image [https://i.imgur.com/s2rC6Mc.jpg]
After another evening of staring at goblins from the barbican’s battlements, I went to bed. Once again, they surveyed our position and left without engaging. Their behavior perplexed everyone, even Commander Thaxter, an expert on mass warfare strategies.
I awoke late in the morning to the sound of pattering rain. Disoriented and tired, I didn’t know if Rezan’s bizarre plan involved sleeplessness, but it only affected me. It had the opposite effect on the rest of the town. Everyone else settled into the new routine, as if the novelty of sleeping under the same roof galvanized us to a singular purpose. Gone were the gripes and self-interest pursuits brought about by the marketplace.
I ate a late brunch in the town hall amidst crates, sacks, and bushels of food typically stored in the warehouse. The place stood empty but noisy from the drizzle falling on the rooftop. The supplies aged normally on the floor, but Rocky knew the town’s consumption rate enough to avoid the risk of spoiling food.
With Yula busied with military matters, Mugsy didn’t get as much exercise and barked a lot. He seemed to be the last hold-out for undisciplined behavior, and his noise commonly heralded her arrival, making it difficult for her to catch anyone slacking on guard duty.
Guards occupied the watchtower, giving us enough time to secure places like the town hall in case the goblins attacked during the daytime, but they never did.
Crates crowding the floorspace served as my only company in the town hall. I ate breakfast leftovers in peace and enjoyed the peaceful interlude. Even Beaker deserted me, preferring to spend his middays hunting across the river.
After finishing my meal, I mustered the energy to make rounds to check on everyone. Before this standoff, I hid from citizens and braced myself before questions. I couldn’t afford to be antisocial, no matter how familiar and comfortable it made me. It seemed childish and indulgent in retrospect. From an efficiency standpoint, it made more sense for one person to go around and see everyone instead of making them find me. It allowed everyone to focus on their task without interrupting workflows. Giving everyone access to the chief picked up morale. One-on-one discussions with the governor connected citizens to camp decisions.
The person least unaffected by my visits was Greenie. Ironically, his brethren forced him to work during daylight hours, dampening his mood and progress. He sullenly worked with a subdued posture. Perhaps his inability to finish the ballista frustrated him.
It surprised me he had so much trouble with its mechanics. It seems more straightforward than the wind-driven mills he and Charitybelle put together. She always said he had a knack for motion mechanics—whatever that meant.
I headed to the woodshop as Fin waved me down.
“Guv! Guv! It’s done! We finished your weapon—come see!” Fin gestured toward Rory’s smithy.
I followed him as he hurried south to Hawkhurst Rock. “Were there any problems? Does the core work?”
“’Tis a grand blade. She shines with nary a flaw—unsullied by impurities. Rory has right outdone himself.”
We found Rory grinning over a workbench covered with cloth, alternately polishing and peering into the surface of a longsword.
Item
Gladius Cognitus, The Scrivener
Rarity
Celestial (purple)
Description
Level 60 piercing and slashing weapon
+12 willpower
+12 intelligence
+50 damage
Wielder understands languages spoken in Miros and no longer needs to concentrate to channel spells. Imbue Weapon attacks are unrestricted by arcane rank.
Item use—Gladius Cognitus remembers and writes runes on command.
Artilith (unique purple) Core Bonus
Celestial Bonus 1 Intelligent
Celestial Bonus 2 Communicative
Celestial Bonus 3 Inscribed
Celestial Bonus 4 Creative
The first standout involved the damage bonus. A week ago, I would have swooned over a +50 weapon, but after bouts with Blood Drinker, +50 amounted to a lot, but it wasn’t enough to overcome Rezan’s healing powers.
Unlike Blood Drinker, Gladius gave willpower instead of taking it. Gamers often overlooked intangible stats. Willpower reduced the effectiveness of spells, but the only time I’d resisted magic came from items like the Charm of Protection which gave me +20 willpower against dark magic. Three things boosted my willpower by 26—my Cassock of Rewind, a ring I recently took from a goblin, and this weapon.
Improving intelligence wasn’t so abstract. The +12 intelligence inflated my spellcasting ability by a third—to 420 mana.
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Understanding every language made me regret studying so hard to learn goblin dialects, but the time I’d invested taught me much about goblin culture.
Not needing to concentrate during channels counted as the most impressive aspect of this weapon. The Book of Dungeons used channels to relegate powers like Dig, Magnetize, and Mineral Mutation to out-of-combat mechanics. Gladius Cognitus erased this limitation, unlocking all sorts of options. I could destabilize the dirt or stone beneath opponents and pull and push weapons around.
Uninterruptible channels added an extra dimension to effects like Moonburn. By pivoting, I could Stun enemies all around me.
Gladius opened possibilities for other powers I’d passed because of channeling restrictions. Primal Blast delivered a point of damage for every second spent channeling during combat—up to ten times the caster’s willpower. It cost 50 mana, but the spell affected an area. My maximum burst caused 480 damage, as long as I could maintain a combat state for six minutes. If only I had a power point, I could purchase this now and end this stalemate.
Scry previously had no combat implications, but looking through an enemy’s eyes without concentrating might produce trippy results.
Rest and Mend remained the only channel left unaffected by this sword, which didn’t work during combat, regardless of my concentration level.
The most attractive upgrade involved Replenish Mana. Immunity to interruptions effectively doubled my mana reserves to 840. If I used my robe to reset Refresh Mana, I could increase my mana pool to a potential 1260 once per day.
While I pondered the implications of its powers, Rory spoke about the sword’s design. I didn’t hear a word.
Since my rank in arcane magic no longer limited Imbue Weapon, I’d found the deadly combination needed to slay the goblin king. Between Imbue Weapon and Refresh Mana, I could pump enough mana into Gladius Cognitus to one-shot Rezan or any of his goblins. Unfortunately, it still took a second for every point of mana imbued, so I would need to do it beforehand. I’d have to walk around with a glowing sword—all but broadcasting my intentions. Even if he couldn’t figure out my plan, Rezan could cast Inspection to see the implicit danger.
Such a strike must be a surprise attack, not an easy prospect against someone endowed with revelation powers. That’s why closing the gap between enemies with Slipstream created such a powerful combination.
Having a plan of attack had made all this preparation and waiting worthwhile. One-shotting a goblin king suited my needs for the short run, but doing so against enemy players added another appeal altogether. Gladius Cognitus felt like my ticket to winning The Great RPG Contest.
The detail about the sword remembering and writing runes capped its wondrous abilities. What in the world did that mean? Did this weapon know runes?
I looked at Rory after he finished talking. “Is it okay to pick up? Are you done with it?”
“She’s all yours.” Rory leaned against a bench tiredly, though he wore a smile. “I’m ready to do something easier now. Roastin’ and poundin’ gunk off the nugget with Fin’s pudgy hammer made for brutal labor. But I doubt there’s a grander blade in all of Miros.”
It weighed much less than it looked. After picking up the blade, it vibrated in ethereal tones, producing a glassy voice, metallic voice. Though Rory called it a she, the voice was masculine—if such a thing mattered to a weapon. “Salutations, my good man. Are you my wielder?”
The faint vibrations took me aback, and I almost dropped it.
Both dwarves jumped back, eyes wide and arms outstretched.
Rory’s brow furrowed, and he shook his finger at the blade. “What’s all this noise? Ye didn’t talk when I picked you up!”
“Excuse my taciturn disposition, master blacksmith. While I hold high regard for my creator, I reserve the right to converse with whomever I choose. You fostered my malleable infancy, and for that, I thank you. But it’s only proper that I first address my wielder, tongue-tied though he may be.”
I giggled with delight at having a talking sword. Speaking out loud felt more natural than telepathic links with Familiars, and I could do so without people thinking me crazy for having one-way conversations. “Hi there, I’m Apache—and yes, I’m your wielder—thanks to Rory and Fin, who did all the hard work.”
When I hefted the blade, testing its weight, the sword’s tip made a thin blue ribbon of light. The glowing trail lingered in the air, showing no sign of dissipating or burning out, but it wasn’t bright enough to light the area. The smithy’s warm ambiance seemed unaffected by the sword’s trail of the blue tracer. Touching the glowing line didn’t produce sensations, nor did my fingers smudge or disturb the light.
“Gladdy—do you mind if I call you Gladdy? Gladius Cognitus is a bit of a mouthful—at least for humans.”
“I value informalities. Any exercise of poetic license is ducky.”
Rory showed no enchantment about a talking blade. Instead, he crossed his arms and lectured the weapon. “Poetry! Bah. I’m no fan of fancy talk and frilly words. Any son of mine ought to speak plainly.”
Gladius vibrated at the paternal rebuke. “You mistake me, master blacksmith. If we accept poetry as an attempt to make language interesting, you must agree it to be the vernacular of the hoi polloi. Even the patois of slang and vulgarities manifests as poetry.”
Fin shook his head at Rory. “I cannae understand half of this babble. Perhaps ye quenched it too early? It seems we still need to pound out a little nonsense.”
The sword hummed a response. “Stay your hammer, blacksmith. My condition is impeccable.”
I raised my free hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I enjoy the fancy words, but around others, maybe don’t be so…” I couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t discourage my new metal friend.
“Erudite? Pedantic? Sesquipedalian?”
“Um—yeah.” I held up a hand to belay Rory’s response, trying hard to keep the conversation back on track. With every movement, the thin blue trail of light grew longer. It looked like a long exposure photograph, a glowing 3D scribble hanging in the air. “Thanks for clearing that up, Gladdy. How do I turn off your little blue trail? I mean, enemies can use it to track us.”
“What an astute observer you are, Wielder Apache. The cut disappears whenever you sheathe me.”
“Cut?”
“What you perceive as a blue line is a fine laceration in the universe’s fabric.”
“Wait—you’re cutting up the universe?”
“Of course! That’s what swords do. The light you see is magic holding reality together.”
Fin’s eyes widened. “Sounds a wee bit dangerous.”
“The universe is more resilient than is commonly known. It mends in short order.”
Rory grunted. “What does scrivener mean? It sounds like somebody who complains a lot.”
“That’s a logical and onomatopoetic guess, but the answer lies in etymology. The cognate ‘scrivener’ derives from ‘scribe,’ or one who writes.”
I turned to Rory. “Do we have a longsword scabbard?”
Fin produced a small leather strap and cinched it around my Dark Room belt loop. When I sheathed Gladius into it, the glowing blue scribbles filling the smithy winked out of existence.
“It worked. That’s really cool!” I waited for Gladius to respond and heard nothing.
Another thin blue streak began when I pulled the blade back out, and Gladius’s voice returned. “I’m afraid the sheath silences me.”
Perhaps the ability to sequester the blade might be useful, for I did not know its personality. If Gladius prattled on like Beaker when trying to hide, gagging it might be for the better.