Chapter 18

Word spread quickly that the ancienne’s could summon a mana totem. Filo and Arris found this to be a very profitable use of their spells, as every class sought them out to restore mana after the latest dungeon. I’d wanted to give Filo some coin in exchange for letting me refill mine, but she waved the idea away, saying, “It was fun dungeon crawling with you. Let’s just say it’s a thank you.”

“Next time, then?” I said, not wanting to take advantage of her kind words and kind offer.

She just laughed it off. I never got an answer, but I intended to make it fair.

Since we had another dungeon run coming up soon, I decided to hit up the guild post to explore, and deal with inventory. Which led me to discover that the price of mana potions went down by 50% (Due to the anciennes acquiring their mana totem spell). I bought 5 mana potions for 5 silver, and sold the 3 empty bottles I had for a copper per piece.

There was room for me to sprawl my items on a table, so I laid everything out. The pouch of coin I’d looted had 11 pieces. Then I broke the seal on the scroll.

Title: Earth Shake. Mana cost: 15 points. Description: Single use scroll. Inspired by Behemodon activity on the slopes of Killkeerkrush, this scroll will rattle the foundation you stand upon, throwing low level enemies off balance and testing any nearby structures.

I sold the dried flowers to the guild post alchemist, who rolled her eyes at me and slid a copper coin across her counter.

I tried to sell the folded length of fur to the tanner, but he suggested I just pay him to improve my tufted leather vest.

“For 2 silver, it’ll add 1 point of armor rating to the vest,” he said.

“What is it at right now?”

“Ahaha! Not going to be that easy. For a silver per level, I’ll help you identify it.”

He pinched the vest at my shoulder and tsked, after inspecting it.

“Looks like you took a hit by a very dull blade,” he said, poking a finger through the hole of the vest at my shoulder. “I could repair it.”

“How much will that cost?” I said.

“Mmmm… 10 copper.”

I might as well. Best to start improving items as the days go by. “Yea, why not. Would you do that for me? Maybe use some of the fur on these boots as well?”

“I’d be happy to. 4 silver, 10 copper; in advance please,” he said and held out a waiting hand over the counter.”

I paid and stood to the side of the tanner’s booth. While he worked, I absorbed my newest mana crystal.

I was flowing ethereal blue mana from my palms into a growing ring. The circular blue bar was warping ever so slightly and casting reflections of rippling blue across my face, the booths behind me, the floor, and adventurers passing by. I was letting the mana crystal tumble from my hand to the center of the circle. Small fissures were beginning to crack in the crystal as it moved through air with indecision. My mana bar was absorbing point after point of mana. Ethereal tendrils of waving blue mana were flowing with gossamer filaments from crystal to mana bar. With a soundless impact, the mana crystal was imploding in a collapsing cloud of multicolored crystal particles. Then it was no more.

Awesome. 35 mana. Only a few more dungeon runs and I’ll be able to create the 700,000 mana point master gourd that Axthose had engineered. Excellent!

The next day, Pelle and I ate together and caught ourselves up on our latest adventures. We’d eaten a simple breakfast together as we walked, only pausing to embrace the first leaves of autumn to fall.

The trees were swaying in barely a breeze. Oranges, deep purples, bright reds, and crisp yellows were starting to paint the surrounding forests and valleys. A chill was sweeping through the Verglade Beginner’s Guild, and even the sun wore a scarf of silver clouds. Autumn was arriving with footprints of crisp brown leaves, and birds were cavorting between the legs of traveling winds.

“I’ll bet you the price of clothing has already gone up,” Pelle said.

We arrived no later than we expected at the healer’s training building. Garmar was at the door eagerly greeting every one of us.

“Alright,” our trainer said, leaving the door open and making his way down to center stage. “These next few weeks you will be preparing for a level 2 dungeon run. You will all be entering the same dungeon: Yeti at Ice Pik Peaks.”

We all listened with undivided attention. Garmar’s low voice and austere eyes demanded that we understand exactly what we were in for.

“It will be cold. You will end up somewhere in the frozen tundra. Your parties will have 5 members. Death. Will. Mean. Death.”

For a moment, Garmar waited. He let his words lead us into a heavy silence. Someone swallowed, but not another sound disturbed the event.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You are highly encouraged to explore the valley, and crawl through as many level 01 dungeons as you want. Some of them might go dormant from being overrun, but we’ll close those off until they level up once more.”

Garmar went on, a little more at ease, to discuss what moving to a level 02 dungeon would entail. The dungeons may be longer, sometimes days longer, so sustenance will need to be thought out in advance. Respite will need to be thought out in advance.

He’d even suggested we stick with the team we practice dungeon runs with. Maybe even recruit old companions from the start of the season.

“...and if you have any questions, come see me after training, or at any other time of day. In the meantime, let’s move on to your new healing tool to work with this week. Tosin,” he said and gestured with a flat hand to me. I pointed at myself too, and my eyebrows rose.

“You might be the happiest to hear that this week’s healing tool will be flags!”

“Are we picking divine or deity alliances today?” a healer asked.

“Yes, and no,” Garmar said, inspiring a fugue of whispers to ripple through the chamber. While those whispers formed a troubled sea of white noise, Garmar motioned for students to help him carry his desk from off to the side, to center stage. On the desk was a slumped burlap sack. He whipped out a dagger from some mysterious origin, and sliced the burlap open.

Inside were dozens of flags that were promptly distributed to all the healers. I unfolded mine as soon as I got it. The flag was perhaps half a meter by 1 meter. It was grey and the edge was bordered in green latticework. Filling most of the internal space was a gold hammer with wings. On the staff side were two grommets with simple chains.

“Zekaidean’s Anvil. Zekaidean is a Dwarf Legend. Adventurers says that he summons from the stars an anvil forged of starlight. He strikes upon it with a molten, winged hammer. His strikes bring healing to anyone that can hear his forging.”

A student voiced his burning curiosity. “That’s how he saved his best friend? That’s the same dwarf?”

“Yes, Samm. That’s the same dwarf. They thought his best friend was forever lost in the bowels of an abyss. Zekaidean spent nearly 950,000 permanent mana points to create the anvil. His friend was able to follow both the light, and the sounds of Zekaidean’s hammer strikes. That friend was rescued, and lives on today.”

“Son of Felke,” another student said, “must have been scary—getting lost in an abyss.”

“Well,” Garmar said, “I think it was, because that friend is now retired from adventuring. At least they sealed the dungeon.”

“Sealed?” I asked.

“Another lesson,” our trainer said.

Garmar cast his mana ring, uttered something beneath his breath and conjured a simple flagstaff. His mana bar nearly drained to empty. There was only one eyelet on one handle of the flagstaff and he chained Zekaidean’s Anvil to it from one corner.

“Zekaidean’s Anvil!” he said and an insignificant amount of mana flew like stretched clouds to the flag.

The flag snapped back and forth in an unseen, unfelt vicious wind. A blue transparent ghost of an anvil appeared before him on the stage. Above it manifested a blue, transparent ghost of a winged hammer. The air before the anvil wrinkled to form the imperceptible shape of a dwarf laughing. The shape was too brief, and too imperceptible, so it’s form was lost. Then the ghost of the winged hammer struck the anvil and a beautiful chime softly filled the room. A chime that belonged to the voice of ten angels, not metal beating on metal.

“Each chime,” Garmar said between strikes, “Is worth… ...2 points… ...of healing… ...and goes on… … for 15… strikes.”

The strikes fulfilled their 15 count, and the flag stopped flapping. It hung and swayed before the conjured staff disintegrated like a dying mirage.

“Before you leave, I have some quick words regarding flags. Each flag is an extension of a legend, a divine, a demi-deity, or a deity. The flags and articles you equip will define your relations with travelers, adventurers, kingdoms, monsters, etcetera. You must be careful with your alignments. Some can forever tarnish your reputation. Some can disturb your soul.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” one of the more soft-spoken of us said. “So we’re aligning ourselves to Zekaidean? Is that good or bad?”

“That’s for you to find out,” Garmar said, and closed discussion to work one on one with healers requiring his attention.

The first thing I did when we were outside was chain the flag to two eyelets. I was careful not to chain them to the same one that kept Five of Gryf fastened.

“Getting quite a collection there,” Pelle said, folding her flag back up and stuffing it in a shoulder bag that hung to her hip.

“Imagine if I had a hundred,” I said with a small chuckle.

“Your party would lose you in the first gust of wind.”

That notion opened my eyes a bit. I’d been on some windy dungeon crawls so far. If I wasn’t strong enough to wield a decorated flagstaff, then I needed to do something about that, and fast.

“You just made me think of something,” I said. “I’m gonna head over to the armory, I’ll catch you later alright?”

In moments I was almost running to the armory. I burst through the doors and stumbled into bewildered and frightened adventures. Nearly all of them reached for a weapon before realizing I wasn’t some monster attacking.

“Sorry!” I said, and made my way through the crowd.

I spoke with a few unoccupied trainers until I was eventually led to the expert flagstaff resident: Moran.

“I’ve heard of you Tosin,” he said. “Was wondering when you’d come find me. I’m guessing you're here for some training?”

“Yea, that would much be appreciated.”

Moran had us walk through the guild grounds until coming to a court garden. We chatted as we walked and I enjoyed his optimistic and jolly disposition. He was a patient man and looked forward to working with me throughout these next few years.

We wasted no time and began training immediately. I was made to practice jabbing with the head of the flagstaff pole. I aimed for Maron’s outstretched hand repeatedly.

“Without a spearhead, your enemy’s strikes may shred your articles to pieces. Also, be wary of fire and water.”

“Why water?” I said.

“Water adds a tremendous amount of weight to cloth. Judging by the muscles on you, my boy, you’ll be a sailing item in a strong wind before you know it. Or you’ll lose your grip and wave bye-bye to your flagstaff as it sails to Felke’s end.”

I said nothing, keeping my energy for the relentless and repetitive practice. Moran said nothing until the sun made the first steps of a maroon descent.

“Very good,” Moran said after that last endless hour of jabbing. I was sweating, and muscles were trembling. “I’m going to add this chain to your flagstaff.”

From a hefty bag, he brought out a length of thick chain. He clipped it onto one of two remaining eyelets. I huffed and puffed, struggling to keep my flagstaff from falling over. Meanwhile, Moran laughed hysterically.

“You’ll keep this chain until I say so.”

“How can I even walk with this?” I said, exasperated.

“You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright.”