by M E Robinson
“I feel I can. Tom told me your decent bows were roughly six sricks. I can afford that.”
“Tom told you that? That bastard,” Craig muttered, annoyed that Tom had given Eric the actual price instead of allowing him to take advantage of the otherworlder.
With a small sigh at this loss of free silver, Craig stood up, walking over to the wall where he observed the bowstaves hanging from their hooks. Grabbing one, he observed its length. Looking back at Eric, he measured his height with his eyes, before looking back at the stave and shaking his head. Returning the bow to the wall, he moved over to another wall and took a new stave off its hooks.
Repeating this process a few times, Craig finally selected a bow he was happy with. Taking a bowstring from a shelf nearby, he strung the bow in a quick practiced movement, twanging the string experimentally. With a satisfied nod he brought the bow over to Eric.
“Try that out for a spin,” he directed, handing him an arrow and pointing towards the target in the corner of the shop.
Walking over to the opposite wall, Eric nocked the arrow to the bow, taking aim at the target.
Thwock! The arrow landed a few inches outside the center of the target. Nocking another arrow Eric took a few more shots before looking back at Craig who shook his head.
“Not enough flexibility, too much power,” he muttered, taking the bow from Eric and placing it back on the wall.
Pacing around the shop, Craig grabbed another bow and handed it to Eric, who fired a few arrows at the target. Looking back at Craig, Eric was about to say he’d take it when he saw Craig staring at him thoughtfully.
“I wonder…” Craig murmured, taking the bow from Eric before disappearing into the backroom. When he re-emerged, he was carrying a longbow made of a different coloured wood than the other bows he’d handed Eric before.
“Try this one. It’s made with Yew wood from further north than most of the lumberjacks are willing to go these days. It’s got more flexibility than the oak bows do,” he explained, handing the bow over to Eric.
Thrumming the string between his fingers, Eric nocked a new arrow to the bow and sighted at the target.
Thwock! The arrow buried itself into the middle of the target. Craig grinned and handed him another arrow. Firing a few more arrows into the bullseye, Eric gave a satisfied grin as he looked at the bow.
“I like it,” he told Craig, who appeared to be pretty impressed by Eric’s archery skills.
“Well of course, that’s one of my best normal bows. It also suits your height and figure nearly perfectly. You’re going to need to put on more muscle if you want to use it to its full potential. If you want a better bow than that you’re going to need to pay quite a bit more. Bows made with runewood or bows with runic enchantments are sold in units of gold,” Craig told him.
“Sounds like it might be quite a while before I can afford those,” Eric laughed. “So is it six silver for the bow?”
“Tell you what. Seeing as how you’re my first otherworld customer and seem to be a natural with it, I’ll knock off twenty cirts,” Craig told him.
“Deal,” Eric replied.
“Anything else you need? Or is it just the bow you’re here for?”
“How much would another quiver of arrows cost? I’m down to six stone arrows.”
“Down to six already? You’ve been busy,” Craig observed, “Well stone arrows are only three copper cirts each. Bronze are five cirts. Iron are twelve cirts. There’s a discount if you buy twenty arrows at once though. Knocks a few cirts off the price.”
“What type would you recommend if I wanted to hunt wolves and maybe even goblins?”
“Goblins? Didn’t you just arrive today?” Craig inquired. Eric nodded in response.
“Well, for goblins you’ll probably want iron arrows. For most goblins, stone arrows will work just fine. But they’ll break easily. And for goblins with armour, bronze won’t always be enough to kill them. Iron is the safest bet,” Craig explained.
Looking down at his storage pouch Eric brought up his inventory screen. 8s 6c it read at the bottom. Doing some quick calculations he realized that he would probably need to give up on his dream of getting a new melee weapon right away.
“How much is the discount for a full quiver of iron arrows?”
“Ten cirts.”
“Can you take off an extra four and I’ll return the old bow? I’ve only got 8 sricks and 6 cirts,” Eric explained.
Craig stroked his beard, “I suppose I can. But you’ve got to promise to come here for all your arrows. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been going to Hamour village for Diarmid’s cheaper arrows. Those things are low quality anyways.”
Eric laughed, “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, feeling slightly pained as he handed over all his coins to Craig.
Counting them, Craig grabbed a handful of iron arrows from behind the counter. Checking them quickly to ensure they were straight, he passed them over to Eric who slid them into the quiver at his waist.
[You have received Fine Yew Longbow]
[You have received 20 Fine Goose-feathered Iron Arrows]
Thanking Craig, who just grinned and held up Eric’s coins in response, Eric left the archery shop. Both the bow and the arrows were rated as fine, in contrast to the rough weapons he’d been using up until now. He’d have to ask Jun if the bows and arrows in the shop at Hamour village were also rated fine despite being lower priced, or if Craig had scammed him.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the matter for now; it wasn’t like there were any other archery shops in the village. Whether Craig had scammed him or not didn’t really matter when he didn’t have any other options, Eric reflected wryly.
Making his way towards the northern gate, he brought up his status window.
[Status]
Erick Kystfyr - Level 1
Health: 100/100
Mana: 100/100
Title: None
Weapon: Fine Yew Long Bow (20 Fine Goose-feathered Iron Arrows)
Rough Bronze Dagger
Armour: Reinforced Wool Doublet
Skills: Basic Magic (Arcane, Fire)
Basic Martial Arts (Beginner 5)
Militia Spearmanship
Militia Swordsmanship (Beginner 4)
Basic Archery (Beginner 9)
Basic Herbalism
Basic Speechcraft
Active Skills:
Evasive Shot (Beginner 1)
Sword Technique - Guard (Beginner 3)
Seeing that his skill list had grown substantially, Eric clenched his fist. Despite the growth in his skills list, most of them were still low level and he himself was still level 1. He needed to hurry up and start gaining levels if he wanted to maintain his small lead over other players. Resolving himself to venture deep inside the woods, Eric slipped out through the northern gate, headed once more for Stillwood Forest.
- Chapter Twenty-Seven -
Council Meeting
Hearing the door slam as Eric left the barracks, Alistair reached below his desk and brought up a crystal. Engraved upon the crystal were numerous runic arrays, containing the dimly pulsating light trapped within.
“I’m convening a council meeting, everyone meet at Flen’s hall in five minutes,” Alistair growled into the crystal.
“A council meeting? Now? It’s the middle of the day,” a voice emerged from the crystal in response.
“Yes. There’s a serious threat to the safety of the village. I need all council members to be in attendance. Even you Morningstar.”
“Fine, but you owe me lunch.”
Rolling his eyes, Alistair looked back at the crystal, “What about the rest of you? Everyone good to make it?”
“I’ll meet you guys there. Just let me finish up at the forge,” a different voice spoke up. Following this, several other voices gave their assent before the crystal went silent. Hauling himself to his feet, Alistair sighed, taking a second look at the red-maned wolf pelt at the top of the pile. Grabbing
the pelt, he exited the office, locking the door behind him as he left for Ironspear Hall.
Ironspear Hall was slightly better lit than several hours previously. The enormous wooden table that filled the cavernous main hall was now occupied by a number of different people, including both Flen Ironspear and Tom the Blacksmith.
“Glad you could make it, Alistair, especially considering you’re the one who called this council meeting,” a darkly dressed woman said sarcastically. Her pale skin reflecting the dull torchlight that filled the hall.
“I see you’re still alive, Lucy. I’m surprised you showed up. I would’ve thought you’d be out tormenting faeries or blowing up your lab again,” Alistair responded darkly.
This got a small laugh from what appeared to be a priestess. Dressed in dark brown robes, with her flaming red hair left uncovered, she giggled, “He’s got you there, Lucy.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, “Mind telling me why I had to leave my busy schedule of tormenting faeries and blowing up my lab then? I’m making good progress on a new spell and don’t appreciate the interruption.”
“Now now, Morningstar, I’m sure Captain Alistair has a very good reason to convene the council,” said the only non-human at the table, a slightly portly halfling with a goatee and a bored look on his face.
“Before we get started, would anyone like anything? I was just about to have lunch,” Flen interjected. Several voices instantly clamored for food and drinks and Flen raised his hands, “Alright I’ll grab some tea and I’ll ask Moira to make some extra sandwiches. It shouldn’t be too long.” With that, Flen disappeared. As Alistair took a seat, the council members alternated between chatting with each other and giving him quick glances, like school children sneaking a glance at the teacher when they should be working.
As Flen re-emerged with a tray of drinks and a platter of sandwiches, the mage, Lucy, spoke up again, “So Alistair, what’s all this about? You haven’t called a council meeting since the king cut the militia funding three years ago.”
“I had ta leave Tarn alone wit’ the forge. This better be good,” Tom rumbled. Craig echoed this sentiment.
Flen cleared his throat, “I’m sure Alistair has a good reason to bring us all together, right Alistair?” He asked, giving the militia captain a pointed look.
Alistair nodded, “One of the new otherworlders who joined the militia just brought this back from Stillwood Forest,” he said, throwing the wolf pelt down on the table.
“It’s a red-maned wolf pelt?” Craig the fletcher asked uncertainly, his dark features set in a confused stare.
“I don’t see anything special about it,” Tom agreed, crossing his enormous forearms as he leaned back in his chair.
Ignoring them, Alistair prodded the pelt towards Flen, “You’re the chief. You’ve hunted in Stillwood Forest your entire life. Do you see what’s special about this?”
Grabbing the pelt, Flen looked curiously at it, turning the fur over and over in his hands. Suddenly his face turned pale, looking up at Alistair in horror.
“This isn’t-”
“Aye. It is.”
“We’re in trouble,” Flen said gravely. “Lucy prepare to send a message to Seacove City. Inform them that worg mounts have been spotted in Stillwood Forest for the first time in thirty years.”
The hall was silent, Lucy covered her mouth in shock, while Tom and Craig both looked like they’d just heard their mothers had died.
“Worg riders? In Stillwood Forest? Are you sure, Flen?” Tom asked in a low voice. Flen nodded gravely in response.
“This pelt bears the scars that worg training leaves. See the distinctive white marks beneath the scruff and next to the legs? Those are from the worg harness and the whips. When the wolves are being trained as worgs, their handlers apply violence liberally. This results in mounts that are both subservient to their riders and ferocious to enemies. The riders themselves are considered enemies if they fall off. The worgs will eat their own riders should they appear weak in front of them,” Flen explained.
“But red-maned wolves are fairly weak aren’t they?” The priestess asked in a confused voice, “Shouldn’t we be able to kill them fairly easily?”
“Goblins use wolves like these as scout mounts. Larger wolves are their battle mounts. The presence of red-maned wolves that have been worg’d means that the Northern host is on the move once more,” Alistair warned gravely. “None of you fought in the last war against the Ironfrost King, but his legions are terrifying and extremely well trained for monsters. Worgs would not be seen down here if he was not probing our defences.”
Slamming his fist down on the table, Tom let out an annoyed shout, “Damnit! Why’d it have te be now? With Mos Danreir in the south preparing fer war. And the unrest in the western kingdoms. We don’t even have enough iron te outfit our own men! The kingdom still wants more and now we’ve got some monster king te worry aboot?”
Flen sighed, “Calm yourself, Tom. The king is levying taxes because he foresaw the eventuality of a war between the other kingdoms and Novanalba. Our resources are better used in the hands of highly trained knights and the standing army than in the hands of mostly untrained militia.”
“The militia would be more trained if the stingy ole bastard would give us the funding for it,” Craig muttered. Alistair snorted at this, not refuting the fletcher’s claim. Flen rubbed his temple.
“For now, ramp up the defenses. Tell the militia to be cautious. If the Ironfrost King’s forces really are in the area, then we can’t afford to lose any militia due to carelessness,” he ordered.
“What about the otherworlders? Where do they fit in with all this? It’s hardly a coincidence that they appeared on the same day we receive this news,” Lucy argued.
“The otherworlders were sent by the Gods. Them arriving today is because of the Gods foreseeing that now is our time of need. We must trust them,” the priestess murmured, clasping her hands together.
Flen nodded, “The otherworlders are on our side. At least for now. Use them as scouts and hunters. Ask them to clear out monsters. Alistair, are the funds from the kingdom sufficient to offer rewards for meritorious service?”
Alistair nodded, “We can supply the best with adequate rewards. But for most they’ll have to earn better weapons and equipment the hard way.”
“Alright, make it known that otherworlders who can kill worgs or minions of the Ironfrost King shall be rewarded for their troubles. Those who slay officer rank enemies or above will receive greater rewards. Also post bounties for healing herbs. I fear we shall have a need for them,” Flen said grimly.
“Are we absolutely sure this wasn’t a rogue worg? There was no rider found nearby was there? If we start preparing for war, trade will be heavily impacted,” said the Halfling, speaking up for the first time since the start of the meeting.
“Like I said earlier, worgs are only too keen to eat their riders should they show weakness,” sighed Flen. “I understand that this will cut into your trade, Burgess. But if we don’t prepare now, then this village may not survive the winter.”
Muttering to himself, the halfling Burgess stood down, shooting an angry glare at Flen who ignored him as he continued, “Lucy, send word to each of the surrounding villages after you’re done sending word to Seacove. Maria, ensure that our stores of healing herbs and bandages are secure and ready to be used. Craig, Tom. Both of you continue to make weapons to outfit the militia. Try to ensure that the otherworlders get fair prices. I don’t want one of our own to die because an otherworlder couldn’t afford better weapons,” Flen said, looking hard at Craig who raised his hands in surrender.
“Burgess, see if you can import a few sets of armour. Don’t strain your funds. But I’d like to see if we can convince some otherworlders to set up their homes here. They’re more likely to do so if we can provide items they need. Alistair, I trust you know best of all of us what needs to be done. See to the militia,” Flen ordered. Burgess nodded, scowling as he did so. Alistair
simply looked grim.
“Alright, you’re all dismissed. We can arrange another council meeting once we find out more information,” Flen said heavily.
As the council members stood up to leave, Maria remained seated, her knuckles white as she clasped her hands in prayer.
“The Ironfrost King returns. The nights of the long howls return. May the Gods help us all,” she whispered.
- Chapter Twenty-Eight -
Leveling
Re-entering the forest, Eric retraced his previous route through the forest, headed for the glade. Along the way, he saw signs of other players having passed through recently: dead rabbits, broken branches, footprints, and perhaps the most obvious sign, other players themselves, often in parties of two or three, hunting for Demonic Rabbits, Red-maned Wolves, and whatever other monster crossed their path.
Staring at him with interest as he passed, Eric received a few calls to join others’ parties. But he declined them all, preferring to forge on alone further into the forest. He couldn’t afford to waste time hunting low level monsters anymore. Not if he wanted to level up.
Reaching the glade, Eric looked around. The bodies had vanished, leaving the torn up ground and burned patches of grass as the only reminders of the battle that had raged in this part of the forest. As he listened, the trickling sounds from the brook seemed to fill the glade. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, Eric quickly checked his direction. As soon as he’d seen the map in Alistair’s office, a minimap had appeared in his UI. Unfortunately, unlike Alistair’s map which showed the entirety of Novanalba, Eric’s minimap only revealed areas he had already visited. Double checking that he was still headed north, he dismissed the map, leaving the glade behind as he ventured deeper into the woods.
