Vortena

by Neven Iliev

  The actual reason was fairly simple. Although it also allowed it to practise its socialising, Boxxy had honestly just wanted to ride in a carriage. Not only was it a new experience, but being inside a giant box with wheels helped to alleviate the vague sense of agoraphobia it felt as a result of not having its chesty shell.

  As for its familiars, Snack and Arms were following from a safe distance, keeping carefully out of sight. Boxxy didn’t particularly care for this arrangement, as it left it slightly more vulnerable, but sacrifices had to be made for the sake of camouflage.

  “Alright, we’re here,” Mornon informed them as the carriage ground to a halt. “You two might wanna get off and let the guards sign you in.”

  Boxxy and Fizzy did as he suggested and stepped out of the wagon. Around them was a hilly, untamed wilderness of wild shrubs and patches of tall grass, with the odd tree dotting the landscape. A few fenced-off farms and ranches were visible in the distance, and directly in front of the cart was the entrance to a small town called Bootsplit, a primarily dwarven settlement.

  It may have seemed slightly out of place, considering this was the predominantly-human Lodrak Empire, but dwarven settlements like Bootsplit were actually not all that uncommon. Historically speaking, humans had always profited immensely from trade with the dwarven Kingdom of Horkensaft, which lay across the Oculus Sea to the northeast. The good relations meant that there were quite a few dwarven and gnomish immigrants living in the Empire.

  The opposite was also true, although humans living abroad rarely established their own communities, generally preferring to mingle with the native peoples. The same could also be said about the elves, to a certain degree. The only reason ethnically uniform places like Bootsplit even existed was due to cultural differences, as dwarves and gnomes placed great importance on family and heritage, often stating that their loyalty was to their clan first and their country second. The two races were also believed to be closely related, as the slightly-taller and stouter dwarves and the nimbler, more quick-witted gnomes had lived together for millenia.

  Granted, it hadn’t always been a peaceful coexistence, but it was inevitable that they would share certain traditions and beliefs.

  All things considered, Bootsplit wasn’t really that odd. What was odd, however, was how utterly defenceless it appeared, despite its proximity to the Imperial highway. Its perimeter was marked not by a sturdy wall, but a collection of wooden stakes that had been driven into the ground and tied together. It seemed more like a fence intended to keep out troublesome wild animals than a fortification to safeguard the populace against danger.

  The apparently-lackluster defences, however, were simply because they were all the town actually needed. Both the number and Levels of the monsters along the Imperial highway were typically extremely low, as the Empire made every effort to maintain a high level of security around its first-class road. The government often sent patrols to exterminate any monster nests or clear out bandits that may have posed a threat. Their security measures had intensified as of late, which lent credibility to the rumours that the Empire was gearing up for war with the elves to the north. After all, securing supply lines was the most basic of basics when it came to warfare.

  Boxxy and Fizzy walked up to the guards – an intimidating pair of dwarves clad in extra-thick, pitch-black plate armour. Their helmets concealed their faces entirely, save for the braided beards that flowed from underneath their face plates like hairy waterfalls. They carried shields roughly a metre-and-a-half high – almost as tall as themselves – and each had a pair of short-handled war axes strapped to their waists.

  “Who goes there?” the guard on the left called, his voice slightly muffled. “Oh, Moro- *ahem* Mornon, was it?”

  “Yeah, I’m back from my trip to the capital. I picked these folks up on the way back.”

  The guard glanced over at the stupidly-smiling elf and the frowning, gnome-shaped golem, but didn’t appear particularly surprised. Neither, after all, were particularly uncommon sights around Bootsplit. The elven border was relatively nearby, so they often had knife-ears passing through town, and both dwarves and gnomes often used golems for heavy lifting, though that was usually restricted to well-off merchants and nobles. The guards had therefore assumed that the sentient pile of steel was one of those, since she was simply standing quietly by her master’s side rather than running around trying to stab people. Admittedly, using golems was a bit out of character for the tree-huggers, but it was hardly worth raising a fuss over.

  “I see, so that’s how it is,” the guard murmured as he turned around. “Hey Lenny! Get your ass out here, you got work to do!”

  “Oh, you’re free to go in, Mornon,” said the other guard. “We’ll take care of your mates here.”

  He was technically supposed to make the returnee go through an Appraisal along with the others, but he didn’t see the point since everyone knew everyone in the tightly-knit community.

  “Thanks lads. I’ll be going ahead then!”

  The dwarf gave the reins a tug, prompting his limeticks to head through the gap in the fence that appeared to serve as one of the city’s gates.

  “Alright then. What’s your story, lad?” the first guard asked Boxxy.

  “I’m headed north, past the border.”

  “Ah, finally had enough of the humans, eh?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  The guard grinned.

  “Can’t blame you for wanting some time away. I don’t have a problem with ‘em myself, but I get why your folk might have some beef with ‘em. To be honest, I’d much rather live in the capital, but my family decided to move out here for some damned reason. Pops is the head of the household, so what he says goes, you know?”

  “Ugh, tell me about it,” Fizzy rolled her eyes. “People need to listen to their kids more often.”

  “Yeah, I honestly don’t- It can talk?!”

  The guard practically shouted the last part, and his colleague seemed to share in his surprise.

  “Holy fuck! I’ve never seen a golem talk before! This thing must be a really high-class model!”

  “I’ll say! Now that I look at it, doesn’t the steel skin seem particularly sturdy? I mean, I’m no Blacksmith, but I know good metal when I see it!”

  Rather than being distressed or suspicious, however, they actually seemed genuinely impressed.

  “Oh? Well, I suppose even plebeians like you are capable of recognising my greatness.”

  Fizzy was greatly enjoying the attention, so she allowed the guards to continue praising her to their hearts’ content.

  The dwarves continued to remark on the beauty of her steel frame and apparent sturdy construction until a third arrived on the scene. This one was much older, much balder, and dressed in light, clean clothes rather than armour.

  “Oy, Lenny! Check this out!” one of the guards pointed. “A talking golem!”

  “Those exist?!” the newcomer exclaimed.

  “I most certainly do,” Fizzy stated, more than a hint of pride in her voice.

  “Fascinating!” he exclaimed, stroking his waist-length white beard. “I must say, the way your facial expression moves is extremely lifelike! And your torso is so natural and well-detailed it looks more like a wild golem’s than one produced in a workshop. The level of detail around the belly button and the nipples is particularly excellent.”

  “N-nipples?”

  Fizzy looked down at herself. As expected, her rude right hand had begun stripping without her notice yet again. However, she found herself hesitant to cover up. What she felt from their stares and incredulous words wasn’t embarrassment, but a sense of accomplished fulfillment. The golem genuinely felt like leaving her girls permanently exposed might not be such a bad idea. One couldn’t appreciate a work of art if it was covered up, right?

  “Ack! No!” she blurted, hurriedly putting her clothes back on.

  That was dangerous, she had almost become a shameless pervert like a
certain succubus. Besides, running around naked would be an overall inconvenience to Boxxy. While unclothed personal golems weren’t exactly illegal in gnomish and dwarven society, they were generally frowned upon. Especially if they happened to be… anatomically correct.

  “Say, laddie,” Lenny turned towards the elf. “How d’you keep her so shiny? That steel’s lustre makes it seem like she’s practically brand new! Do you use some special oil or cleaning fluid?!”

  “No,” Boxxy answered. “I just lick her.”

  “…”

  The three dwarves stared in stunned silence, attempting to process that particular bit of information along with all of its implications.

  “You… lick her?” Lenny asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Like, with your tongue?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of her?!”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it really that strange?” Fizzy asked. “Using spit to clean stains is a bit crude, but everyone does it now and then. Especially when access to running water is limited.”

  “S-stains?”

  “Oh yeah. I get covered in bodily fluids almost every day, so it’s best to get them off before they dry and get all crusty.”

  All three dwarves silently reached the same conclusion – the elf was a total deviant. They had no idea that the ‘bodily fluids’ Fizzy was referring to were the brains, blood and bile that splattered all over her during a fight. Having her glorious steel frame covered in meatbag juices was not something she particularly enjoyed.

  “Ahem!”

  Lenny cleared his throat, clearly intending to get as far away from the topic as quickly as dwarvenly possible.

  “Now then. I’ll be performing a Basic Appraisal to verify your identity. Any objections?”

  “None,” Boxxy replied with a smile.

  This sort of thing was common practise when entering a town or city for the first time, so it had prepared in advance. Still, this would be the first real test of the fake Status screen that it had created with its Essence Concealment Skill, so Boxxy couldn’t help but feel a bit on edge. It was ready to toss Fizzy into its Storage and make a run for it if something went wrong and its true identity was discovered.

  “Alright, then hold out your right hand and- Wait, when’s the last time you washed it?”

  “Uh… Been on the road so… I don’t know. Does that matter?”

  “Ah… no, I guess not…”

  Lenny somewhat hesitantly grasped the elf’s palm as though they were shaking hands, making a mental note to scrub it down with soap afterwards.

  “Basic Appraisal,” he chanted.

  Unlike a Full Appraisal, which could only be performed once a day, a Basic Appraisal could be done as often as the Scribe wished, although the information gathered was quite incomplete. It was unable to gauge Skills, Attributes or Perks, but that data wasn’t necessary to perform the mandatory security check.

  “Name’s Chester Underwood,” Lenny recited the information scrolling through his head. “Male, elf, aged seventeen. Only Job is Warlock at Level 25. No guild affiliation.”

  He pulled a ledger from the large bag strapped over his shoulder and began to leaf through the pages. After first confirming that ‘Chester Underwood’ was not on the list of wanted criminals, he proceeded to mechanically copy the details onto the paper. Once he was done, he purged the Basic Appraisal’s results from his mind and turned his attention back to the odd visitor.

  “How long will you be staying in town, Mister Underwood?”

  “A few days at most.”

  “Just passing through on your way to the border?”

  “Yes.”

  Lenny wrote down the time and date of Chester’s visit, as well as the visitor’s responses to his questions.

  “And what will you be doing while you’re in town?”

  “Resting and buying supplies for the trip. Might do a few Quests at the Mercenary Guild.”

  That comment caused the dwarf’s quill to come to an abrupt halt, and he stared sternly at the stranger.

  “This is a peaceful and honourable community, son. Those vultures do not have a presence here.”

  “Oh. Never mind then.”

  Lenny scribbled in a few final notes before putting away his ledger.

  “Alright, Mister Underwood, thank you for your cooperation. Enjoy your stay in Bootsplit.”

  “… No Appraisal for the golem?” it couldn’t help but ask.

  “This is your personal golem, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there’s no problem.”

  As far as the law was concerned, personal golems were classified as ‘equipment,’ so unless someone reported one stolen or gone rogue there was no reason to bother. Lenny was awfully curious as to where this youngster might have gotten such a fine piece of steel, but knew better than to pry into an adventurer’s personal background. It was bound to be some embellished, long-winded tale with any unflattering details removed in order to make the person telling it look good. Lenny had heard his fair share of such stories, so he opted to save everyone the trouble and pass on being subjected to another one.

  Incidentally, the old dwarf’s intuition was spot on – the story Fizzy had prepared to explain her origins was nothing less than a steaming pile of utter bullshit.

  “I have another question,” Boxxy continued. “Do you know of any Warlock guilds in town?”

  The elderly dwarf blinked in surprise.

  “I thought you were headed up north.”

  “So?”

  “You know all guilds in town are affiliated with the Empire, right? They don’t have branch offices across the border.”

  Planning to join a guild just before leaving the country seemed awfully odd, to say the least. People rarely changed guilds after they’d joined, and the few who did were often treated like second-rate adventurers. After all, guilds invested in their members by offering training, specialised equipment and valuable information at very reasonable rates. One of their own jumping ship to take up with a competitor was more often than not considered a form of betrayal. Either that or they were incompetent and had needed to be kicked out, but neither option bode well for the person’s reputation.

  “I just want to advance my Job,” Boxxy added. “I’m not interested in joining full-time. I hate politics.”

  Xera had prepared this particular response for her master beforehand, as freelance adventurers often showed up requesting Job advancement, and the various guilds were more than happy to take their gold. Provided that the wanderers subjected themselves to a Full Appraisal, of course.

  “Ah, so that’s how it is. Well, the Order of the Black Wand has an office on the west side of town, near the market plaza. Try there.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  The young elf walked briskly into town, his pet golem following obediently behind.

  “Hey Lenny,” one of the guards spoke up. “You said he had no guild affiliation, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “The shoulder patch on that guy’s robes belongs to a guild called the Brotherhood of the Third Eye.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “Pretty sure, aye.”

  “Maybe he got kicked out or something?” the second guard joined in. “He did say something about politics, and you know how rowdy disputes between adventurers can get.”

  “I don’t know, that doesn’t seem right,” the first scratched his head. “The Brotherhood is a pretty small guild, bunch of local boys, you know? They don’t have the luxury of just kicking people out over trivial stuff like the big ones do.”

  “You sure know a lot about an obscure organisation like that, huh?” Lenny couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, I’ve never even heard of them until just now.”

  “Well, one of my drinking buddies used to be a member before he retired. He likes to ramble about his glory days, so a lot of the details stuck with me.”

  “Want me to call that guy
back so we can question him more thoroughly?” the second guard suggested.

  “Don’t do anything unnecessary,” Lenny stopped him. “It’s not illegal to change guilds, just unusual. Besides, something tells me that lad has had it rough. You don’t become like that unless you’ve been through something terrible.”

  The other two nodded. Anyone who willingly revealed that they liked to cover their golem with their ‘bodily fluids’ and then lick them off was undoubtedly not quite right in the head.

  “Still, I think I’ll make a note of it, just in case.”

  Lenny opened the ledger back up and flipped to the entry for ‘Chester Underwood,’ adding ‘Possible former member of Brotherhood of Third Eye’ in the space reserved for comments and observation.

  “Oh damn,” muttered the Scribe. “I messed up when writing the guy’s details earlier. Guess I was a bit distracted.”

  He crossed out a word in the ledger, scribbling an amendment in the margin above.

  “You’re sure about that?” one of the guards asked doubtfully. “Shouldn’t you re-do the Appraisal if you messed up?”

  “No, it’s fine. Just a slip of the hand, I suppose. Heh, that’s what I get for doing my job sober.”

  He put the ledger away with a chuckle.

  “After all, there’s no way the Appraisal actually said he was 17 fish old.”

  Part Four

  Boxxy headed into the branch office of the Order of the Black Wand. With three floors, it was one of the larger buildings in town, although the interior was still on the cramped side. Overall, it looked to have considerably less total floor space than the two-story Mercenary Guild back in Erosa. Though this was only natural, as the town had barely four-and-a-half thousand people living in it. An outlandishly large building in such a lowly-populated place would be pretty pointless, and the three guilds back in Carran had basically been operating out of old houses, so this was pretty extravagant by comparison.