Chapter Twenty-Seven – Crafting & Necromancy

The storeroom was honestly a lifesaver. The first time Tara had played Swords of Allerion, she remembered entering Wanderer’s Bane through the open, main entrance, and regretting it pretty quickly afterwards. While you didn’t have to be particularly high level to complete this dungeon, nonetheless for a beginner it had seemed impossible.

But that perspective changed the minute Tara entered the storeroom. She had had to read a walkthrough to find it, but once she did, that secret room changed everything. Already Tara was reaching for jars and opening baskets, stuffing supplies in her pockets.

“Look! Sulfur,” she exclaimed eagerly. “There’s tar in here somewhere, I know it. We’re going to need those Fire Bombs in the boss fight.”

“What nonsense are you talking about now?” growled Horon. “How can you make anything out of raw materials like these?”

“I’d think it would be simple,” said Elita, who was watching with interest. “Here, Tara, give me what you have and I’ll see if I can craft it together to your liking.”

Tara wasn’t about to argue. She knew how things worked in the game, but here she was almost as mystified as Horon. But gnomes were skilled crafters, and she realized now more than ever how important it had been to take Elita on this quest.

“There,” said the gnome, satisfied. “Fire Bombs. I think you will be able to do some damage with that after all.”

Weapon

Damage

Fire Bomb

Costs the enemy 20 points of strength, +1 fire damage over 5 seconds.

“What else can you find?” asked Elita eagerly. She was interested now that she saw the potential of crafting items that could be useful to them.

“Hmm,” said Tara. “Do we have any of those Bitter Flies left? Here is some Black Root. If we combine those, that makes poison, doesn’t it?”

“Very effective poison,” agreed Elita. “It is an old Borzerk recipe, I believe. Wenrik would be very amused if he were here.”

Potion Name

Damage

Staggering Poison

Costs the enemy +1 damage over 7 seconds.

“These are very good, Tara,” said the gnome appreciatively. “Where did you learn to craft items like these?”

“She is Borzerk,” pointed out Horon, and Tara suspected the Fenman didn’t want to give her visions credit for anything.

Despite what they had been through so far, Horon still didn’t entirely trust Tara’s difference. Tara couldn’t blame him. It was unnerving even for her, these constant reminders that she was the main character in a sequence that had once been a game and now felt like real life. Seeing her objective in Wanderer’s Bane spelled out was reassuring to her, but it was strange to the others, especially to Kell the fey who had only recently joined them.

The fey hadn’t said a word since they had entered the storeroom. He seemed almost paralyzed, rooted to the floor as the others searched. His paralysis reminded Tara of how the Shieldmistress had said he wasn’t even supposed to be here, and that he had been meant to die in the wilderness beyond. Tara might not have been meant to save him, but the choice had been there, and she didn’t regret her decision even if she was admittedly doubtful about its outcome.

“You can help us search,” Tara encouraged the fey. “There must be something you know that can be of use to us.”

Kell shook his head at once. “I—I’m afraid not,” he stammered. He was avoiding looking at Tara. “My people are not known for their wit in potions or weapons.”

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“Come here, Hero,” said Horon suddenly. “This, I believe, will be of far greater use to you than those exploding pinecones and dead flies you play with.”

For once, Horon’s criticism had actual warmth in it. Seeing what he was doing, Tara doubted that warmth was meant for her. The Fenman had found a weapons rack and was admiring a bow.

“I recognize this make,” said Horon. “It is wynterwood. Even a common arrow will be deadly from such a weapon as this.”

Weapon

Abilities

Wynterwood Bow

Base Damage: 25

“These arrows are iron,” said Horon. “Here is a quiver, if you can shoulder it.”

Tara took the bow in her hands. She was almost afraid to. As many characters as she had played, she had certainly specialized in different weapon skillsets. But the bow had always been her favorite. Maybe it had been because of Acalon at first. Now it was purely instinct that made her take the bow gently and test its weight, pulling the string back.

“Is that how they draw bows in your tribe, Tara?” said Elita with a gentle snort of laughter. “It’s a most unusual technique.”

“Let me show you,” said Horon gruffly. The big Fenman could certainly be gruff, but he was almost tender as he took the bow back and demonstrated its use to Tara, notching an arrow and drawing it back smoothly. Tara had never realized in-game Horon’s appreciation for weaponry.

Weapon

Abilities

Common Iron Arrow

Damage: 10

“These aren’t the best,” said Horon. “But with true aim, they’re better than nothing.” He adjusted the quiver on Tara’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” said Tara. For the first time, with that bow in her arm, she felt like an actual warrior.

“What’s that you have there, Kell?” asked Elita suddenly.

For a moment, it seemed that the fey intended to hide whatever he was examining. His unease was obvious even as he tried to smile.

“It’s—an old book, some kind of journal perhaps,” the fey said, offering it to Tara. “Perhaps it is nothing. I couldn’t resist looking, being what I am.”

Tara took the book from him. It was battered and dusty, as if no one had opened it for some time. Even so, she recognized it at once.

“Narion Nightsong’s journal,” she whispered.

“What’s that, Tara?” asked Elita.

“This belongs to Narion Nightsong, the necromancer,” Tara explained. She opened the journal and began to read.

Third Phase of the Moon, 1st Mordanan

What have I done? I scarcely know myself. I look at their miserable, vacant faces and feel that I have accomplished nothing. Yet what could I do?

It was the fairest of mornings when I found them dead. The sun through the trees, the singing birds, were all beauty and grace. And these poor ones, these wandering minstrels all dead. I couldn’t bear it. I know that this magic is forbidden, that I will be forsaken by my people for its use. But could not leave them like that, so silent.

Oh what a fool I was. Have I given up everything, my people, the Summit, for this? They do not sing or speak to me. And it is very dark here, far from the light.

(Turn page)

Third Phase of the Moon, 7th Sollana

I might have gone mad, those early nights. I might have died. I long so desperately for the sun and its warmth. And yet these souls are my responsibility. I think I have found a way to please them.

I have been practicing this art of necromancy. I found it crude at first, but it has its uses with practice. They are speaking to me now, the dead. They make a new kind of music that repulsed me at first, but now it intrigues me. For all music is a thing of wonder and song like this, I have not heard before.

(Turn page)

Fourth Phase of the Moon, 2nd Tasoc

It happened yesterday. The bandits came seeking gold. When they attacked us, I learned for the first time that the dead could be killed anew. I also learned that with the proper direction, they can defend themselves.

The bandits make an interesting addition to our number. Perhaps I will add more?

This could make a fine haven for the dead. But is it really death if they live again?

***

Tara shut the book with a shudder. “Yep. That’s Narion Nightsong. We’re definitely in the right place.”

“What kind of madness possessed him?” asked Horon. “I understand grief, but necromancy does not restore life. The necromanced are shells of what they once were. They may not even remember their own names.”

“Don’t bother trying to understand the ways of elves,” said Elita. “But still, this is a pitiful story. I do not see how we can help anyone here, least of all Berga’s husband, if everyone here is already dead.”

“It can be done, believe it or not,” said Tara grimly. She glanced at the door of the storeroom that led farther into the cave.

She was moving to the door when Kell blocked her suddenly.

“Wait,” he said. “You mustn’t! You—you don’t know what’s out there. None of us do. You could be killed.”

Tara was taken aback less by his impulse than by his obvious unease. The fey’s sallow face was damp with nervous sweat.

“It’s alright,” Tara tried to reassure him. I can’t be killed, she added to herself. And if I do die, the game restarts.

“No,” gasped the fey. “You have no idea! If you know Narion Nightsong, you know that he has grown in strength. What you read in this journal was nothing. That was years ago. He has changed since then—he is wholly insane.”

“How do you know this, Elder-Kin?” asked Elita in a very quiet, flat voice.

Kell stayed where he was. He didn’t look away from Tara. “Please, believe me. Turn back while there is still time.”

Sound beyond the door made them look around together. Footsteps were approaching rapidly from outside.

“Maker, they’ll find us,” moaned the fey, slipping to his knees. He caught Tara’s hand. “Go, run, I beg you. You can still make it. There’s still time.”

There was no time when the door burst open, and Tara found herself face to face with a nightmare.