WELCOME TO MURDERPOST, the sign at the perimeter read, DO NOT BE ALARMED BY THE NAME.

We’d been tracking the orc for the best part of a week by this point, and without the opportunity to fight anyone, my progression had stalled. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, as XP gain could wait another few days if need be. Judging by what little intelligence we could gather, he’d long since parted ways with the Player and the other accomplice. But that was no matter, according to Val; you don’t massacre a town with someone and not keep in touch. The logic was: we track down this orc fellow, and we interrogate him for information on the Player’s whereabouts. Cos he’ll know, Val had said. He’ll know.

It had brought us to Murderpost, the only orcish outpost this far east in the Gentle Tundras, which orcs tended to visit when they needed access to materials they couldn’t get in the other outposts. It made sense, then, that the orc had passed through here. We could trust the intel.

Val grabbed the arm of a passing orc—one of few, really, considering that this was a supposed orcish post. ‘The blacksmith,’ she said. ‘Tunrok.’

‘Northern gate,’ the orc grunted back. ‘He close soon.’

‘Much obliged, mister,’ Val responded, and waved me on.

It was the only piece of information—other than where he’d been—that we’d been able to gather on the orc. It was a throwaway comment, really. Someone who’d been drinking in the same inn as the mysterious orc had happened to get a look at his battleaxe, and just so happened that he’d been in the blacksmithing trade himself. As a result, he recognised a sigil on its hilt—one that marked it as being produced by one of the Clan Tunrok, an orcish family known for their high level metalworking.

Only one such clan member could be found this far east, and it happened that they were at this outpost. Surely, if the orc in question had passed through here, it was to do business with this trusted blacksmith.

We passed through the small outpost, between ramshackle huts and along roads lined with stuff that really should have been in a sewer system, should one have existed.

‘Nice place,’ I mumbled.

‘Snob,’ Val replied, though she flashed me a smile to show that she was just teasing. ‘You know, I passed through here once before, looking for something.’

‘What were you looking for? To be assaulted?’

Val ignored the remark, though a nearby satyr flashed me a dirty look.

‘Just a talisman. Something to help channel my changeling abilities.’

‘Oh, right,’ I started, then… ‘Wait, what? Changeling?’

Val stopped suddenly, but didn’t turn to make eye contact. ‘A quarter, yeah. My grandad on my mother’s side. You got a problem with that?’

‘No, I just… I just didn’t know. You hadn’t mentioned it.’

‘And it changes how you see me, does it?’

‘No!’ I cried. ‘I didn’t say that. There’s no judgement here. This is a judgement-free zone, alright?’

Finally, Val made a nervous kind of eye contact. ‘Fine. Sorry. I’m just… I’m just sick of people judging me for who I am.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, I’m a quarter ogre, on my Mum’s side.’

‘Really?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Well, maybe. Isn’t like I ever got much contact with that side of the family, is it? But when I said it, you didn’t judge me for it, did you?’

Val shook her head. ‘No. I was just surprised.’

I remained silent.

‘Ah, right. Gotcha.’

‘See?’

‘Yes, I told you I got it.’

Val happy once more, we continued across town—though “town” was a bit of a stretch of a label—until we reached a tent with a small but consistent plume of smoke rising from it.

‘I think this is the blacksmith,’ I said, having to shout over the noise of hammer upon anvil.

‘Oh yeah? You think?’ Val led us inside.

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An orc wearing an amulet with a familiar sigil etched on it looked up from a glowing blade, rested upon his anvil. ‘Yes? You want sword or armour?’ he asked.

‘Information.’

‘I can’t smith that.’

‘Yes, we know,’ Val said. ‘You made a battleaxe, recently. For an orc by name of Lev. Has your sigil on its leather hilt.’

‘I know of this, yes.’

‘We want to know where he might’ve got to,’ I said.

The old blacksmith raised his eyebrows, then glared at me. ‘You think I give information about my customers? Not good way to do business. Not without… something to sweeten this deal.’

Val sighed, reaching into her pocket. ‘What is it, money? That what you want? If you’re looking for sexual favours, then…’ She trailed off, and looked over to me.

‘I don’t do sexual favours, Val,’ I clarified.

The sorcerer shrugged. ‘No judgements here.’

‘I want rock,’ the blacksmith said.

‘You want… a rock?’ Val asked. ‘Just any rock?’

‘No! Not just any rock. Particular rock. Rock I love.’

‘You want us to get you a particular rock,’ Val repeated. ‘Like… granite? Or sandstone? What?’

‘No. You not understand. Not particular type of rock. Particular rock.’

Val glanced to me, then back at the blacksmith. I opted to take a seat on a stool in the corner of the room; it seemed like this was going to take some time.

‘What rock, then?’

‘Crystal.’

‘You want us to get you a crystal?’

The blacksmith slumped his shoulders back. ‘No! Her name is Crystal!’

‘Whose name? I thought we were talking about a rock.’

The member of Clan Tunrok sighed, then placed his hammer down. ‘OK. We do story time. Sit.’ He turned to me, and narrowed his eyes. ‘Oh. You already sit.’

‘You were gonna tell us a story?’ I prompted him. ‘Maybe a quick one? Time’s a factor, here.’

‘I am member of Clan Tunrok.’

‘We’re aware,’ both Val and I responded at once.

‘Yes, good. Then you know: I have great metalwork. Very high. One of highest in the tundras. At high level, very strange abilities. Good, yes. Strange, also yes. I have choices: locate ore, talk to metals, fine detailing… All these kinds of thing.’

‘“Talk to metals?’” I repeated. ‘Who’d pick—’

The blacksmith’s face soured.

Val smiled at me, pointing to the orc as if to say “Him. He would pick that.”

‘You have problem? Maybe you have other source of information, hmm?’

I held up my hands in the air, palms facing forward—in surrender.

‘I cut long story short, yes? Avoid… judgements. I speak to metals. Many metals. A surprising number of them like poetry. And one… one beautiful geode, she is purple in daylight, pink in nighttime, very generous with her affection. I fall in love with.’

‘I—’ I started, but Val threw me a glance that cut me short.

‘Then my brother…’ the blacksmith made a noise that was something like a raspberry, but hindered by his long tusks. Or were they fangs? It felt rude to ask. ‘Borosz. Not good brother. Not in family trade, either. He sell her away. For money? No. Not even for money. For a pony. He is farmer class, yes? And he get ability to speak with animals. He fall—’

‘I don’t think we need to hear where this is going,’ Val cut in. ‘What’s the job?’

‘Steal back geode for me.’

Val slapped her legs, standing up. ‘Great. We can do that. Tell us where it is, and we’ll—’

‘No. I come with. I want Crystal see me as gallant knight. Saving her, yes?’

Val threw her hands in the air. ‘Fine. Makes no odds to me, cos I’m not seeking the affections of a rock.’

‘Geode,’ the blacksmith corrected her.

‘You’re the one who called her a—’ I started, but Val shot me a look.

‘Geode,’ she corrected herself. ‘Where is she, then, this geode? Who are we stealing her from?’

‘From most despicable evil in this land. From people with quick tongue and faster mind. From people who use tools to cast spell over others, make them happy, sad, make them pay up. From people who get rich with not single day of hard work done in their lives.’ The blacksmith paused. ‘We steal Crystal from Bard’s College of Eastern Tundras.’

"Styk"

Level 5 Peasant

Base Stats:

Vitality — 2

Intelligence — 5

Dexterity — 11

Strength — 22

Wisdom — 8

Charisma — 0

Skills:

Knifework — Level 8

Identification — Level 4

Stealth — Level 1

Abilities:

Slice (Knifework) — Slice the enemy for physical damage worth weapon’s base damage and additional damage scaling on [STR].

Stab (Knifework) — Put your weight behind your wielded blade and force the tip through tougher hinds and armour. Damage scales on [STR].

Basic Stealth Attack (Stealth) — Passive. 10% boost to damage when unnoticed by enemy.

Basic Identification (Identification) — Discover basic attributes for a particular object or person. Ability scales with [WIS] + [INT].

Active Effects:

Legacy of Sisyphus:

XP gain increased by +400%