Something like that. Anything else I can interest you in while you’re here?” He gestured to the racks of armour and weapons.
Looking around wistfully, Morgan responded, “I wish I could, but I’ve a few more essentials on the shopping list first. Do you know anywhere I could pick up a bigger bag?”
Tag pondered the question for a moment, “I’m not sure there are any in town. Ask Patch and see if he knows.”
With this, Morgan said his farewells to the blacksmith, and with one last look at the roaring fire in the forge, headed back out into the rain. Patch arrived at the leather workshop at the same time as Morgan, and the player quizzed him as he grumpily set to opening his shop.
“I’ve got non magical bags, but what you’re after is a spatial bag. While they’re not rare, exactly, they ain’t common. Only a few craftsmen have the secret to make them, so the demand always exceeds the supply. One like that satchel you’ve got can go for 500 gold or more. It’s not just bags that can hold the spatial enchantment either. I’ve seen a storage ring before. The Lady alone knows how much that must have cost. Now, can I actually help you or are you just here to slow me down?”
Morgan rolled his eyes at the grumpy man. “Alright Patch, thanks for the information. I was wondering if you’d sell me those boots you have in the shop.”
The old man brightened at this, ushering Morgan into one of the buildings that surrounded his yard. “Why didn't you say so. Sure you can, lad. For the cheap price of 70 silvers, they’re all yours.”
Morgan handed over the coins, and Patch headed over to a rack, coming back and presenting the boots to the player. Morgan identified them.
[Identify – Leather Boots]
[Durability – 50/50]
[Defence – 12]
The stats looked pretty straightforward, so without further ado he took off his soggy canvas shoes, replacing them with the new boots. He wasn’t quite sure, but as he put his feet in, he could swear the boots shifted shape to accommodate his feet. Not too loose and not too tight, and with a soft fur lining, the boots were a pleasure to put on. A quick walk around in the building confirmed their comfort.
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With a large grin, he complimented the old man on his work. Patch nodded gruffly in recognition, obviously trying not to show his pleasure at the praise. Morgan briefly thought about buying a second matching vambrace, as the chainmail only reached mid-bicep on his arms but decided it could wait. He said goodbye to the leatherworker and headed over to the barracks.
By the time he’d reached the squat buildings, the rain had eased up a bit, now a fine misty drizzle. He knocked on the door to the officers' quarters and was appreciating how dry his feet now felt when the door swung open to reveal Rollin, obviously fresh out of bed.
The Captain raised an eyebrow at Morgan, “A bit eager for training today, no? You’re half a day early.”
Morgan smiled apologetically at the captain, “Sorry if I woke you, Captain. I’m here to grab a helmet before I head out for the day.”
Rollin grunted, “I was just getting up anyway. Give me a moment. Come in out of the rain.” The man turned and headed into a backroom, leaving Morgan in what looked to be an office. Rollin continued to talk as he got himself ready, “Miserable day today, eh? Good day for the lads to work on their equipment and for me to catch up on paperwork. Looks like it’ll be raining all day. We’ll be meeting just out the gate for training later. It’ll be good later to get some practice in the mud. Plays hell on your footwork. Sticky and slippery at the same time.” He entered the office room, now armed and armoured. “Come, lets head to the armoury.”
The pair crossed the courtyard, heading into another of the squat buildings, arms and armour set on racks against the walls. Rollin grabbed a helmet from one rack, an open-faced bascinet with a conical shape and a strip of metal that ran down to protect the nose. He tossed it to Morgan.
[Identify – Iron Infantry Helmet]
[Durability – 100/100]
[Defence – 60]
[Medium armour - -2 Dexterity : -1 Strength : -2% SP Regen]
Morgan nodded appreciatively at the stats, and put it on, finding the inside of the helmet lined with padded cloth. It felt strange on his head, but not uncomfortable. He shook and rolled his head sharply as a test, and the helmet remained firmly in place and didn’t shift.
Rollin watched the bizarre scene with a raised eyebrow. “You ok there, lad? Maybe taking a goblin to the brain wasn’t the best for you.”
Morgan grinned back as he handed over a gold coin, “I can’t disagree, but at least I’m covered now.” He rapped against the iron helm on his head. “Thanks for this. I should head out and get on with it, but I’ll see you later for training.”
“Aye,” Rollin replied, returning the grin, “You look like a proper warrior now. A few months more training and a miracle and you’ll be close to being one too. We’ll see you later.”
With that, Morgan headed back out into the rain. The town was starting to come to life, as people scurried from cover to cover trying to stay out of the wet weather. He exited the town, waving to the miserable guard, then headed into the forest, following the ruts that Harl’s cart had left in the mud. By the time he’d reached the clearing, he was soaked through, trying to ignore the rivulets of water that ran down his face, and seeped through the links in his new mail. Harl turned to greet him with a wave,
“Good morning, mate. Or not so good.” The lumberjack cast his eyes around the wet forest, as if challenging the rain, “Crap day, eh? Seems innocent enough, apart from the feeling of being soaked, of course, but it plays havoc on stamina consumption. I was just catching up to my target of logs, and this will throw me off again.”
Now Harl had pointed it out, he could see that the usually token drain on his stamina from walking the forest had increased to the point that his short walk had chipped a chunk from his bar, regenerating more slowly. He checked his status and alongside the rested and food buffs he saw,
[Wet (cold) : +10% stamina drain : -15% stamina regeneration]
He frowned at this, before responding to Harl, “Why the hell do they have to put cold rain in a game. I get it’s realistic and all, but seriously?”
Harl shrugged in return, “No idea mate, it’s not exactly a selling point, is it? Luckily out here it’s pretty rare so far, this is only the second time I’ve experienced it.”
Morgan poked at the muddy ground with the toe of his boot, watching the rainwater slowly fill the small depression. “I better get moving then. I’ve still got a long way to go to reach my targets.”
With an understanding nod, Harl bid him farewell. The sounds of the lumberjacks' swings were muted by the rain as Morgan headed north-west. After a quarter hour of trudging through the damp forest he came upon a small patch of Versfern. After a quick glance about, he opened the Bag of Cats, the pile of beasts falling to the ground. A chorus of piteous meows followed, as the felines were exposed to the rain that trickled through the canopy.
All of the cats apart from Tom who was sitting stoically in the rain, and the tabby who had found a patch of ivy to hide under, were padding about his legs trying to use him as cover. They paused every so often, trying to shake the water off their forelegs. Bending to harvest the plants in front of him, he noticed that the small grey cat, Luna, was becoming increasingly irate.
On his third harvest, he was interrupted by Luna digging its claws into his calf. The cat was hissing furiously as water dripped off its fur, and it climbed Morgan’s leg, sharp pains coming from the points where the cat’s claws dug into him. With a yelp of pain, Morgan straightened up, dropping his sickle and trying to pry the cat off his hip. Luna clung on, tenaciously, growling at Morgan and swiping a claw at his hands. As the third scratch appeared on his hand, he drew out the Bag of Cats again, opening it up. The other five beasts sailed straight in, water coming off them in arcs as they flew to the bag. Luna remained for a long moment; claws dug into his trousers, before coming free with the sound of ripping fabric and disappearing into the bag.
Rubbing at his stinging claw wounds, he examined the spot where Luna has been attached to him. A small rent was visible in the cloth of his trousers, and he could see a small trickle of blood coming from the claw mark. He knew that most cats didn’t agree with rain, and bodies of water in general. Little Luna, however, seemed to hate the experience with a passionate fury. It looked like he’d be working on his own today, or at least until the rain stopped.
He harvested his way further into the forest, trying to keep his direction more west than north. After an hour of wandering and a few handfuls of plants, he came to an area of thick brush that seemed to indicate a clearing. He decided to fight his way through the bushes and check it out.
He pushed his way through the vegetation into the clearing and found a dilapidated shack sitting to one side of the clearing. It was quite large for such a ramshackle construction and looked more than a little ominous in the gloomy rain of the day.
As he stood for a moment, trying to decide whether to explore further, he saw a flicker of light emanate from one of the small grubby windows. Steeling himself, and drawing his sword, he headed towards the shack.