Chapter 25: Brilliant
TRISTAN
The card from Jamal had said not to hurry, among the other things Tristan tried not to think about. Since it seemed he had some time to kill, he wanted to spend it doing what he did best and decided to look for an anvil.
After closing out his tab at The Agora, which ended up being only what he wanted to tip thanks to Sophie, he'd asked Daphne for directions to the nearest smithy and gotten a rather surprising reply.
“You'll need to see a Steelblood Guild rep over on Smith's Row. They control every anvil in Rockmoor.”
It had sounded like an easy exaggeration, but Tristan quickly realized it was true. The directions scribbled on the bartender's napkin led him to a street that clanged with the familiar sounds of hammers striking metal. Smith's Row, beyond being well named, was the first place Tristan felt he belonged in days. It was a place where no one looked twice at someone his size, and the street was wide enough that he didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone, even with his large traveling bag.
A familiar heat radiated from nearly every building, all marked by wordless signs displaying their wares. The first two blocks were full of shields, bracers, breastplates, and even a few full suits of plate. He felt oddly better about his earlier struggles when he saw only one place showcasing gauntlets. The one thing they all had in common was the glinting silver droplet roughly the size of a fist in the upper right of each sign.
The mark of the Steelblood Guild, no doubt. Let’s see if any of them are interesting.
Tristan kept walking, savoring the sounds and smells he hadn't realized he'd been missing so much. It had been days since he’d last used his hammer. He’d stowed it away in his bag to make the trip easier, but now his fingers were itching to use it again.
In the middle of the second block, Tristan stopped at a display where every piece of armor was pitch black. “MidKnight Plate,” the sign read. Even more fascinating than the color was what happened when Tristan tried to [Identify] any of the items: the skill returned only one line.
[Status blocked]
No matter how many times he tried, he got the same impossible response. He’d never seen a piece of gear block [Identify] before. He used the skill on all five pieces of armor in the shopfront. It was the same result on each.
None of the other shops are doing this. What is this craftsman doing differently? And how?
He decided to try a different approach and walked into the shop, looking for a person to ask. There was no counter or desk, just rows and rows of low shelves covered with the same un-[Identify]-able black armor. At least the rows were spread far enough apart that Tristan’s bag didn’t bump into any of the merchandise. As he walked farther, the clanging of hammers grew markedly louder. It sounded like two smiths were actively working in the back.
“Excuse me,” he called out, stopping before crossing through the forge door. The warmth of the room beyond was intense even for Tristan with his [Heat & Fire Resistance], which made him wonder just how hot it truly was. “I have a question about how you make your armor.”
“Oh, fuck off,” came a shout from within, as another different voice said, “Be nice, it could be a customer!” Then, louder as if yelling specifically to Tristan, “We’re in the back. Just hold on a moment.”
One set of hammer falls ceased as the other continued with its steady rhythm.
Tristan peeked his head in and saw two nearly-identical dwarves working at side-by-side anvils. They had the same build and beard and matched in all ways Tristan noticed--except that the one approaching him was clearly female. She was currently putting on a shirt as she said:
“Oi, if you step in here we aren't responsible for any burns!”
Tristan averted his eyes by turning fully around. “Sorry, I was just--"
“Not a customer,” the man said, loud enough Tristan heard it clearly. “Lookit ‘im: those arms, that sword. He's a smith.”
The woman's response was too quiet for Tristan to hear clearly, though its tone sounded scolding.
He took some comfort in the female dwarf being less hostile and tried again. “Anyway, I was really intrigued by--!"
“The [Identify]-blocker, I bet,” the man interrupted with a snort.
“That’s true,” Tristan confirmed, though he didn't turn back quite yet. He wanted to give the woman a little more time, and he also needed to say something to ease the man’s concerns. “Though as a swordsmith I don't really make armor, so I wouldn't be competition or anything.”
“Now that's true,” the woman remarked, now standing right behind him.
Tristan turned to face her, though she only ended up being about half his height.
She gave the other dwarf a sidelong glance. “He's only level 11, and he’s still carrying a bag half the size of our old place. You remember those days? Cut the kid a break.”
The man grumbled, “Course I remember; ‘twas only a hundred years ago.” He gave Tristan a wary side-eye. “Our forges burned half as hot back then, and we had to fight to beat the competition.”
The woman turned her gaze back to Tristan and beckoned him into the forge. “You say you're a smith. Can you recognize the base material my brother's working there?”
Tristan stepped carefully around her, moving deeper into the sweltering workshop. “That’s a higher level metal than I've ever seen, so I'll guess obsidian?”
The brother stopped his hammer’s rhythm for just one strike as he rolled his eyes at Tristan. “Lucky guess.”
“There’s a lot I've never seen,” Tristan admitted, “but I've spent years learning. I’ve just never even heard of armor like you've got out front. Not even my father worked on stuff that color, unless it was painted after.”
The woman practically choked. “Painted?” She spat out the word as if it offended her. “Where are you from?”
The man chuckled. “His father's shop.”
Tristan locked his jaw for a moment to avoid responding with anything foolish. He hadn't gotten their names yet, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. He only said, “Woodsedge, a couple days ride--”
“Doesn't matter,” the man said, stopping his hammer and pointing it at Tristan. “He's not guilded, Cor.”
Tristan flinched at the rudeness. “Look, I’m brand new to town and all this guild stuff. But maybe you could help me understand instead of just dismissing me. You just did some things I hadn’t seen before, and I thought I’d ask.”
The man’s hammer struck the metal before him with a sound so skilled that it made him feel like he was in his father’s forge. “Obviously.”
The woman shook her head at her brother and chuckled, “You've got good taste, so I'll level with you. Since you aren't part of the Guild, we can't talk shop with you at all. No matter how fresh you are, we can’t tell you a thing.”
Tristan sighed. “So I'd have to join to learn how to do that?”
The woman laughed. “Gods no. We don't share this secret even with them. It's still a competition after all. Look at where you are! Think about why you're in here instead of the next shop down.”
“That makes sense,” Tristan admitted. “I guess I'm just used to less competitiveness. I've only known what it’s like in Woodsedge, which is a small town.”
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The man grunted, clearly unimpressed.
The woman waved him off. “Then let’s see how well you learned the basics. If your fundamentals are solid, you might pick up a few things. And if not, well, it won’t change anything anyways. I’ll give you a minute--yes, a full minute, Gor!” she spoke over her brother’s scoff, “--to watch my brother work. Anything you can learn on your own in that time, well, that’s sound fundamentals. Interested?”
Tristan hesitated slightly. “It’s more than I expected, honestly.”
“And it’s all you’ll get from us,” she agreed. “Starting... now!”
Tristan moved yet another step nearer the dwarf and watched him more carefully. The man was incredibly precise with every blow--even more than his own father. What the dwarf did with one swing would have taken Tristan ten just for general shape, and then another dozen or so to make the edges clean. But what caught Tristan’s eye the most was the metal’s color. He spoke to the woman without bothering to look away. “It's not pitch black yet, so it must be a process, or maybe something added later on.” He continued watching. It was alarming to see how this man and his father did the same things so differently. Their techniques, their approach to the metal, even their tools were as unique as the men themselves.
Right as the dwarf put down his hammer, possibly to manipulate the material in a different way by the look he gave it, he pulled himself back and grunted, “That's enough.”
Tristan’s brow furrowed. “But--Can I see you start the next step at least?"
“No way kid, Gorrek's right,” the woman said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It's time for you to go. Can't just give away the techniques we've developed over decades.”
Tristan nodded, a bit disappointed, but he perked up at one realization. “So does that mean it is a technique and not a skill?”
“Nah,” the man said, now looking at Tristan instead of down at his workspace. “It's the ore.”
“Gorrek,” the woman warned.
Tristan leaned in closer, despite the woman's hand. “What’s so special about the ore?”
The man smirked and raised his eyebrows to his sister. “He asked.”
The woman crossed her arms before her chest, face open and smiling. “Fine. He asked.”
The man looked Tristan square in the eye. “It's ether ore.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Tristan admitted. “What’s it used for? What kind of properties does it have?”
“Oh, you know,” the man said, nodding sagely, “this or that.”
“And it's only the ether ore that turns black like that?” Tristan asked, getting a bit excited. “Thank you! I’ve got some reading to do for sure. What are its properties? Is it only used for armor?"
The man’s stoic facade cracked, and he burst into laughter, practically crying.
At Tristan’s side, the woman joined him, as though a dam had finally burst that was holding their laughter back. “Time to get lost, kid. Gods among us. We've got work to do.”
Tristan tried asking another question, but the woman only pushed him back toward the door, tossing his bag along with him like it weighed nothing at all.
“And don’t come back until you’re in the Guild,” the woman said, waving him away before heading back to the forge, shaking her head. “Blessed ‘ether ore.’”
Tristan stood at the shop’s entrance completely at a loss as to what had happened. At least they told me about the ether ore, and a little about the Guild. He debated trying another shop for more information, but none of them seemed as interesting as the black armor place. And honestly, he wanted to put a little more distance between that shop and himself. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that experience. It had taught him something, sure enough, but it was also a taxing experience.
No reason to let two strange dwarves stop me from learning more. Let’s see what else this city has to offer.
He noticed that the next several blocks were lined with shops whose signs displayed mostly weapons and made his way over. Tristan slowed his pace as he started seeing more and more swords. He examined several, comparing the shapes and styles of the blades, the finesse of various inlays, the forms of the crossguards and the handles, and always keeping an eye out for interesting affixes and enchantments. Each shop presented something different for him to study, but nothing stood out. There were only so many [Sharp] and [Durable] swords he could look at before even he got bored. He felt he was looking for something. He wasn't exactly sure what, but he would know it if he saw it.
Tristan kept walking and studying. Until he stopped at the sixth sword maker’s sign. There were four blades of varying lengths bracketed to the metal display, and all of them were very simple in design. None of the usual flourishes or flairs marked the cross guard, hilt, or pommel. That didn't matter to Tristan though.
Each blade was inscribed with fascinating symbols that radiated a misty white glow.
As he tilted his head to the side and drew closer, a scratchy and very deep voice asked, “See something you like, young man?”
Tristan gingerly tapped one of the glowing white symbols on the displayed greatsword, not taking his eyes off the curious design even as he used [Identify] on it.
[Brilliant Greatsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]
A sturdy, well-crafted greatsword imbued with enchanted runes to bring light to even the darkest shadows with only a thought.
When he examined the property itself, he noticed that the first line was mostly the same wording as in the item’s description.
[Minor Rune: Brilliant] Bring light to even the darkest shadows with only a thought. Emits light of controllable brightness until the blade leaves the user’s grasp.
“Are all of these symbols runes?” he asked, tracing a few with his finger. It almost looked like they were etched into the blade, but that wasn’t quite right. He could feel no difference in the surface of the metal, though it was clear to his eyes that at some point the metal had been removed and something magical had been inlaid instead. And despite the glow they didn't even change the cool temperature of the steel like he thought they might.
“Good eye,” the gruff voice answered. “Yes, we enchant them directly on our weapons before we sell them, and they're what make our blades here at Garrow’s so grand!”
The voice belonged to an old man standing just by Tristan’s elbow. He leaned lightly against the metal display sign, looking nearly as thin as the longsword's handle. The majority of his face was lost to a starkly white beard that must have hung down below his waist, because it currently covered the top blade on the sign completely. The old man smiled contentedly from behind a pair of wiry black eyeglasses.
Just in that first glance, Tristan knew that this man could never have made these blades. He didn't have the build needed for working an anvil. Still, a quick [Identify] accomplished nothing other than revealing that the man was human and tier 3 or higher. Tristan decided to ask the old man some questions anyway.
“Do the runes all work separately, or just in combination?”
The old man shook his head and laughed lightly. “My boy, just because we paid for our independence and don’t have that droplet on our sign, doesn’t mean we’re pushovers. If you want our family secrets, you’ll have to marry into it like everyone else!”
Tristan wanted to back out of that particular conversation point as quickly as possible. He tried to ignore it, turning back to examine the sign instead. Apparently, in his excitement, he’d completely overlooked the absence of the mark of the Steelblood Guild, but somehow he had.
“I understand,” he admitted. “I'm just impressed by these runes. I’ve never seen anything like them before, at least not on swords.” He used [Identify] on the other displayed weapons.
[Brilliant Longsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]
[Brilliant Shortsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]
[Brilliant Dagger (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]
They all shared the same property, but the strings of runes on them weren't identical. That was curious. “I'm not familiar with this type of crafting. And if you’re putting a rune on, why this one? Is it purely decorative, or does it also serve a purpose?”
The old man laughed. “You don't think being decorative is serving a purpose?” He chuckled at seeing Tristan’s lips pull to one side. “I guess that's not so surprising for someone like you.”
Tristan traced the runes on the longsword with his finger before looking over the old man's shoulder into the shop. “Someone like me?”
“Another craftsman,” he said with a grin as he first pointed at Tristan’s bag, then his biceps. “I knew your type before I ever used [Identify]. Though seeing as you’re a fresh swordsmith, it's not surprising you're not well versed in the newest developments in blade enchanting.”
Tristan’s brain immediately took a moment to consider what the old man had just revealed. “Wait, does that mean you can use [Identify] to see Classes?”
The old man smiled back at him. “And I see we’re right back to family secrets again.”
Tristan sighed, glancing past the old man and into the shop where he saw other blades with runes glowing in different colors. “So what kind of other properties are there? Could I see more?”
The old man laughed again, stepping out of Tristan's way and gesturing grandly for him to enter. “Of course, young swordsmith! Though firstly I should tell you that Garrow is the family name. My daughter, the runesmith who enchanted all these fine blades, goes by Temperance. She’s also much too busy today to be able to answer any of your questions. She's got a big commission, you see.”
Tristan tried to hide his disappointment. “I totally get that. My father always has a long queue himself. But maybe you could tell me more about these runes then?”
“That depends entirely on if you start asking questions I’m allowed to answer! I may not craft them, but I know our wares inside and out.” He paused before asking, “How about a tour?”
Tristan nodded and followed the old man into his shop, hoping to somehow learn more about runes than he learned about black armor and ether ore.
Wait, Tristan finally realized. Was that whole ether ore thing a joke? Did they mean it like... Either or? It was a joke. Gods, I’m brilliant.