“Here,” Eda placed a pouch in Warwick’s hand. “That’s 100 gold – payment for the trolls and the jar of blood.”
100 gold? Warwick opened the small pouch in his hand and stared at the gleaming coins.
“Father sold of the troll we brought back to some researchers.” Eda smiled. “You should have seen the look of excitement in their faces. I’m pretty sure father got more than what you’re holding. He kept the jar for alchemical purposes.”
“This is too much,” Warwick tried to give back the pouch but Eda would have none of it. “At least take half of it, Eda – you earned it.”
“For pulling ropes and lugging trolls? I don’t think so. Besides, father already brought me this ring,” Eda raised her hand to display the crimson ring. “It allows me to cast fire lance three more times and adds a bit of damage.”
“Shall we test it?”
“Maybe later. First we have to get you a proper sword,” Eda pulled on Warwick’s arm. “Father said it would besmirch my reputation if I partnered with a boy with a wooden sword!”
“It’s not just a wooden swo–”
“Shut it! Come with me to the city. I’ll introduce you to Thibault.”
Soon, they entered the city of Greenhaven. The sight of a lord’s daughter in robes that marked her as a fire and earth mage being accompanied by a forester’s orphaned nephew in tattered leather armor drew a bit of attention – but people held their tongue as the time for unchaining was just a few weeks away.
Their walk to Thibault’s was uneventful, aside from the numerous townsfolk who greeted the pair.
“Mathias.”
“Elina”
“Thesira, how’s Randall doing?”
After several uncomfortable greetings from complete strangers, Eda realized that they kept their eyes mostly at Warwick – and only greeted her first because of her station.
“You seem to know a lot of people?” she nudged her companion.
“Huh?” Warwick paused. “Just people I’ve met throughout the years. Not that many.”
“How many?”
“Half the city. 2,728 people. 2,729 if Wena gave birth and stuck with the name Westerly for her baby. Oh there she is –” Warwick approached a portly woman and her baby. “Is that little Westerly?”
“Rina,” the woman corrected. “Yoric and I didn’t expect another girl – but here she is.”
Wena excused herself after exchanging a few words. She said her husband would be arriving soon and she had yet to prepare their meals.
“That’s the third daughter for those two.” Warwick explained. “Yoric and Wena were hoping for a second son.”
“How do you know all these people?” Eda marveled.
Warwick shrugged. “I just do.” He found it difficult to explain how he kept imaginary cards of people, places, and things in his mind. With the cards, his memory was flawless.
“You probably have their levels noted in that strange head of yours, don’t you?” Eda glared at him.
“Just a few of them. Most of them are generic villagers rarely reaching level 2.”
After a few more minutes of walking and greetings, they reached a sizable shop. Armor and weapons were displayed behind a glass window – a mark of opulence that only the most elite establishments could afford.
“Eda, I’ve been waiting for you,” Thibault greeted the young mage as she and her companion entered the shop. “Is this Warwick? Aidan told stories about you.”
Warwick blinked as he several options presented themselves in his mind. He could go for flattery and proclaim that he too knew of Thibault and his magnificent shop, go the pious route and protest that the tales of his adventures are probably exaggerated, or burn bridges by barking: “Just show me your wares shopkeep! I’m in no mood for small talk.”
His instincts told him that the last option would incur the most benefits – but an elbow to his side stopped him from speaking.
“Don’t mind him, Uncle Thibault,” Eda glared at Warwick before turning to the shopkeeper with a smile. “We’re here to see some weapons and armor, if you please?”
“Just weapons.”
Eda turned to Warwick, eyeing his tattered and torn armor.
“What?” Warwick complained. “I’m making a proper set. I just need more rivets.”
“Is that set similar to this bracer – no, vambrace of yours?” Thibault interjected. “Can I see it?”
Eda motioned to Warwick to do as Thibault asked. He unstrapped the vambrace and placed it on the counter.
Thibault inspected the vambrace, shaking his head a few times. “You riveted the scales to each other instead of a piece of cloth?”
Warwick nodded.
“You wasted a lot of rivets and made the whole thing overly-complicated,” the shopkeeper frowned as he held the piece of armor up. “You’ll only need one rivet had you attached the scales to cloth and it would have preserved the integrity of each scale piece.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“I did crack a lot of scales,” Warwick admitted.
“We have armor that provide better protection – but not by much, especially if you have a cuirass of the same make.”
“I do.”
“Then weapons it is.”
Thibault led the two of them to an adjoining room. It was sparsely decorated but it did have a central light orb for illumination. The walls and racks were filled with weapons of every kind, all of them arranged into some kind of system.
Warwick inspected the displayed weapons. He was familiar with most of them, but his practiced techniques were meant for swords. They would probably work with a long-hafted hammer – but he would be giving up a bit of defense and accuracy in exchange for damage.
“Aidan says you’re a swordsman – and quite a formidable one at that,” Thibault smiled, “May I ask what kind?”
“Pardon?”
“Are you a quickling, golem, or titan – or perhaps a scout?
“I don’t understand.”
Thibault raised an eyebrow. He found it hard to believe the boy in front of him didn’t know the different classes of warriors – especially with Dorn for an uncle.
“Quicklings overwhelm their foes with speed and agility. Titans wield massive weapons to take advantage of their monstrous strength. Golems are tough as nails, warding blows with the toughness of their armor and body. If you’re a scout like Dorn, then you should be able to sense danger from a distance.”
Warwick shrugged.
“Then maybe you haven’t awakened to your gifts yet,” Thibault smiled. “Don’t worry, while most aspiring warriors awaken before their unchaining – there are some whose abilities develop a few weeks or months later.”
“That’s probably the case,” Eda moved beside her companion and placed her hand on his back to comfort him.
Warwick found it difficult to process the shopkeeper’s words. One thing he learned from his decade-long tutorial was that the world was flexible. Adapting one’s fighting style towards one direction seemed inefficient and constrictive.
“Do you have a curved sword that widens a bit near the point?” he asked. Swords had a habit of getting stuck if they cut too deeply. He needed a sword that slid as it cut, allowing him to execute his attacks to the end and link them to the next ones.
“Ah, these swords are reserved for quicklings,” Thibault gestured to one side of the room. He flashed a knowing smile at Warwick, thinking he had figured out he was keeping secret.
Warwick inspected the weapons, settling on three falchions that seemed fairly well-made. He could sense one of the blades held an enchantment – but he had no idea what it did.
“This one is enchanted. What does it do?” he asked.
“Ah, a fine pick,” Thibault picked up the falchion. “This sword is enchanted with fire magic. Once it cuts your foe, it flares with power and burns them.”
Warwick accepted back the offered sword, weighing it in his hand and crunching numbers. He tried slashing the air a few times before activating the sword’s flames with a thought.
A line of flames erupted from the blade, leaving a trail of fire as the sword swung.
An extra 2-4 fire damage, Warwick calculated. The flames were more for show than battle. They gave off more light than heat and they barely lasted long enough to set things ablaze.
“How much for the weapon?” he asked.
“90 gold and its yours.”
Warwick held the weapon. In his hands as if weighing it. He glanced at Eda a few times, searching her face for hints of collusion.
The weapon’s price was impossibly low. Even with its strange enchantment – it still added a bit of fire damage with every hit. It was quite a suitable weapon if ever he decided to hunt trolls – and it was likely a ploy of Eda’s father.
“Are there enchantments that strengthen the blade or allows it to keep its edge for longer?”
“You mean everblades? Those things will cost you so much more than a thousand gold,” Thibault answered. “Only warriors of legend get to to wield them, and I don’t think you’re close to being on yet.”
“I suppose so,” Warwick answered.
He was facing two options – choose the flaming sword and please Aidan but lose most of his current gold or opt for a non-magical sword and appear foolish – but keep a bit more of his money.
He placed the enchanted sword reverently on the counter. “I’ll take this one,” he picked up one of the two mundane falchions. It had more weight at the end and was a bit closer to the length of his wooden sword. “How much is it?”
A frown briefly appeared on Thibault’s face but he quickly forced himself to smile. “35 gold. It comes with a scabbard and a couple of whetstones.”
Warwick smiled and moved to another wall. He picked up a hammer and placed it on the counter. “I also want this one and some boots.”
“The hammer costs 20 gold. A pair of boots go for 3 gold – 10 if you want them to have a bit of armor.”
“10 is fine,” Warwick answered. He took his pouch and carefully counted and placed 65 gold coins on the counter.
Thibault took the money. There was a hint of disappointment in his actions, but he seemed quite satisfied with the transactions.
Eda and Warwick left the shop soon after. The latter with new boots, a new sword strapped to his waist, a hammer that he held with both arms, and a free pouch of tin rivets on his belt.
“Your father set that up,” Warwick turned to Eda in between waves and acknowledgment to the people who greeted them. “That fire sword should have cost more than 500 gold at least. No way would anyone sell that for less than a hundred.”
Eda jabbed him on the shoulder. “Then why didn’t you buy it?”
“I needed boots… and rivets,” Warwick answered. “The enchantment wasn’t that good anyway. It added a measly 1-4 fire damage.”
“What about that sword?” Eda gestured to the one on his waist. “What ‘stats’ does it have?”
“2-12 like the other one,” he answered.
“That’s as much damage as my fire lance!”
“Yup,” Warwick smiled. He forgot to mention that the falchion’s damage went up to 2-18 once his strength and skill were factored in.
“So what’s the plan for the day?” Eda asked as they reached the city gates.
“I have to finish riveting my armor,” Warwick droned, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. “You can help or just watch, if you want?”
“Hmph,” Eda snorted and started walking towards the forest.
In the end, Eda’s fire magic magic proved quite useful. She could heat the dagger and makeshift drill with her magic – and her skill at tracing glyphs for her circles translated well to cutting scales. Warwick could freely devote his time to riveting the armor, allowing them to finish scaled cuirass in a couple of hours.
“It’s a bit unsettling to look at,” Eda observed. She felt a bit uncomfortable staring at the scales – like a part of her was revolted at the way the scales were placed atop each other. The random spots of red also didn’t help. They gave the armor a sense of wrongness that made her want to paint over them.
“It doesn’t need to look good – it just needs to stop a few arrows, a sword here and there, and maybe a bite or two,” Warwick explained. “You should get one. There’s still enough shells to make you one – and there’s plenty of time before Highsun. Not that we need it with your carving skills.”
“Mages can’t wear armor.”
“Sure you can. We’ll use only the black shells, or you can draw up a pattern if you want a bit of color.”
“Warwick, mages can’t wear armor!” Eda insisted.
Warwick stared at her incredulously. “Listen Eda, by all intents and purposes – I am a mage. Just because my spells are trash, doesn’t mean I’m not casting magic.”
He raised his right hand while his left hand flashed at his side. “This would be water lance… tempest… and another water lance.”
The names of the spells were punctuated by a torrent of water, a wave of wind, and a second torrent of water.
“See, magic,” Warwick smiled. “Mages can wear armor – they just don’t. Maybe because armor is heavy or it gives the wrong impression.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you wear armor – then you’re practically saying you trust it more than your magic.”
Eda paused. Warwick’s arguments made sense – and she wasn’t entirely opposed to the notion of wearing a matching set of armor to the one Warwick was wearing.
“I’m pretty sure your father wouldn’t approve though,” Warwick sighed. “But we can surely find a way around it before the Unchaining.