Chapter Ten: Eoman’s Hammer

“You’re from another world,” said Horon. “Aren’t you?”

Tara weighed her answer. Her mind was in turmoil. The truth, even to her ears, sounded absurd: “I live in another world where your world happens to be one of the best MMOs of all time, and you’re all NPCs.”

If she were in their position, how would she take that kind of news? It would be a shock. Maybe even an insult. If someone called her life, her world some kind of game, she’d be appalled. The best comparison these people would understand in their own terms, would be saying that where she came from, their history was just a storybook that she picked up sometimes to enjoy and imagine what it would be like to be on a real adventure.

“You know what these portents are, don’t you?” asked Horon in the dead silence between them. “They must have some meaning to you.”

“Yes.” Tara couldn’t lie. Not completely. “They tell me I’m on the right path. We’re on the right path. That’s all.”

“And what is the right path?” asked Elita, the tiny gnome resting her wrinkled, three-fingered hands on the table.

“It isn’t always clear,” said Tara. “But you saw it yourselves. Our first step is Wanderer’s Bane.”

“What are you?” asked Wenrik curiously. “Are you even human?”

“I’m human,” said Tara, frowning—and was a little disturbed to see the skepticism in the Borzerk’s raised brows. She could understand his amazement, even if she wished she knew how to satisfy it. It was incredible to her as well that she was actually in the world of Allerion.

“I don’t know how I got here,” she whispered. “One moment I—and then the next—it’s as unreal to me as it is to you. I can’t explain it. All I know is, I wasn’t here and now I am. And if there’s something really wrong, I’d like to help.”

The two men and the gnome exchanged glances. Tara would have liked to know what was behind their shared eye-contact.

“What?” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking," said Wenrik, rising from the table with a slow stretch. “If you are the Hero of Allerion, you’re going to need a lot of help.”

“He’s right,” said Horon. “You wouldn’t survive without us for an hour. Allerion is a wild, dangerous place, more dangerous perhaps than your visions have shown you.” The Fenman straightened, and there was decisiveness in his new posture. “I think I’ve enough spit left for one more adventure. Then retirement, Wenrik. Agreed?”

The Borzerk snorted. “Retirement? For you, you old dog?”

“This old dog wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his days on a farm with a good woman and a few chickens,” said Horon.

“If you think I’m going to be your farm boy, I hate to disappoint you,” said Wenrik, grinning.

Elita threw up her hands in exasperation. “Boys! Enough! We’ll discuss this when it’s time.” She slid off of the bench, the top of her head barely level with Wenrik’s hip. “If we are going to Wanderer’s Bane, we’re going to need provisions for the journey. Sensible provisions, Wenrik,” she added sharply, seeing the Borzerk’s sharp eagerness. “Mead is not sensible.”

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“It is on cold nights when the wind gets in your bones,” said Wenrik.

“Tara,” said the gnome, ignoring him, “you should prepare yourself as well. If you’re going on a journey, you’ll need armor. Real armor. I think you can find something affordable at Eoman’s Hammer. And you might want to look into purchasing some healing poultices from the healer’s next door, if you have any silver left over.”

“Alright,” said Tara.

“We’ll meet here at the sun’s last gold,” said Elita. “Come, let’s not waste time. Once you begin a journey, there’s no chance to go back and purchase what you didn’t think of before.”

“Where will you be?” asked Tara.

“I’ll be at the smith’s,” said Wenrik. “Kaius will make sure my steel sings, in exchange for a few hours’ honest labor. He’s a hard man, but fair.”

“I’ll join you,” said Horon gruffly. “Afterward—”

“No mead or ale, nothing but good clean water in your bellies,” warned Elita.

Tara couldn’t help breaking into a smile at the rebellious looks on the two warriors’ faces.

“Where do you expect us to find clean water in this sewer?” said Wenrik. He strode for the door, calling over his shoulder. “The mead isn’t for our pleasure, Elita, it’s only for our health!”

Complaining under her breath, the gnome took Tara’s hand in hers. “Come with me. I’ll show you the way to the merchant.”

***

Tara was glad that the little gnome was willing to direct her. She didn’t think she could have found the way on her own. As many times as she had visited Regan Harbor in the game, everything looked slightly different in reality. The difference wasn’t displeasing. It was simply more real.

“There,” said Elita, pointing. “You see that building there, with the symbol of the hammer on the sign? That’s Eoman’s store. He doesn’t make the armor—some of it he buys off of Kaius and the rest he bargains for from traveling peddlers. You’ll find no better place for variety.”

Tara couldn’t help being nervous at the idea of going into the shop on her own. “And I come back here afterwards?” she asked.

The gnome seemed aware of her unease. She squeezed Tara’s hand before letting her go. “That’s right, Hero,” she said. Her smile was kind, almost disappearing into the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks. “I like that, you know. Hero. Hurry now, there’s no time to be wasted.”

The gnome’s gentleness encouraged Tara. She straightened her shoulders and stepped straight into horse manure.

“You may need to watch your step,” chuckled the gnome behind her. “There’s a pump by the horse trough, if you’d like to wash your boots off.”

The pump was difficult to use, and Tara grit her teeth at the occasional burst of freezing cold water. Her boots were waterproof but her trousers weren’t invulnerable, and the occasional splash was torture.

When she was finally ready, she made her way to Eoman’s Hammer. She remembered the store from Swords of Allerion, and as irritated as she was her humor improved at the swinging sign with its familiar emblem.

“Welcome, welcome!” called a jolly voice as she entered. “All are welcome to Eoman’s Hammer, the ideal stop for all your adventuring needs.”

The man behind the counter was the last person Tara would have imagined as a seller of armor or weapons, or anything else that might be suitable for a long-term adventure. That is, she would have had difficulty imagining him if she hadn’t seen him before over a hundred times. Eoman Black was a cheerful, plump figure, his red cheeks shining under a shock of red hair. He looked more like the comfortable storekeeper he was than an adventurer.

“Hi,” said Tara, smiling.

“Hi,” repeated Eoman. “An unusual greeting. You must have come far, traveler. May I ask your name?”

“Tara MacQueen,” she replied, going to the counter.

“Borzerk, from the looks of you,” said the merchant. “Have you been far from the Grayscape?”

“I’ve been around,” said Tara. “I’m looking for armor. Is there anything my size?”

The last felt like a sensible question, considering most of the armor sets she saw on display were clearly made for broad shoulders and tall bodies. She was slightly daunted by the grim steel breastplates and iron helms.

“Of course,” said Eoman. “Are you looking for flexibility or defense?”

“Flexibility,” said Tara at once. She was thinking of her battle with Ikor the Skorge. If she had been even a little bit slower, even with her current stats after progressing to level 2, she doubted if she would have ever gotten past him.

Her eye fell on a suit of leather and steel, complete with arm and knee guards. The armor was finely crafted, the design not only protective but also elegant. Tara leaned for a closer look.

“Ah,” said Eoman. “You have a good eye. This is one of our most sought-after pieces.”

“By those who are looking for a swift death,” said a voice behind Tara. “Yes, I recommend it as well. You will die honorably, and be spared the pain of being cheated again.”

Tara turned, startled. She was even more startled, not to say shocked, when she saw who was behind her.