Chapter Eleven: The Arming of the Hero
Neither Tara nor the merchant had heard the newcomer enter. He was tall, dressed in skirted leather armor not unlike the suit Tara had shown interest in. But this material was far from elegant. The man’s breastplate was scarred and beaten, and the bracers fitted over his lean forearms were dull with wear. Over his left shoulder curved a bow made of seasoned dark wood, the kind favored by dragon riders known as Flight Folk, the Skor.
Character Class
Class Details
Base Stats
Dragon Rider / Skor / Flight Folk
A human race from the high mountains of Skorcrest. While other peoples feared the mighty dragons who nest in the peaks of the mountains, the Skor are a scarce and reckless people who relish the danger of befriending these creatures. Once befriended, a dragon can prove a powerful, lifelong companion.
Stamina: 120
Strength: 120
Intelligence: 110
Dexterity: 200
Magic: 50
Special Skill: Dragon song - a dragon rider can call even a feral dragon with their mind, causing massive destruction to their enemies and friends alike. Cost: -50 magic.
His face was wrapped in the loose cloth covering worn by most dragon riders. The covering was meant to protect his nose and mouth from the brunt of the harsh winds that followed the flight of a dragon, and allow the rider to breathe. Above the covering gleamed a pair of dark stone eyes, shaded by the suggestion of dark hair. A narrow cap was buckled under his chin.
It wasn’t all this that necessarily caught Tara off-guard. She’d seen a lot of warriors since they had docked in Regan, travelers, misfits, jugglers, and laborers. It was all new to her (and at the same time, not quite). But it was the truly familiar things that hit her the hardest, and there was no mistaking the dragon rider’s light, almost rasping voice, and that challenging gaze that was ready to scorn any opposition.
“Acalon,” breathed Tara without thinking.
At once, those gleaming eyes sharpened to razor narrowness. “What?”
Tara could have kicked herself. Instead of being embarrassed, she was terrified. The last thing she wanted was to antagonize Acalon at the very start of her quest. After multiple playthroughs of the various questlines associated with the dragon rider, Tara had learned that he was predisposed to suspicion due to his harsh upbringing. An indomitable warrior with an acid tongue, it was too easy to become Acalon’s enemy, and a master-level dare to become his friend. If more-than-friends was your goal, it was like walking on a tightrope over live coals.
But it’s worth it, thought Tara, heat creeping into her cheeks. That moment on Twin’s Eye Summit, if you’ve managed to hit max loyalty with him—that was the moment Tara felt as if she had truly accomplished something. That was when he turned to her not just as companion or a friend, but as someone who could be trusted with the heart he shared with no one.
These were the thoughts that flew through Tara’s mind with blinding speed as Acalon’s cold gaze refused to leave her. Why, oh why had she said his name? He didn’t know her yet, even if she knew him. Any suggestion of past familiarity would instantly put Acalon on guard.
“Nothing,” said Tara quickly, hoping he would only imagine he had heard her say his name. “What do you mean? Is this armor bad?”
“Of course it isn’t!” interrupted Eoman, spluttering. “I beg your pardon! Acalon, I respect your opinions, but this is too much. My wares are never anything less than serviceable.”
The dragon rider strode forward to inspect the armor better.
“I think it would be serviceable for a runner delivering messages between cities and holds, who valued lightness over defense,” said Acalon. “Or even for a warrior whose skill with weaponry could compensate for the lack in defense. This is not the armor for someone who has not been truly tested in the field, or who intends to stand and fight a stronger foe.”
“It’s armor worn by the Shadowken of the Crystal Keep,” explained Eoman. “There’s nothing like it in all the realm. Please, milady, take a closer look.”
Armor Category
Type
Skill Requirement
Stats
Shadowken Light Armor
Body Armor
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Magic: 300
Defense: +20 Strength
Enchantment: +50 Magic
Weight: 15
Shadowken Light Armor
Arm Brace
Magic: 100
Defense: +5 Strength
Weight: 5
Shadowken Light Armor
Leg Guards
Magic: 100
Defense: +5 Strength
Weight: 7
Shadowken Light Armor
Shoes
Magic: 50
Defense: +5 Strength
Enchantment: +20 magic
Weight: 4
“It’s incredible,” said Tara quietly. "It must be a huge bonus to the elves."
“For only twenty silver pieces, it’s yours,” urged Eoman generously.
“Even if I could afford it, it’s no use to me,” said Tara. “I can manage the carry weight, but I don’t have that kind of skill in magic. I’m Borzerk.”
The merchant was visibly disappointed. “Some Borzerk have become formidable enchanters,” he said. “But I see what you mean.”
“There must be something else,” Tara suggested. She turned to Acalon. “What would you suggest? Something more suited to my skills? And cheaper?”
She added the last because although her share of the loot from the slave ship had seemed generous at first, she was beginning to see that it wasn’t a practical way of making a living. A new set of armor alone would probably wipe out all she had earned.
“You want to know what I would purchase?” asked the Skor, his voice dry. “If you are willing to hear my advice, this is what I will give. Go back home. The wilds of the Grayscape are no place for untrained hands. And you don’t have the look of a warrior.”
Another person might have been discouraged or even angry at the remark. But Tara’s heart leaped at words she had heard not once, but several times in her game. She was on the right path again.
“You don’t think I’m a warrior, then?” she said. “What if I told you I managed to defeat a troll with nothing but this sword and a torch?”
“I wouldn’t believe you,” said Acalon, and there was the rise in his chin. This was a challenge.
Tara turned back to the merchant, whose face was equally baffled and eager. “I’m sure you’ve served many warriors in your day, Master Eoman. Whatever you think suits me best, that’s what I will take.”
“Excellent!” said the merchant, clapping his hands.
“No.” Acalon’s rasping voice cut between them. Tara wished she could see his face behind his covering, but even with only his eyes to read, she knew he was annoyed. “If you are determined to die at the hands of some ogre or necromancer, then take this.”
He was pointing to another suit of armor close by.
Armor Category
Type
Skill Requirement
Stats
Helm of the Schemer
Body Armor
Strength: 100
Defense: +10 Strength
Additional: +10 Dexterity
Enchantment: +5 Poison damage
Weight: 25
Helm of the Schemer
Belt
Strength: 40
Defense: +5 Dexterity
Weight: 2
Helm of the Schemer
Trousers
Strength: 80
Defense: +20 Dexterity
Weight: 10
Helm of the Schemer
Boots
Strength: 50
Defense: +10 Dexterity
Enchantment: 2% ability to sneak up on enemies without being detected
Weight: 12
“You fulfill all the requirements for this armor set,” said Acalon. “If you are looking for protection as well as a boost in your attack, this is what you should take. Together, these pieces are collectively known as the Helm of the Schemer. They were forged by people of your kind for service in raiding parties against my homeland, and across the Grayscape.”
There was a slight edge to his voice. Tara noticed it but didn’t rise to his provocation. She admired the armor’s dull, black-steel sheen.
“It’s a perfect size for you,” encouraged Eoman. “Acalon is right. This suit is ideal for a young adventurer.”
“I’ll take it,” said Tara. She glanced at Acalon. “Thank you.”
He offered a stiff bow. “Now if your business is finished, I’d like to proceed with mine. Eoman, Fenryx seems to have a particular taste for your spineless fish strips. If you have any in stock, I can offer full price.”
Fenryx, thought Tara, her heart pounding. Fenryx was the great, black dragon that Acalon had befriended on the cliffs of Skorcrest. The bond between the dragon and man was unusually deep, even for one of the Flight Folk. Most of the Skor befriended their dragons through displays of courage or offering them generous amounts of food. But Acalon had disdained any of these methods. He was a dragon himself, in many ways—and it was in his own weakness that he had learned to depend on his dragon, though few knew the truth of it.
No one probably knows except for me, thought Tara uneasily. And I’m not even supposed to know yet!
Eoman was expressing dismay to the dragon rider. “Oh no!” he said. “I sold the last of the spineless fish to Ingra. You know her taste for exotic foods.”
“Spineless fish,” said Tara. “Aren’t those found in the swamplands on the Grayscape?”
“Yes,” said Eoman. “But it’s much too dangerous. There are ogres in the swamps, besides spiders, wyrms, and other dangerous beasts. And that’s not counting the feral people who make their homes there. Barbarians, even worse than the Borzerk—if you’ll excuse me, milady.”
Tara took no offense. She counted out the price for the Helm of the Schemer. “Well, perhaps I can stop by at some point, once I’ve broken my new armor in.”
Acalon’s short laugh was unexpected. “When you come to me with spineless fish skins, adventurer—then, perhaps, I’ll believe you faced a troll.”
Tara held out her hand to him. “Done.”
The dragon rider’s black eyes flicked between her face and her hand. Tara suddenly remembered the embarrassing words that had appeared when she decided to travel to Wanderer’s Bane to recover Berga’s husband’s battle horn, and she took her hand back quickly. The last thing she wanted was for Acalon to witness one of those so-called “portents.”
“Fair winds follow you, Hero of Allerion,” said Acalon, turning to the door.
His salute was mocking. It was not the first time Tara had heard it. When Acalon first spoke those words her in-game, the last thing he believed was that she truly could be a “Hero of Allerion.” And yet she was glad, even so, that he had said it.
“Could you help me with my armor?” she asked Eoman.
“Of course,” said the merchant. “Let me show you how it fits together.”