by M E Robinson
“Right. The forums have been talking about that too. Now that we know why players got teleported based on their region in real life, the forums have latched on to whispers and death penalties as the big topics to complain about. A few hours ago, there was a post from someone who claimed to have unlocked the whisper system. He didn’t give too many details, but a few other people have confirmed that there is indeed a whisper system in game. No proof though and Hurricane is staying quiet on this topic,” Mark explained.
“As long as one exists and can be unlocked without too much hassle. It really sucks not being able to communicate. They could at least allow Strife chat while players unlock the whisper system,” Eric groused.
Griffin laughed. “You just love to complain.”
“Like you’re any different,” Eric replied, rolling his eyes in response.
“Yeah yeah. You’re both a pair of equally whiny little princesses. Anyways, where’s the forge? I need to get my mace repaired and Griffin’s shield took a bruising on our way here,” asked Mark.
“It’s just over there,” Eric replied, ignoring Mark’s comment as he pointed to the column of smoke that could be seen rising from Tom’s forge in the distance. “Here, follow me. I’ll lead the way.”
Leading the way through the village, Eric, Mark and Griffin continued chatting about the recent forum topics and sharing their complaints.
“I’m just saying, if Hurricane shared their timeline for when players would unlock certain features there would be less complaints,” said Griffin, shooting a nod at a player who danced around the trio.
“It’s partly a marketing thing, right? The game sites pick up on these complaints and talk about the game. Then Hurricane gets to look good when they address them,” said Mark after a second.
“Sounds about right. Why pay for just one round of marketing before the game launches when you can get a second round completely free and extend the time that people talk about the game. Even my parents have been talking about the game, and it’s not like either of them are gamers,” Eric added. “They’re basically just making sure that Fate stays in the news for as long as possible.”
Griffin nodded. “I just wish it wasn’t at the expense of the players.”
“It’s pretty fun though, isn’t it? When was the last time you got to play a game without knowing anything going in? It’s like we’re actual explorers, discovering things for the first time,” Eric said with a slightly dreamy expression on his face.
Mark grinned. “You just wanna be an explorer like Leif Erikson or James Cook.”
“Only without the scurvy, plagues, or lack of air conditioning and wi-fi,” Eric replied. “Oh right. Speaking of history, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you guys get your acceptance letters yet?”
“I got mine. We’re rooming together after all,” said Griffin.
“Right on!” Eric laughed, giving Griffin a fist bump. “What about you, Mark?”
“I got accepted to a few places. But I’m not going to University. I’ve decided to take a gap year.”
“Oh yeah?” Griffin reacted with a surprised look.
“Yeah why’s that?” Eric asked curiously.
“I just wanna have fun for a bit without having to go to school. Me and Blake are planning on travelling across Canada sometime this year. I might go back to school after. Or I could go grab a job at the wood mill. My cousin’s a foreman there,” Mark explained.
Eric and Griffin nodded at this.
“Honestly, it kind of suits you,” said Griffin, “I just couldn’t see you in a University classroom.”
Mark laughed. “We’ll see. Who knows, maybe I will go. I still have time to accept.”
Chatting about their future plans, the trio made their way through the streets of Tonbura village. “Oh right,”Eric spoke up as they passed a familiar house. “Turn here. the smithy is just ahead.”
Before long, the group found themselves standing in front of Tom’s smithy. The man himself was just taking a break, standing in front of the forge, a pipe in his mouth emitting a faint aroma of burning herbs that invaded their nostrils, clashing with the acrid smell of burning metal that pervaded the smithy.
“Hey Tom. We’re not bothering you, are we?” Eric asked cheerfully, greeting the blacksmith.
Seeing the half-elf, Tom groaned, “Ye haven’t broken your weapon again already have ye? I jus’ fixed that!”
Eric shook his head. “No worries. It’s still good as new,” he reported, drawing the sword and presenting it to Tom as proof.
Inspecting the blade, Tom nodded. “I’d prefer if ye’d keep it that way. Well if ye aren’t here fer a new blade, what’re ye here fer?”
“My friends just arrived in Tonbura after hearing news that the best blacksmith around resided here. They were hoping you could take a look at their gear,” Eric replied, the flattery rolling off his tongue as Mark and Griffin exchanged strange looks behind his back.
Tom’s face brightened upon hearing this. “Aye? Well tis certainly true that me wares are better than any of the hacks that ye’ll find in the other villages nearby. Come come, let me see yer weapons.”
Unclipping his mace from his belt, Mark walked forward, handing the weapon to Tom. Griffin followed his lead, unhooking his shield from his back and holding it while Tom inspected Mark’s mace.
“Ye’ve been giving this one some decent use,” he commented, looking at the small dents and chips in the iron. “I’d recommend buying a new one entirely ta be honest. No’ saying that as a seller, but as a professional. This weapon’s already been repaired to its limit, but the damage to the underlying metal is pretty severe. I can repair it, but it’ll cost ye almost as much as a new weapon made with better materials.”
Handing the mace back to Mark, Tom looked at Griffin, admiring the enormous muscles which nearly rivaled his own that bulged from the half-orc’s exposed biceps. “A half-orc, eh? Ever thought of working in a forge?”
With a surprised look, Griffin shook his head, handing his bracers to Tom as he did so.
“Really? I think ye’d be suited fer it. I’ve already got one otherworlder apprentice but I certainly wouldn’t mind another. Come see me if ye ever change yer mind,” said Tom, pointing to a figure hunched over the whetstone at the back of the forge itself. Craning his neck to see, Eric felt a shiver run down his spine as his green eyes met a mismatched pair of gold and violet ones.
Seeing Eric, Seryllia’s gaze turned cold, scraping the blade of the axe she was sharpening against the whetstone with much more force than was required, causing a shower of sparks to fly as she glared at the half-elf. Reverting his gaze, Eric looked back to Tom who just had finished inspecting Griffin’s armour and now turned his gaze to the shield.
“Ah, now this is a much higher quality item. If I’m not mistaken, ye got it from the militia rather than a village blacksmith aye?”
“Uh yes. It was a reward for defeating a dangerous pack of wolves near Vinbera village.”
“Ah, Captain Melvin must’ve given it to ya then. Vinbera. That explains the poor workmanship of yer mace. Ye got it from the village smith aye?” Tom asked, directing his question to Mark.
“Yeah. I bought it off him for a few silver.”
“Ptew,” Tom spat. “Connor is a hack and a disgrace to blacksmiths. Tell ye what, I’ll actually charge ye less if ye buy a new mace. Just because ya deserve ta use an actual weapon.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take you up on that offer,” Mark said before pausing. “Only…”
“Only what, boy?”
“Well I need to save some money to learn healing magic. Do you know how much that will cost?”
“Maria at the chapel will teach you for free if ye just agree to help her out with some chores. Ye don’t need to worry about paying for divine magic,” Tom said dismissively.
“Alright, in that case it’s a deal.”
“Good! Now as for you,” Tom said, turning back to Griffin. “Yer shield is good. Captain
Melvin must’ve taken a shining to ya, because this is one of the shields he would’ve received before tha material shortage. I can fix it fairly easily, it’ll only cost ya a Srick and a few Cirts.”
Nodding gratefully, Griffin paid the smith, who set to work eagerly, fired up at the sight of working on a quality item for the first time in days. As Tom worked, Griffin and Mark shot strange glances at the elf working in the corner of the smithy, alternating their gazes between her and Eric. Ignoring the pair, Seryllia continued to glare at Eric who just looked at the sky innocently.
“How do you know her?” Mark whispered, nudging Eric in the ribs to get his attention.
“Remember the chick I told you guys about? The one I fought and then invited to try out for us?”
“Yeah?”
“That may or may not be her,” said Eric awkwardly.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “And by that you mean that’s the girl who still probably wants you dead?”
“Yuuuuuup.”
“Well don’t just stand there. Go talk to her. At least try and see if you can make her not want to kill you. I know that’s a tough task for you but it’s for the benefit of the team.”
With a small sigh, Eric slumped his shoulders. Turning, he glanced at Mark who gave him a steely look which told him that he was serious about the matter. Dragging his feet, Eric approached the elf whose glare only intensified as he approached.
“Hey. Been awhile,” Eric said, mustering as much joviality as he could manage.
“Oh, so you recognize me now. Glad you didn’t forget the person you used for target practice,” Seryllia responded venomously. Eric winced. Did all women want to kill men? Or was it just the ones he knew, he wondered to himself as he groped for words to continue the conversation.
“Did I use you for target practice? I seem to remember being used as a piece of wood on a lumberjack stand myself. Maybe my memory’s just bad though,” he retorted.
Seryllia snorted at this. “Sure seems like it, since you just spent the last five minutes staring at me. I suppose I should be glad that you at least have the balls to approach after that. I wasn’t sure if you’d even have the decency to do that.”
“Hey. You didn’t exactly make a great first impression you know. For your information, I have met plenty of people in Fate who haven’t tried to kill me upon our first meeting,” Eric informed her, only half lying.
Giving him a disbelieving stare, Seryllia continued to sharpen the battle axe, grinding it against the whetstone to produce a razor sharp edge.
“What? It’s true. Not everyone wants to kill me you know,” Eric reiterated, earning him a short bark of laughter from the elf.
This isn’t going too well, Eric thought glumly to himself. So far, all he’d managed to accomplish was making her even angrier with his reluctance to approach her. Watching her work the whetstone, he decided to try a different approach. “So you’re a blacksmith's apprentice now? That’s pretty cool. Learn anything useful so far?”
“Just how to sharpen weapons so that they kill the things they hit,” Serylia responded sharply.
“Oh. That sounds. Useful…” said Eric, trailing off as he realized what the thing she was referring to probably was.
“Is Tom a good master? I’ve been looking to learn a profession myself. Not sure if I want to learn blacksmithing, fletching, or something else.”
“He’s great. Treats me well, pays me for my work. And he’s promised to make sure that anyone harassing me will be denied service,” Seryllia responded. Eric paled at this, if he lost access to the smithy then he would have no way of repairing his weapons. While he was trying to learn magic, that didn’t mean he wanted to abandon melee fighting.
Seeing his reaction, Seryllia grinned. “Just kidding. But don’t test me. He likes me quite a bit. He’d probably seriously consider it.”
“Noted. Have you considered my offer from last time? Trying out for our team?” Eric asked. Relieved that they were at last having a semi-normal conversation.
“Nope. I told you already. I play solo. If you need help with something and have enough coin, I might consider it. But I’m not your friend and I’m not joining your team.”
“Well technically you are my friend,” Eric said slowly, miming the action of adding a friend to the friends list.
Seryllia’s only response was to flip over the axe she was sharpening, pressing the other side of the axehead to the whetstone. Eric watched nervously as she finished sharpening the axehead, admiring her work before hooking the battleaxe into a sling on her back.
Seeing his expression, Seryllia gave him a feral grin. “Oh yeah. I’ve got a new weapon now. Want a closer look?”
Fortunately, Eric was saved from having to respond by Tom. After a few minutes of hammering, the shield had been returned to Griffin as good as new, with a fresh shine upon the boss which had been polished to a mirror like surface by the smith. Admiring the work, Griffin tossed the smith another handful of Cirts in thanks which got an appreciative grin out of the man. Using the shield as a pretense, Eric gave Seryllia a quick wave goodbye and fled back to the group, pretending to admire Griffin’s shield as Seryllia’s gaze bored holes in his back.
After Mark purchased a brand new iron mace from Tom, the group left the happy blacksmith with directions on how to get to the church for Mark’s healing spells. Waving goodbye, the party set off once more, headed for Tonbura village’s only chapel.
“So what was that about?” asked Griffin once the forge was in the background.
Mark laughed. “Remember that berserker chick that almost killed Eric? The one he invited to join us?”
“Yeah why?”
“That was her.”
Griffin’s head whipped around so fast that Eric could have sworn it was on a swivel as he stared towards him. In response to Griffin’s burning gaze, Eric nodded to confirm Mark’s statement.
“So that’s the girl who nearly messed you up?” Griffin asked.
“Yup. That’s Seryllia.”
“How did the conversation go?” Mark asked, the grin on his face showing that he was enjoying this.
“Well, she didn’t try to kill me this time. Just made a few death threats. So it seems like we’re making progress.”
“Yeah at this rate, only a few more meetings and you’ll be married,” Griffin remarked dryly.
“Don’t even joke about that. She might seriously try to kill me the next time I see her,” Eric replied. Laughing at his misfortune, the three navigated their way through the village towards the chapel.
The chapel in question was a well-kept, two-story building done in the style of a medieval church. With walls of stone, a sloped roof, and a steeple with a strange insignia at its peak, the chapel presented a charming appearance that complemented the sleepy village.
“It’s a nice place,” Griffin commented as the trio approached the door.
“So is the forest, and there’s loot and experience to be had there,” Mark replied.
“I mean. We could probably get loot and experience here if we really tried…” said Eric. Seeing the confused looks of his friends, he continued, “We’ve just got to pretend we’re vikings.”
Griffin paled at this. “Can we not joke about slaughtering and pillaging the NPCs?” he hissed.
“I mean it could work…” Mark began slowly, exchanging a wink with Eric as Griffin’s face began to contort in panic. Breaking into laughter, Eric and Mark nearly cried, tears of mirth streaming down their faces as they watched Griffin’s expression go from panicked to exasperated.
“Sometimes, I don’t know why I stick around with you guys,” he informed them tiredly, striding forward to open the chapel door. Grinning at each other, Eric and Mark made to follow their friend, heading through the large double wooden doors and into the chapel itself.
The interior of the chapel was as charming as the exterior. Large windows on both walls allowed the light to illuminate the pews where a few villagers were currently seate
d, their hands clasped together in prayer. A confessional booth off to the side lay empty, a bored looking servant dusting the sides without much vigor. A massive circular stained glass window at the far end of the church shone a multicoloured light over the pulpit, beside which stood an unused harp with faintly glowing strings. On the other side of the pulpit was a desk covered with a white cloth. Various implements occupied the desk, behind which sat a woman looking over some papers, her face scrunched up in a frustrated expression that Eric found to be equal parts concerning and adorable.
As the party made their way up the aisle, the woman looked up from her papers, a huge smile blossoming on her face as she beheld the newcomers. Standing up, she accidentally knocked over the stack of papers she’d been working on, causing a panicked expression to appear on her face. Okay, now that is a one hundred percent adorable look, Eric thought to himself as he jumped up the stairs to the pulpit, bending down to help her pick up the papers. Making their way over, Griffin and Mark began to help as well, the four of them making quick work of the scattered papers.
As Eric handed her the last paper, the woman’s face broke into a radiant smile. Now that he was closer, Eric could see that the woman was actually fairly young - in her late twenties at the latest, with red hair, dimples, and blue eyes. She was wearing a nondescript gown in the style of English monks, the threadbare garment seemingly a little too large for her as the hem swept against the floor. Her hair was tied in a neat bun with a few stray wisps of hair floating down over her eyes. Sweeping these strands out of her face, the woman looked at the party happily.
“Hello! Welcome to the church of Leralitas, Goddess of Generosity. I’m the head priestess, Maria. Have you come to receive the blessing of Leralitas?”
Stepping forward, Mark spoke up, “Hi. I’m Mark, I was hoping to learn a healing spell, and Tom told me that here at the church of Leralitas was where I could learn to become the one who takes care of my wounded allies.”
Hearing this, Maria’s eyes shone. “That’s such a noble and selfless reason to learn the divine spells. Leralitas is the patron of the generous and the selfless - she would never turn away one with such altruistic reasons. I will gladly teach you a healing spell. All that I ask is that you use it to help those in need, and not to ask for compensation in return.”
