“Can I bother the blacksmith at this hour? With proper compensation of course,” said Enoch.
Andrej made a face, shrugged and said, “Sure, why not. Big building that way. Looks like a forge. How about some cookies?”
“Sure.”
Enoch paid, sampled the goods distractedly as he contemplated the Quest Board. Nuts and caramel. Tasty. Two hunting quests, one caravan escort and twelves deliveries.
Had to ask, “What’s up with all the deliveries?”
Andrej said, “Outsiders, have to explain everything. It’s war up there in the Rapthian mountains. We have a whole battalion fighting mutants. They need supplies.”
He continued, “Tell you what, I’ll throw in the night if you take a couple of them. The mountain pass is rough, the battlefield worse. We’re running out of couriers.”
“Maybe tomorrow, I’ll sleep on it. Thanks for the offer.”
***
The forge turned out huge. Built like a barn, it had six chimneys, a stone foundation that got up to the bottom half of the walls. Round windows in neat rows, a water wheel, air vents.
Dark except for one corner on the third floor. Seemed people lived in their commerce around here. Smart.
An exterior stairway made of wrought iron spiraled directly to the apartment. Did they had fire regulation around here? Probably not. The chat disagreed.
“Silly NPC don’t want to die a raging fire.”
“They don’t mind that the world will shut down in 23 days. At least they won’t burn alive.”
“That’s called immersion.”
“Captain obvious.”
Enoch hated online arguments, or arguments in general. What a waste. Either completely useless, won by hierarchy or violence.
Anyway, he put one foot on the first step, moved to the second one.
“Hold it right there,” came from upstairs. The voice gruff and pissed.
Enoch froze, slowly looked up. Disheveled hair, blond stained black. Night robe flapping in the chilly wind. Barefoot. An oversized, and cocked, crossbow pointed straight at him.
Seconds passed.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“You have a tongue outsider, or should I simply shoot you? Save us both the trouble.”
“No. I mean, yes. Don’t shoot.”
Choo Choo animated his shields and daggers murder ball. Flew into the crossbow’s path, added, “We come in peace. We have cookies.”
“What in Matbia’s seared tits is that?” She hesitated for an instant. Smirked, fired at the floating shield. It spun out of control, grazed Enoch on the way to the ground.
“Wait, why would you do that? We just want to shop at the smithy.”
“We’re closed.”
“We know, we’ll compensate you for the trouble.”
She stared at him, shifted her gaze to the golem core who flew back to Enoch side, the bolt still embedded in his shield.
The artifact said, “Decent to catch arrows. Still prefer stabbing, if I have the choice.”
“What’s that?” asked the girl.
“A golem core, he’s my bonded artifact,” said Enoch.
“Outsider, I should have figured it out. Dressed like a lunatic. Expecting favors.”
Since the patch, the worlds had been retroactively seeded with the idea of players with their talking artifact. Strange feeling, the world packed with ancient lore, intelligent NPCs, complex ecology. It would all disappear when the game ended.
You couldn’t tell that to NPCs. It tended to enrage them. Often aggroed a whole region, turned kingdoms against players, or Outsiders as they were called.
“Sorry, time is wasting, there’s a contest I have to win. How much to open the shop right away?”
“How much do you have?”
Enoch smiled. He had her, “let’s talk. Don’t worry, I’m a terrible negotiator.”
***
She took all the cookies. She took all his gold. He barely managed to keep enough silver for a night at the townhall. She’d taken the bronze sword and the rusted daggers, “to turn them into cookware.” The stone spearpoints discarded in a heap of trash along the jagged stone spear. No love for primitive artifacts around here.
The smithy was huge, multiple working stations, built to last a century. Pink light illuminated the stone floor, giving it a strange, diffused ambiance.
The girl owned it. Her name was Tatiana Mangolin. She knew her way around the place, more of a boss than an artisan.
Her voice came from the depo, distant, “What do outsider use? I don’t have anything magical.”
Enoch took the opportunity, joined her at the depo’s door. He cursed, “Leaking slag.” Rows upon rows of pristine weapons and shining armors, most of it blue steel. A few racks at the end had leather and linen equipment.
She looked at him funny, “I swear, you’re all wrong in the head. What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing, I didn’t expect that much stuff.”
“I employ two third of the village, what do you think we do all day? Talk to our magical ball and play in the mud?
“Well, anyway, I’d like a good spear and some armor.”
“Fair is fair, you gave me a decent pile of loot.”
Enoch walked out with a steel tipped spear, two steel daggers, a heater shield, a gambeson, steel bracers, steel gauntlets, decent boots, a large duffel bag and a standard issued scout helm – a tight fitted dome with a reinforced crest and pointed, sweeping sides.
Morion | Helm | Rarity 5
+10% to all Perception check
Damage Resist 3
Steel spear | Weapon | Rarity 3
Damage 3 | Reach 3
Type Pierce
His new armor gave him Damage Resist 3 over the majority of his body for a 20% penalty on Stamina use. No penalty on Perception, thanks to the amazing helm. He’d rarely been this decked out on the first day. That lady was pure fire.
The Ipabo idol came in the negotiations. Not that there had been any, if Enoch was honest. Tatiana offered two gold coins if he came in the next morning and blessed seven of her best crafters. A decent offer, he’d do it and leave for the mountain pass.