Remicra stood amidst the dimly lit workshop, as dust motes suspended in golden shafts of light danced around her lithe body.
"Are you some sort of an illusion mage?" she demanded. "Do you know how to weave permanent eye-redirecting hexagrams into an object?"
"Nope," her ginger-haired companion responded.
Remicra crossed her arms, her talons clicking together.
"Try to guess what I got these for," Dave said, pointing at the several nets he had crafted earlier from an old rope he had purchased at the market for a mere handful of coppers. Bouquets of thick bushes and flowers he had gathered were now standing in glass vases all around the workshop.
"Nets and flowers..." the dragoness bit her bottom lip. "Your humankin logic eludes me. I thought you got the flowers as decoration."
"I'm not literally going to become invisible," Dave smiled. "I'll paint the armor with green with brown splatters, drape the nets over myself, and attach dry grass and flowers to it. This way, I'll appear more like a rock from a distance, smell more like the forest, and also be more difficult to spot when I'm not moving. It might fool the bugs and let me approach them with far greater ease while keep bigger predators off my back."
"An illusion without illusion magic," the dragoness mused. "It won't work against a clever enemy, but I suppose it could trick some beasts or insects of the wildlands."
“Want my help?" She added as Dave went to grab some brushes.
"Nah, I got it," Dave shook his head. "While I decorate my hunting outfit, I'd like you to make me this out of bamboo." He extended a parchment to her.
The dragoness grasped the parchment and unfurled it, revealing a meticulously rendered drawing of an arbalest. Her violet-gold eyes studied the design, recognizing its potential.
Dave turned his attention to the act of decorating his armor. He slowly applied the green and brown paint in organic patterns, mimicking the dappled sunlight that filtered through the forest canopy, creating the illusion of dirt and grass upon the plastic surface.
Remicra set to work on the arbalest. With a practiced craftsman's eye, she measured and snapped off the bamboo, her talons and the metal knife flying.
As the hours passed, the armor and arbalest took shape, the former becoming a wearable mimicry of nature, and the latter an instrument of death.
. . .
The next morning, Dave giddily tapped his ID token at a shimmering hexagram of the Adventurers gate.
The rune flashed in confirmation and the guard waved him through the open gate. As he passed through the gate, the guards ogled his questionable armor covered in weeds.
Dave smiled at the guards and then stepped forth into the embrace of the world beyond Shandria.
The fields, a lush tapestry of greens and golds, seemed to breathe life into the land, as reeds swayed gently in the warm, summer breeze. The air was thick with the hum of insects and the distant trills of songbirds.
Peculiar creatures with kitten-like ears and large, round owl-like eyes, frolicked around him, whisking their tails and nipping at each other playfully. The antics of kitten-owls brought a smile to Dave's face. Rays of light cast by the sun pierced through the white clouds above, danced across the rolling hills and the glacier mountains that loomed majestically in the distance, slowly curving up.
Dave embarked upon his long journey towards the mountains, his heart brimming with the thrill of the hunt.
He pulled on his helmet and ventured deeper into the mountains retracing his steps to the area where he was attacked by metal insects over two weeks ago. The terrain around him gradually became steeper and more rugged, the air thinning and carrying the crisp bite of the glaciers above.
Finally, he arrived at his destination, a hidden alcove nestled within the craggy folds of the mountains. The ground was strewn with the detritus of the forest, a carpet of leaves, and twigs that crunched softly beneath his feet. The thrill of the hunt surged within him, as he prepared to lose himself in the dance of predator and prey.
Before embarking any further into the domain of the bugs, Dave took the time to further embellish his armor with fresh leaves, moss, and grasses, creating an ever-changing, living tapestry that clung to his form. The addition of these natural elements not only perfected his camouflage but also melded his scent with that of the forest.
With his preparations complete, Dave began to seek out the technicolor critters.
As he trailed and spotted more of the insects, he refrained from killing any, choosing instead to observe and learn their patterns and behaviors, to understand the intricacies of their existence within this alien ecosystem.
Dave soon discovered that the creatures were extremely opportunistic omnivores, their iridescent exoskeletons housing an array of razor-sharp mandibles capable of cutting through flesh and bone with ease. He witnessed this firsthand when a small group of the bugs converged upon an enormous stag that had wandered too close to their territory.
The stag, a majestic creature with a velvety pelt and sweeping, tree-like antlers covered in violet flowers, was quickly overwhelmed and taken down by the swarm. The bugs worked in unison, their movements synchronized and efficient, as they attacked and brought down the unfortunate beast. The sight both fascinated and repulsed Dave, as he stared at their primal ferocity.
As he crawled closer to the corpse they were devouring, he noted that the insects appeared to lack any semblance of eyes. Instead, their heads and bodies were covered in a foil-like, metallic armor that gleamed with a dazzling array of colors. It soon became evident that these creatures relied solely on their keen sense of smell to navigate the world around them, their olfactory prowess rivaling that of any predator.
He couldn't help but draw comparisons between the bugs and piranhas, as he watched them descend upon a vibrant, unsuspecting bird. With ruthless efficiency, the swarm sliced through the avian's delicate feathers and flesh, leaving nothing but a shower of iridescent plumes in their wake.
Dave deduced that the bugs operated in a manner not unlike bees, gathering sustenance and ferrying it back to a central location. Intrigued, he followed the undulating swarm.
Under the guidance of his spectral companion, he cautiously scaled the craggy mountain slopes. As he ascended, both Dave and Sherlock took note of an unusual pattern that seemed to shear its way across the terrain leading to a serene, curved lake nestled within the mountain’s embrace. The peculiar markings hinted at an ancient, catastrophic event – one that had left its fading signature on the mossy landscape.
With a sense of foreboding, Dave began his descent from the mountain's lofty heights towards the lake. As he approached, he discovered the remains of two ill-fated adventurers, their clothing sliced up and bodies stripped of flesh. With some pragmatism, he collected their identification tags, quest plates and the contents of their bags, transferring the found items to his own satchel.
He switched to his Phantomancy sense and felt their ghosts. The imprints were old and faded, providing only barest whispers of pain and suffering.
Upon reaching the lake, Dave paused to take in the breathtaking view that lay before him.
The cerulean waters stretched out like a mirror, reflecting the infinite curvature overhead. The lake was speckled with islands that seemed to float upon the surface, each a verdant oasis teeming with metal-life. Dave couldn't help but marvel at the peculiar metal-foil trees and flowers that clung tenaciously to these islets, their leaves shimmering like quicksilver in the sunlight.
As he observed the scene, he noticed that the iridescent metal bugs made large, spherical hives within the branches of the foil-trees. The fish that darted through the crystalline depths of the lake bore an uncanny resemblance to the bugs, their scales gleaming with the same metallic hues.
"This could be some sort of a magical contamination," Sherlock mused, a ghostly violin tune flickering like a candle in the wind. “An epicenter of a metal-infecting magical disaster.”
“Am I going to turn into a metal statue if I drink that water?” Dave wondered.
"Uncertain,” Sherlock replied. “Whatever caused the contamination happened long ago, as parts of those islands and the rocks are overgrown with natural moss and grasses.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Dave was about to leave, lamenting his inability to traverse the lake to explore the metal-foil covered islands, when Sherlock halted him with the tense, haunting strains of a violin. His attention drawn back to the lake, Dave peered into its depths and discerned a dark shape lurking beneath the surface. He stepped closer to the water's edge and studied the blue sinkhole and the mysterious object it cradled.
He leaned closer and stilled the waters with his armored hand. Sticking his helmet into the water, the glass lenses allowed him to peer into the dark depths. The object beneath the waves instantly became clearer.
It was a metal ship, its once-proud hull now broken and encrusted with metallic barnacles. As Dave squinted, he could just make out a name etched upon its side: Sangria. The sight of the ship, its fate forever entwined with the lake that had formed from the crater of its impact, stirred a melancholy chord within him.
"Damn," Dave stood up after a bit.
"It was a flying ship," Sherlock's violin sang. "It crashed here long ago. There’s a metal shard, a remnant of it about four steps to the right. You should take it to our blacksmith.”
Dave's attention was drawn to an old metal shard embedded in the ground covered in grasses and roots. It took him considerable effort and time to excavate the shard using a knife that he borrowed from Remicra’s workshop. Carefully, he slid the shard into his backpack, intending to consult the blacksmith about the potential uses for this prize.
Departing from the sinkhole lake, Dave ventured back into the wilds. As the swarming presence of the metal bugs gradually thinned, he sought refuge amidst an outcropping of bushes, their foliage concealing his form. Crouching within this natural sanctuary, his heart pounding with anticipation, he readied his bamboo arbalest.
The first shot went wide, the bamboo arrow slicing through the air with a whisper only to disappear into the underbrush. Undeterred, Dave took a deep breath, steadying himself as he loaded the arbalest once more. He waited until a metal bug sat down on a nearby tree. This time, when he released the string, the arrow found its mark, striking one of the iridescent bugs and pinning it to the tree bark. Success!
The death of their kin seemed to incense the other bugs, their metallic bodies swirling like a storm of living quicksilver as they sought the source of the attack. Dave held his breath, his pulse thundering in his ears, as he waited for the tempest to pass. Eventually, the swarm dispersed, their anger spent, and he seized the opportunity to strike again.
With slow, meticulous precision, he picked off the bugs one by one, his arbalest a silent harbinger of death. The thrill of the hunt coursed through his veins, urging him on. By the time his quiver lay empty, he had brought down around twenty of the metallic creatures.
Having quickly gathered the spoils of his hunt into his bag, Dave retraced his steps, leaving the mysteries of the lake and its metallic denizens behind as he made his way back to Shandria.
The black ring of clouds encircling the city loomed like a void-beacon in the distance, guiding him back home.
. . .
As the evening shadows draped themselves across the land, Dave made his triumphant journey to the gates of Shandria. The city, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun, seemed to welcome his return. A familiar sight greeted him just outside the entrance – the Snail Cafe, a charming little establishment that offered a warm respite from the day's weariness. Folding-style wooden chairs and tables were surrounding the cafe, waiting for customers to fill them.
With a contented sigh, Dave approached the cafe and purchased a tantalizing herbal tea from the dark-haired foxgirl. Seating himself, he turned his attention to the bearded wizard who presided over the snail, as he thought of the derelict he encountered.
"Excuse me," Dave inquired, addressing the emerald-robed mage. "Were there ever any skyships in Shandria?"
"Nay," the wizard shifted uneasily in his seat.
In that moment, the melodic strains of Sherlock's violin filled the air, the ghostly presence noting, "He's nervous about something."
Pressing the wizard further, Dave found himself met with stony silence and stubborn refusal. The atmosphere grew tense, the air thick with unspoken words and things long buried.
It was then that the silver-blue eyed foxgirl intervened, her silken voice cutting through the tension like a knife gliding through satin. "My great-grandmother told me stories of a time before her Divine Shadow spread its dark embrace across this domain," she explained, her tail swishing. "Tales of Shandria from long ago. Back then, the city was ruled by the Duke Lumir under the wings of Empress Saria, the streets were wider, and skyships from distant reaches of Arx docked at the white towers encircling the city. Wizards simply gate in nowadays and walk over from the surrounding fields into the town. Skyships have a lot of magic keeping them afloat. They are seen by the protectorate Shadow akin to an enemy spell and are simply swatted from the sky. When the forces of Lumir knights fell to her Divine Shadow, many of the towers were brought down."
As she spoke, an image began to coalesce in Dave's mind, a tapestry woven from the threads of the past. He could see how the encroaching shadow, like an insidious serpent, circled the city and took it by force long ago, swatting at those who resisted.
"The lighthouse!" Dave thought suddenly, a revelation dawning upon him like the break of day. "It must have been one of the towers where the skyships once docked!"
"A solid hypothesis," Sherlock affirmed.
The echoes of a lost time seemed to reverberate through his mind, stirring the embers of the past and breathing new life into the forgotten memories of a bygone era. Dave's eyes, magnified by Sherlock's talent for spotting detail, panned over the city once more. Shandria was old, but many sections of it were haphazard additions, sitting atop something far greater and more ancient, the stones bigger and more imposing.
The foxgirl smiled at Dave, a glint of curiosity dancing in her silver-blue eyes, as she handed him his tea. She appraised him with a lingering gaze, her eyes drifting over the contours of his armor with practiced scrutiny. "You've moved up in the world. Just a couple of weeks ago, you were wearing the scruffiest outfit. This new material intrigues me; it's neither metal nor leather. The plates neither clink nor rustle as you move."
"It's armor I designed myself," Dave replied, his chest swelling with pride at her interest. The corners of his mouth curved up in a shy grin, revealing the dimples that marked his cheeks. "I call it Bakelite."
"Bakelite," the foxgirl repeated, winding the word around her tongue as if savoring a rare morsel. Her voice, melodic and enchanting, seemed to carry across the cafe with ease. "I like it!"
"I'm planning to sell it," Dave confided, allowing the warmth of the herbal tea to spread through him, filling his senses with its soothing embrace. The aroma of the brew, redolent of a late summer meadow, suddenly brought forth memories of sun-drenched days and the laughter of friends long gone from the world he left behind.
"You can make more?" the girl's eyes lit up, their silver hue shimmering with excitement, as she leaned further out of the window. Her tail swished behind her in anticipation, its soft fur brushing against the rough, white stone of the sill.
Dave nodded, his own enthusiasm growing as he witnessed the foxgirl's keen interest. "Yes, I can definitely make more. It's a pretty versatile, lightweight and durable material."
"I'm Cedez Astra! It's lovely to meet you," the foxgirl introduced herself with a coquettish smile.
Dave couldn't help but feel a little flattered by Cedez's attention. "Nice to meet you."
Cedez's eyes sparkled with glee, the black fur on her ears and cheeks twitching in delight as she leaned closer to Dave. "You must be very skilled!" she purred, quickly running a finger along one of the Bakelite plates on his armor.
Dave felt a blush spread across his cheeks like the glow of a setting sun, as Cedez's finger traced the contours of his armor. Her closeness made his heart beat faster, a rhythm that matched the distant drumming of hooves on cobblestone streets. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm the most skilled craftsman out there, but I do what I can."
Cedez giggled. "Oh, don't be so modest. I'm sure you're much more talented than you let on." She leaned even closer to Dave, her breath hot against his ear. "I like a man who can make things I've never seen before."
"Thanks," Dave smiled.
As Cedez finished teasing Dave, she quickly flitted away to serve other customers.
Her black and silver tail bobbed playfully as she moved, her energetic demeanor infectious. She chatted with each patron as if they were old friends, her wit and charm shining at every turn of conversation.
"Here you go, dear," Cedez said, handing a cup of tea to an elderly dwarf-like man with a long white beard and thick plated armor. "It'll warm you up in no time. And how about a slice of our special Snail Cake?"
The dwarf smiled at her, revealing a set of yellowed teeth that had tasted countless adventures. "You always have the best treats, my dear. I'll take two slices, please."
Cedez rang up the purchase on the till, the sound of clinking coins filling the air. She turned to Dave, who was still sitting at his table, sipping his tea. "So, what brings you to Shandria?" she asked, her silver eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I know everyone who goes in and out of town, and you, my dear, are a mystery yet to be unraveled."
"A giant bat dropped me from the sky," Dave shrugged. "So I decided that I like this town enough to stay here."
"Well, I suppose that's an unconventional way of finding a new home. But I'm glad you're enjoying it here. Shandria has a lot to offer," Cedez said.
Dave nodded, "Yeah, I'm definitely finding that out."
Cedez leaned on the counter, her lithe form draped with the languid grace of a regal feline, and gave him a sly look. "So, have you explored the town? Seen all the sights?"
Dave shrugged, taking another sip of his tea, the warmth of the liquid filling his chest as it spread through his veins. "I've seen a few things here and there. But I haven't had a chance to really dig into everything."
Cedez's silver eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well, in that case, you'll have to let me show you around. I know all the best places!"
Dave raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism creeping into his voice. "Oh, really? And what makes you such an expert on these things?"
Cedez pouted playfully, her lips curved in a moue of mock indignation. "Why, Dave, don't you know? I'm the Sovereign of Shandria. Everyone knows me!"
Dave chuckled, the teasing tone in Cedez's voice making him feel at ease. "You're the queen, huh? I'll keep that in mind."
"You didn't tell her your name, Dave," Sherlock's violin sang in Dave's ear, its notes a playful reprimand. The ex-programmer squinted at the foxgirl dressed as a maid in a dark leather outfit.
"Wait a minute, I never...," the newly minted adventurer muttered, his words trailing off.
"I've asked one of the guards after you left town this morning," Cedez giggled, her laughter a cascade of silver bells. "Miguel was more than willing to talk about you. He thinks you're a necromancer. Are you a necromancer, Dave?"