Hannah Smith was sick and tired of making arrows. Her parents never let her do anything else. They made the cool blades, the shiny armor, the decorated shields, but for her it was all, "Make another dozen arrows, Hannah," and "We have a very special order of arrows this time, Hannah," and, "Are you done with those arrows yet, Hannah?"
No more. She was running away today. They'd have to beg to take her back... or let her make something besides arrows. Anything besides arrows; at this point she wasn't picky.
When she delivered her ultimatum, her parents exchanged a look. She hated that look, as though she were still a little kid, instead of already turning fifteen. She'd been helping make arrows literally half her life! Though she had been useless with the arrowheads until gaining both [Weighted Strike] and [Greater Strength].
She still remembered how excited and proud she'd been her first time making an arrow all by herself.
Ah, how young and innocent she'd been, before discovering the horrors of parental tyranny and oppression. Now it was all arrows all day. The romance was long dead, and she knew she deserved better.
"Hannah," her mother tried first, "You know how important these arrows are."
"Nobody cares about the stupid arrows."
"Yes, we do. And the people using your arrows certainly care."
"Well I don't care about them!" She was throwing a full-blown tantrum and knew it, but again. She. Didn't. Care.
"Hannah, if you want to be treated like an adult then act like one!"
She just glared, and her father spoke up. "Honey, you know we have to deliver the bulk order in time or break our contract. We have to accept the bulk order on its terms, or the Watch will take their order elsewhere. Your mother and I aren't the only blacksmiths in the city, and we aren't especially famous, high-ranking in the guild, or advanced in our Skills. We could be in serious trouble if we lose the Watch's business or trust. Do you want that, Hannah?"
And here it was, the same argument trotted out every time. She wasn't going to be guilted into another week or month of arrow-making again. She knew her parents weren't as badly off as they were pretending. As Senior Artisans, the only ones above them were the handful of Experts, who sold expensive customized gear to people who wouldn't set foot in her parents' shop, and Wilton's sole Master blacksmith, who strictly handled storage items. "If they're so important, why don't you make them?"
"Then who will make the swords--"
"So teach me," she nearly screamed in frustration. "And don't promise you will, you've been saying that for years!"
"Stop exaggerating," her mother said. "It's been months at most."
"Well it feels like years!"
"Hannah," her father said, "Finish this batch, and things will change. We really need this order done in time, but then why don't we go on a little trip?"
"Harold! There's hardly time for--"
"There's always time for our daughter, darling. And it'll be quick, but maybe it will give you new perspective."
Hannah's eyes darted suspiciously between them. "You promise? Where are we going?"
"I do, and it's a surprise."
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"You tricked me," she accused sulkily after, when they took the arrows together up to the barracks. "I want a real trip."
"This will be. Just keep an open mind, all right? If you keep scowling like that, your face will get stuck that way."
"No it won't," she said, but she also smoothed out her face. Then realizing what she'd done, she quickly scowled again.
Her father glanced at her with a small smile, but just said, "Stay here." Then he greeted the sentry on duty, leaning forward to say something too low to overhear. The two continued to whisper while throwing 'discreet' glances her way.
Hannah scowled harder and crossed her arms. Whatever her father was selling, she decided, she wasn't buying.
After their super-secret conference, the guard led her and her father inside through a maze of identical stone corridors and into an inner courtyard. Hannah was amazed at the size of the place. Looking around as they cut through the middle, she saw groups of guards performing various drills: running laps, doing pushups, lifting weights, swinging weapons, or practicing formations. In a separate corner, several guards were sparring while others spectated. And on the far side...
Her breath caught as she realized where they were headed. A vast space had been cleared except for a focused group of maybe two dozen figures on one end and their targets on the other. It was an archery range.
She shot a glance at her father, but he was preoccupied staring around... at the many armors and weapons on display, including ones he'd probably made himself. Looking back ahead, she nearly stumbled. The archers they were approaching... could they be using arrows Hannah had made? Was this why her father had brought her, so she could see the fruits of her labor in action?
Suddenly excited, she looked on with no small amount of pride as the archers drew back and fired, releasing a volley of arrows. And again. She came forward, looking eagerly at the massive stockpile of arrows ready for refilling emptied quivers, and saw...
Arrows. Just that. Frowning, she picked up one and inspected it, but... she honestly couldn't tell if it was her creation or not. Her work didn't qualify for a maker's mark, after all. And her arrows weren't noticeably better than any other professionally produced arrows. Of course they weren't; she'd just been repeating the steps her parents had taught her, and whoever had made all these other arrows had probably been taught the exact same steps exactly the same way.
Hannah realized she was no longer so very annoyed at the huge amount of time she was forced to spend on arrows, or the dullness of her routine, or even the lost opportunity to make anything else. No, what really got under her skin now was that she hadn't managed a single improvement on this common arrow. She knew it was possible, not only from specialty arrows but from the fact Experts and Masters could famously charge a lot more for each of their arrows, even the ones they essentially mass-produced. Some of that was their name and their clients' wealth, but she had to believe there was something more.
As though answering her thoughts, a woman stepped forward with a full set of clearly enchanted equipment: armor, quiver, bow... and yes, arrows. It felt like the moment would forever engrave itself in her memory. To Hannah, the archer was the most elegant figure she had ever seen. Her every movement was perfect: the confident way she stood, the entrancing way she drew back, and the Skilled way she shot: "[Rain of Arrows]."
Hannah didn't have to look to know every arrow hit a target dead-center. Right then and there, she discovered a newfound passion for her resurrected love.
"Letitia Runesmith," she repeated after her father dragged her away from the coolly dismissive archer. "Dad, could I get an apprenticeship with her? Those arrows she made, did you see--"
"Hannah, wait until we're home and then we'll talk, all right?"
The fact was, the arrowsmith was an Expert Artisan, not someone her parents could casually call upon, and she already had her own apprentices, her son and daughter-in-law. "You would have to show exceptional talent," her mother stated plainly, "Plus sign a restrictive contract, which might prevent you from inheriting our business. Do you want to become indentured for life to someone who will see you as extra hands for her real apprentices?"
Hannah could feel her spirits sinking lower every second, but she tried to act like an adult. Think, what could she do? "I still want to make something else sometimes," she said and drew a breath. "I want to make a bow."
Her parents exchanged a look. She gritted her teeth, but her mother's voice when she spoke was almost... awkward. "Have you seen us make any bows? Noticed any lying around?"
The copper dropped along with her jaw. "How can you make arrows without knowing how to make a bow?"
"Do you know how to make one?"
That was how, two weeks later, she ended up in Senior Stringer's shop reviewing a contract. Basically, she had to agree not to teach anything she learned here, to give the Senior Artisan thirty percent of everything she made off bows now and in the future, and to submit herself to questioning by a truth examiner if she was under suspicion of breaking the contract, which would be lodged with the Artisan's Guild.
Hannah balked at the stringent terms. The thirty percent sounded terrible even before the realization it was based on the total price of the product, not the profit. "Your parents told me they're hoping or you're considering becoming an arrowsmith, in which case it shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Senior Stringer said, seeing her hesitation. "Look, Hannah, this is already an extremely generous offer. My family have been bowyers for generations, like yours are generalist blacksmiths, and we hold the secrets of our trade dear. I'm only willing to teach you without a lifetime apprentice contract because I know your parents, who've assured me you're no competition" -- he nodded to the contract pointedly -- "and since my clients could always use more good arrows. If only that accursed Letitia didn't lock in her marks..."
"Letitia Runesmith?" Hannah said, perking up at the name.
By contrast, the Senior's scowl deepened. "Her arrows work best with her own bows and vice versa. She sells reasonably priced starting packages, then when she has them hooked, she raises the price on future sales... or perhaps she can offer discounts if they buy exclusively from her and her friends. If you stay in the business, you'll learn to hate her too." Hannah just stared as he shook his head, seeming to remember his own uncharitable contract. "If you later change your mind and decide you want to sell bows, we can renegotiate," he added as though she were born yesterday.
But Hannah remembered the proud archer wielding Expert Runesmith's bow and arrows. She signed.
Despite his talk of family secrets, Senior Stringer apparently had nothing more to teach her than how to make a basic bow in a few different flavors, a better bow with more expensive materials, and his best bow, which was improved mostly in appearance rather than functionality. Remembering her parents' lessons, Hannah thanked him profusely, promised to recommend him to anyone buying her arrows, and left. The entire short-term limited apprenticeship took less than four months, and would've taken even less if she hadn't also still been helping at her parents' forge.
She took her best creation with her, having paid the cost of its materials. As her parents watched bemusedly, she set up her own basic archery range in their backyard, nailing the target to a tree. It was time. Heart hammering, she drew back her own arrow on her own bow, fixed the target in her sight -- remembered that archer, so graceful -- and fired.
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"You have the right idea," her father said consolingly, as she trudged back after finally finding and retrieving her arrow. "Improving your arrows by testing them out yourself. Wish I'd had half your motivation when I was your age."
"Harold!"
"What? She's old enough to know her parents aren't perfect."
"How come I can't shoot straight?" Hannah said. "What am I doing wrong?" A horrible thought struck her. "Is it my bow? Am I making faulty arrows?"
"Your arrows are fine," her father said.
Her mother was less helpful. "Do we look like archers?"
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The next day saw Hannah back at the barracks, joining a line of guards in archery drills. She didn't even stand out, since new recruits were coming all the time of different ages and experiences. One fresh-faced archer offered tips and corrected people's posture.
After the third time adjusting hers, he said, "Nice bow. Yours?"
"Thanks." Blushing, Hannah admitted, "I made it."
"You shouldn't have told him that," her mother said later that night, shaking her head. "Watch or army, adventurers or Mercenaries, everybody wants to make friends with us to ask for free or discounted stuff. Truth is we're not making enough to be able to afford much of that. I've known more than one Artisan who went into debt because they hadn't learned how to say no."
"Well I have no problem saying no," Hannah said. "He didn't even ask for anything! And he was really nice!"
Her parents exchanged a look. Hannah groaned.
It turned out her mother was right. When she went back the next day, she suddenly found she was popular with a whole group of guards begging for their own bows. Yesterday's helpful archer sheepishly approached and said he'd praised her craftsmanship to his friends. Forcing a smile onto her face, Hannah revealed she was under a restrictive contract with Senior Stringer, referring them to him instead.
"Oh, that's fine," one archer said, looking disappointed. "But if you can't sell bows without taking a loss, what if we buy the materials and you just use them? We get the bows, and you get more experience, right?"
"The contract doesn't leave open loopholes like that," Hannah answered. "Even if I gave out bows for free, I'd have to pay Senior Stringer thirty percent of the fair market value."
"Why would you sign a contract like that?"
When she revealed her goal of making better arrows, the discouraged faces brightened again. "You don't need to test them out yourself! We're happy to rate your arrows, right mates?"
"A smith shooting arrows." Another laughed. "No wonder you're so terrible at it!"
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"I mean, they're not wrong." She was back in her room, lying on her bed, while her oh-so-comforting mother stroked her hair. "You are a smith, you are terrible at archery right now, and you probably would benefit more from experienced archers judging your arrows. The question is, what do you want?"
She raised her head from her pillow. "I want to shoot my own arrows."
Instead of the barracks, she returned to her backyard archery with a vengeance. She began to consistently hit the target from ten feet away, then eleven, then twelve, step by step increasing her range. She hadn't started improving her arrows yet, but each one she forged she personally shot at least once.
When guards came by pretending at concern and asking after arrows, her parents turned them away while she hid in the backroom.
The chime of her first archery Skill sounded like victory bells. She was as ecstatic as for her first blacksmith Skill, but instead of the excitement fading, she found her enjoyment of archery only increased over time. With the help of other Artisans, she steadily upgraded her range to include moving targets that were dropped down, rolled on the ground, or even thrown through the air. She also finally began to experiment with crafting different arrows. Her parents had to practically beg her to learn how to craft armor, and she refused to work with other weapons at all.
When she turned twenty, her demonstration of her slightly pricier, moderately superior arrow earned her promotion to Journeyman Artisan. She also made an important realization. Sometime in the past few years, she had gone from practicing shooting arrows to become a better arrowsmith to practicing making arrows to become a better archer.
Plainly put, she'd fallen in love with archery even over smithing.
Later that week, she announced to her parents, "I want to become an adventurer."
Her father dropped his hammer.
"Now, Hannah, don't scare us like that!" her mother said. And when she didn't respond: "You can't be serious? Do you want to get yourself killed and break your poor parents' hearts?"
But she hadn't made her decision lightly. Everybody knew the best archers were nearly all adventurers, for the simple reason they risked and challenged themselves the most, so they advanced their Skills the fastest and farthest. The top archers in the army or Watch were typically also or former adventurers. She'd be surprised if that female archer of her memory had never entered a dungeon.
Also, and there was probably no way to say this nicely: she wanted to shoot something real. Not just to shoot targets, but really shoot, to give her archery more purpose.
Was this how it started for everyone? Did warriors just want to fight for real, rogues to sneak up on real prey? She didn't want to join the army or Watch, which would probably involve more saluting and following orders than shooting arrows, or the Mercenaries, who made better clients than employers. On the other hand, everything about adventurers appealed to her, except the risk -- but she could manage that, right?
Her parents exchanged glances, before trying again: "Hannah, your father and I are getting on in years. We need you, and the future of our business needs you."
She was unmoved; she wasn't a child anymore to be tricked or guilt-tripped. "I'm sure you can pick up another apprentice. Some people would pay for the chance, you know that."
"It belongs in the family!"
"Why? We're not even specialists with secret techniques or anything. But if you're so determined, ask one of your cousins or other relatives."
"We didn't spend all this time raising you to--"
"Wait, Martha." Her father studied her calmly. "You should first be sure what you really want. Join the Adventurer's Guild, but keep making arrows. Then decide which Path you're ready to commit to."
To his obvious surprise, she moved forward and hugged him. She maybe hadn't been doing that enough since growing up.
"Thank you."
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As she'd feared, at twenty she was both older and less Skilled than most of the other Bronze-Ranked archers. This didn't necessarily mean she was a worse archer, but the team role she filled -- ranger, apparently -- typically contributed in other useful ways, like with tracking, wilderness survival, or a friendly familiar.
Fortunately, through the combat classes at the guild, she managed to connect with some understanding adventurers. After checking everyone's bona fides, the standardized four-person team -- fighter, mage, rogue, and her as archer -- took on multiple missions together and eventually prepared to tackle the Silver-Ranking test.
That was when Greg, the team leader, asked what she could offer the team by way of equipment. Seeing her confusion, he said, "Your parents are blacksmiths, yeah? It would really help our chances making Silver if we had better gear."
"Sorry," Hannah said, "They don't really support me becoming an adventurer, so..."
"Then can you smith something? You're a Journeyman Artisan or whatever, yeah?"
"That would take too much time, and it wouldn't be cheap. Besides, I specialize in arrows."
The rest of the team exchanged glances. "Can't you talk to your parents?" asked the rogue. "This is your future on the line."
"We've been training together over half a year," Hannah said. "Are you saying this whole time you only took me on the team to get discounted equipment from me and my parents?"
"Well, no, but every member of the team has to pull their own weight," Greg said in a reasonable voice, "Just like we all split the loot evenly. Nobody expected you to outfit us when we were just starting out, but we're a settled team now, yeah? How would you feel if one of us takes a fatal hit that good armor could've blocked?"
Hannah just shook her head. "I'm sorry."
"Then so are we," he said. "Word of advice? Either commit to adventuring full-time or stick with crafting arrows."
She stared around at her supposed team, her heart sinking.
"Right now you just look like you're waffling between the adventurers and Artisans."
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After screaming her voice hoarse into a pillow, she realized once again the other side wasn't wrong. She didn't want to give up crafting her own arrows, even as she insisted on being taken seriously as an adventurer.
Was it any wonder they'd expected to benefit off her smithing? Was she still just a child, stubbornly clinging to a failed resolve?
She couldn't bring herself to return to the Adventurer's Guildhall and face her former teammates with whoever they'd replaced her. When it came time to pay her guild dues, she went instead to formally drop out.
But the receptionist on spotting her said, "You're the archer without a team, right? Are you interested in a new one?"
"No... I mean..." Caught off-guard, Hannah tripped over her words.
"All archers need teams," the lady said sternly, then winked. "And this is a good one, promise."
On meeting Bessie and Tom, Hannah's first thought was: not some kids. One of the things she'd liked about her former team had been that they were around her own age, whereas Bessie was six years younger, Tom four. Hannah did not appreciate feeling old at twenty-one. What's more, they were apparently fresh off the farm and new to the guild. Was she supposed to babysit her teammates as penance for her personal failings as an adventurer?
Still, the alternative was quitting, and... she wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "Before anything else," she said, "I have to tell you... I won't craft anything for the team. And neither will my parents."
"But you'll craft your own arrows, right?" Bessie said.
"Yes?"
"So then you are crafting for the team. Ooh, do you think we'll be able to find special crafting materials on our adventures so you can make super-special arrows?"
"I... you don't mind?"
The pair exchanged glances. Not this again. Was she doomed to always be on the outside looking in? "Listen," Bessie said, "You've clearly had bad past experiences, but if something makes you uncomfortable, you can just say so, all right? And if we ask for something, you can just say no."
"Obviously," Tom said.
"What? Not everybody is as experienced at saying no as me."
"Except for you it's not 'no, I won't,' it's always 'no, I will do this crazy thing'..."
To say Hannah felt unsure of her new team would be an understatement. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and after their first mission together she had to admit Bessie at least was impressive. She'd heard of spellswords, but how by her hammer did a farm kid gain those Skills?
As time went on, she realized with a sinking feeling that the two might be younger, but that only meant they were growing stronger faster. Bessie seemed to have bottomless reserves of energy, and Tom just got pulled along. Hannah knew eventually with her own slow growth rate she'd be left in the dust.
"Hey, will you talk to our friend?" Bessie asked one day.
Hannah sighed. "The Scholar?" She'd tried following them to the library once. Never again. "Why, what does she need?"
"No... we were thinking she could help you." Bessie went on to explain how the diminutive girl was some genius who could apparently advise her on her Path. And would do so for free!
With nothing to lose, Hannah agreed to lunch and thus properly met Rowena Loress. The girl seemed so shy Hannah felt more at ease, until Rowena said, "Bessie says you're both a blacksmith and archer?"
"Yes." Hannah poked her meal glumly. "I know, I have to pick one or the other. I'm deciding, all right..."
"Why?" When she looked up, the Scholar was studying her. Those gray eyes were surprisingly intent, like they could pierce right through her. "There have been successful multi-class adventurer-blacksmiths before. Even one Named archer-arrowsmith."
Hannah's throat went dry. Please, let her be telling the truth. "What... who?"
"Soularcher, birth name Aron Fletcher. The Soul Arrow line has most of their known higher-tier Skills coming from him."
"I haven't heard of him?" If she had, she maybe could've saved herself a lot of pain.
"He died in the Third Vampire War, I'm afraid. He was good friends with a Healer. Afterwards, each of his arrows sold for millions of gold each. Actually, they'd probably have been worth more when he was alive, if he weren't the only one who could use them normally."
Millions? So he was that successful both at archery and arrow-smithing? Hannah felt like she'd just been given a new lease on life... and also that it sounded too good to be true. "Could I be like him? Follow his Path?"
"If you wish. The Soul Arrow line has several notable weaknesses, however, similar to the side effects of taking a familiar, such as..."
After she'd been thoroughly disheartened, the other girl said, "If that doesn't suit, there are multiple alternate Paths I could suggest with synergistic Skills. It might help if you shared more about yourself. Um, ideally including your Skill Set?"
Three things stopped Hannah from refusing. First, Bessie and Tom had vouched for this girl, and they really seemed like good kids. Second, Rowena was a Scholar. Third... she couldn't stop herself from hoping.
But as she reluctantly began to list out her Skills, she could feel her spirits steadily dipping again. "You don't think it's a waste?" she burst out when she finished. "All these blacksmith Skills I can't use as an adventurer at all?"
"That would be why most multi-class adventurer-blacksmiths fight with a hammer," Rowena said almost absently, studying the recorded page of Hannah's Skill Set. As Hannah felt the words like a hammer blow to the chest, however, the Scholar looked up. "If that matters to you, you could use one as a backup weapon? For when, um, the enemy enters close-range?"
She shook her head. "That would be too awkward to carry along with my other things, not to mention trying to adjust for the weight when I'm shooting. And I can't afford a storage item."
"Yes, which is why [Hammer Space] might be perfect for you. The Skill is rather obscure, since it only enables storing and retrieving a single hammer with a significant cooldown in between uses. But the upgrade adds a burst of power on retrieval -- fitting for an emergency weapon -- and even after you hopefully outgrow your hammer, the Skill means you will never be unarmed."
Hannah stared. "There's a Skill like that? Wait, how do I gain it?"
"I can help you lay the foundation," the girl said casually, like this was no big deal, "But you will have to do the rest yourself. I'm afraid it will likely take months at least... Are you all right?"
Only then did Hannah realize she was crying. "Thank you," she choked out. "You don't know how much this means to me."
Rowena smiled. It was another moment Hannah thought she might remember forever, capped by that smile: shy and sweet, serene and sincere, and somehow secretive. "I think I do."
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The archer-arrowsmith practically skipped home, her heart full to bursting. "Hannah!" came the exasperated voice. "If you have so much spare energy, won't you at least try to learn how to smith a sword?"
"Sorry, mom!" Hannah called back. "I only want to make more arrows."