Chapter 22: Necropolis
II
“How?” Fettler asked, his interest piqued.
“I’m the lord of Far-Reach,” I responded, simply.
“How?”
“That’s quite a long story, that I will tell you if you agree to my terms.”
“How?”
“With words.”
“How?”
“Shut it Socrates, do you want mining rights or not?” This time there was a pause while the pesterous dwarf considered.
“What would you be wanting from myself,” he asked, leaning on his pick mattock and stroking his long and intricately braided beard.
“You’re an Architect. I want to build something here. Now that the kingdom to the west no longer holds a claim on this land, it would be a great opportunity to make some proper money,” I explained as eloquently as one could in crumbling rags.
“And I would get rights to all the metals within the territory?” he asked, something sly behind his words though his face remained impassive.
“You would have the right to mine all metals in the land, which you could sell to others should we be able to attract some Professionals. In return I would have right of first refusal on the purchase of any metals mined, in exchange for a fair market price,” I offered, ready to negotiate.
“Deal!” Fettler said, a gleam in his eye. Before I could react, he snapped up my hand and shook it vigorously, leaving me wondering how badly I had messed up.
Congratulations:
* Fort Far-Reach’s Craftsmen have increased from 0 to 1
* More options are now available under: Resources ► Metals ►
As soon as I dismissed the notification, and my vision cleared, I saw a bare chested dwarf; swinging with gusto. Rockchips flying and pick mattock striking in rhythmic assault. For whatever the dwarf lacked, he more than made up for it with his ability to maintain a consistent tempo.
Before long, the clump of ultramarine, crystal-like metal the size of a peach was extracted - its many facets shimmering in the faint light which penetrated this far into the cave. Fettler looked proud as punch, holding the node to his eye - tapetum lucidum illuminated with a purple, aquamarine light.
“So…” I began, drawing the dwarf’s attention from his Precious. “What is it?” I could tell from a cursory examination the stuff possessed an ability to absorb mana but little more. My question snapped Fettler from his reverie and he grasped the metal tightly, drawing it to his chest.
“Mine!” he hissed, as possessive as a mouse with its cheese.
I raised my hands and took a step back, not willing to come to blows over this.
“As we agreed: you have the right’s to any metal in my territory,” he relaxed, “but should you choose to sell it I would have to be offered the first crack.” This caused him to tense slightly but once the more rational side of his mind usurped control, he calmed.
“Ha, fat chance of that!” he scoffed. “Do you know what this is?”
“Did I, or did I not just ask?” I asked, deadpan. The stern expression on such a youthful face did not give the impression I intended, judging by the smirk pulling at the dwarf’s features.
“Fine, fine,” Fettler relented, “Tis Tolianite that, ain’t no stuff better.”
“Better for what?”
“Better for anything. It changes based on what type of mana yor puts into it. Want it ta be a fluid, add water-mana. Want it to be hot, add fire-mana. Whatever you do it maintains its strength - giving it endless uses… Only problem is you need to find someone with the right mana type for whatever you do be doing,” the last remark was said with a speculative beard rub as he no doubt pondered how he could convince a number of mages to make their way here, now that he was tied to this place.
“I think I can help, if you’re willing to do something in exchange,” I said, more than ready to leverage my unique core for profit.
“Now who’s repeating themselves,” Fettler muttered, rolling his eyes. I shot him a smile.
“Go on then, how's that?” he questioned.
“I can get you whatever type of mana you need, but I’ll be needing a sample of that stuff for my experiments,” I weaselled, feeling the fervour come upon me. More conscious of my past self I took a calming breath. Again the dwarf’s love for all things shiny seemed to take control as he clenched the metal tighter, a shade flickering across his Dark Vision enhanced eyes.
“How much you be needing for this ‘sample’ then?” Fettler asked, his accent thickening. I did some mental arithmetic and suppressed the urge to unleash a series of Necrotising Bolts from my replacement finger and abscond with the fascinating new material. Had my inclinations been so strong before? I didn’t know.
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“5 troy ounces,” I eventually replied, arriving at the conservative figure, “of each node collected,” I added to ensure I wouldn’t be forced to forever provide mana for only a one time payment.
After my first remark he screwed up his face, wincing as if I’d just slapped his mother, the second provoked an even more outlandish expression.
“You couldn’t do me worse if you dug up Nana Schist and struck her, backhand, across the face,” he complained with obvious outrageous offence. “1 troy ounce. I’m breaking my back for every node. If I’m able to find any at all, this stuffs rarer than a pair of socks.” He clearly wasn’t ‘breaking his back’, I had seen how easy it was for him to dig up, now that he had the permission of the lord, me.
“4.5, and that barely covers the cost of getting you all the mana you’ll no doubt need,” I lied, not willing to reveal I would be the one and only source. After some more bickering and back-and-forth, we arrived at a tax of 3 troy ounces from each node discovered. Should the weight of the metal be less than 7 troy ounces then I was entitled to 10% of the mass. This stipulation seemed rather a thorn in Fettler’s side, but I insisted upon it to prevent him from splitting apart any further nodes and claiming them to be too small to share. In exchange, I would supply whatever type of mana he should require for any of his Architectural endeavours in a timely fashion, I chose not to mention that, given the difference in age, we might have completely different opinions of the term ‘timely’. With a flare of mana on my end and a vow to the god Vulcan on his, a magically reinforced contract was formed - which couldn't be broken without dire consequences for either of us.
Congratulations:
* Fort Far-Reach’s Metal has increased from 0 to 0.00
It appeared the amount of metal I had bargained for wasn’t enough to measure on whatever scale the system was using.
With neither of us quite happy, but both content, we left the cave - Fettler having promised to separate my portion when he had created the correct tools. All he had on him when he was taken were the supplies a dwarf might need when out prospecting - which, naturally, included a smithing hammer and pickaxe.
As we walked through the still peaceful seeming forest, I asked Fettler if he possessed any other Professions besides Architect.
“Of course,” he nearly spat, with unintentional derision. “You humans might only be having one but a proper dwarf can’t leave the Niðavellir without the full three. Only took me two hundred years to get mine!” he boasted, chest puffed out.
“And those are?” I pressed, not at all impressed with the dwarf. I had spent nearly a melinia on only research and I hardly ever mentioned it.
“Architect, that’s an uncommon one that is. Miner and Woodworker, to help me build my designs - since half the clan stopped helping after my first detonation.”
“‘Detonation’?!” I parroted with a mix of curiosity and admiration.
“Down worry,” Fettler reassured, “That shan’t happen here. I learned my lesson: saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal don’t make a better form of cement, the loss of levels from the System was enough of a warning.” Before I could inquire further our conversation was cut short by a desperate squawking. We had arrived at the fort.
“BAAAKKAARRKK! FETTLER! Where is that no-good, selfish, dwarf and what has he done with that human child? Poor thing out there sick and alone.” The screeching call turned to fretted worrying as it descended the tower in a flap, audible from where we entered, via the crack.
“Darna!” Fettler bellowed with undampened enthusiasm as we walked through the battle damaged courtyard. We met at the main entrance, the chicken woman coming forth in a huff.
“Fettler you great oaf!” she clucked, swatting at him angrily with feathered appendages. The dwarf bore the assault with an unwavering smile.
“How are you beautiful?” he asked with unabashed delight.
“Stop that!” she demanded, hiding her embarrassment with stronger and swifter strikes. “I barely know you!”
I was left to wonder if there wasn’t perhaps another reason the two chose to stay behind at Fort Far-Reach.
“Let me get a look at you,” the mother hen said, drawing me in and examining every inch.
“You stupid dwarf, how could you let him out in this condition?” she asked, indicating the ragged remains of clothes.
“He seemed fine,” Fettler responded, uncomprehending. He looked back and forth between both of our bare chests then at Darna’s colourful knitted garb.
“You can be okay with walking about all indecent but this one was sick until this morning,” she chided. I was feeling rather ignored in the exchange.
“Excuse me,” I butted in, or tried to. The volume of the dwarf’s beration only increased and I was drowned out. Fettler grinned, clearly admiring the woman which seemed to spur her on further.
Not willing to strain my vocal cords, I gave a command to Gareth, the sole surviving Rubble Rouser, and he hopped to. Seconds later, a sound like the ring of a great bell chimed through the forest, sending birds to scattering, as the golem landed a heavy blow on the bronze remains. Silence fell after several seconds of deafening noise.
“Thank You,” I began, stealing the momentum before the pair could start up again. “Please, take a seat,” I said to the both of them, getting Gareth to lay down, his head one stool and his torso another. Darna seemed quite confused but did so. Fettler just did as she did.
“Darna, it’s nice to properly meet you,” I started, getting the pleasantries over with, “I appreciate all you have done to maintain my body.” She smiled at first but her expression went stale as she tried to puzzle out my odd phrasing.
“I have some things I must be honest with you about, I ask that you please withhold any questions till the end,” I said, pacing back and forth as if in lecture. There was silent ascent so I continued. “I chose to keep this a secret from Orlando and you saw how that turned out, frankly I’m surprised it wasn’t much worse–” I began but was immediately interrupted.
“Who’s Orlando?” Fettler asked.
“Orlando…” Darna added, rolling the name around her beak.” That rings a bell but I don’t know why.”
“Shit, sorry,” I cursed,”I did it again. I’ve really got to think before I speak.”
“Oh, you mean Rowland.” the dwarf interjected, putting two and two together.
“Fuck it, I’ll just say something else stupid if I talk to much. Here are the facts:
1. “I am the knightly lord of Fort Far-Reach.
2. I am not a child.
3. I am not the person you see before you, this is just a dead body that I’m puppeting.
4. I want to build a settlement here and have already made a contract with Fettler, which I will resend if the previous statement is too much for him.
5. I am a Lich”
Darna was stunned into silence, clearly not knowing what to think. Curiously Fettler’s expression didn’t change throughout the reveal, seeming content. I looked to him for confirmation.
“I don’t care if you’re Nix herself so long as I get my metal,” he affirmed, to my relieved surprise. I didn’t realise just how freeing letting the truth out could feel. Darna was still computing.
“I’m glad to hear you say it plainly,” a voice I hadn't expected to hear for some time said with an inflection I couldn’t read. Turning, I saw the Paladin returned, my hand still clamped to his shoulder, lights from my Illusionary skin still glowing. Not happy, or sad, or angry, he looked… profoundly disappointed, as he approached slowly through the rubble.