by Kevin Murphy
“A knife and scabbard I was given,” said Dakkon, controlling his voice in an attempt to downplay the value they might hold in hopes of a reasonable deal. “How much is fair for just those two items?”
“25 gold for both,” said Badden.
Dakkon wasn’t pleased with the number, but was prepared for an extortionate rate judging by the man behind the counter’s demeanor. “That seems like an awful lot of money to simply look over my things and tell me about them.”
Baddens shook his head condescendingly. “Proper appraisal takes years to learn proper. If you want a better rate, go ask braggarts and peddlers who will lie for your coin, or find a fool with nothing but time to train you.”
Dakkon relented at that. Although pleased with his diversion, he needed to get back to his training sooner rather than later, lest he abandon it altogether. “Fine,” he said and placed five stacks of five coins on the countertop out of easy reach of Badden’s arms. Doubting he’d get a better price, he handed his dagger and scabbard to the appraiser.
Badden drew the dagger and looked at the two items for minutes before so much as turning them. Then, he ran his fingers curiously along their small yet intricate etchings, as though reading them like braille. He picked up the dagger and moved it through the air with elegant little flips of his wrist. Next, Badden brought out a chisel and mallet and, to Dakkon’s horror, etched a small groove into the tip of his dagger.
“What the hell are you doing!” demanded Dakkon.
“Hush now, man,” said Badden, pointing one finger to the groove he had struck before sheathing the blade back in its scabbard. “I’ve got them mostly figured out and caused no harm.” Dakkon held out his hand, insisting his precious weapon be returned to him. Badden grunted and handed it back.
“Those two resonate,” began Badden. “The scabbard will repair small damages to the blade in little time at all. It’s powerful magic, to be sure. Very rare. But it will only repair that dagger, no others.” One corner of Badden’s lips tightened in a manner that unnerved his guest. “The problem here is…” Badden trailed off.
“The problem is what?” Dakkon asked.
“I don’t have a clue what the damned dagger does, and that’s a problem,” said Badden. “Tain’t nobody in this town able to do any better, neither. I’m the best there is.”
“So, it does nothing?” asked Dakkon.
“No, it definitely does something,” said Badden, “but damned if I know what it is. I’ve done as good a job as you’ll get, though, so don’t expect a refund.”
Frowning, Dakkon opened up the items’ information, noticing that the etched tip of his blade had almost completely been restored.
|Name: Drakestone Dagger
|Item Type: Dagger – Piercing/Slashing
|Durability: 118/120
|Damage: 8
|Attributes: ???
|Description: The dagger is made of the rare material, drakestone, which remains cool to the touch, regardless of environment. It holds a mysterious enchantment.
|Name: Drakestone Scabbard
|Item Type: Scabbard - Small
|Durability: 120/120
|Attributes: Restores durability
|Description: The scabbard is made of the rare material, drakestone, which remains cool to the touch, regardless of environment. It has been enchanted to restore the durability of itself and its sister dagger over time when sheathed.
More information was available, but the dagger now seemed to be more of a mystery than ever before.
“You mean you’re planning on charging me in full for services only partially rendered?” asked Dakkon with a pointed glare.
“Bah. Services were rendered in full. If you want to have a go, you can spend 30 years studying runes for the same appraisal I just gave you,” said Badden. At that, Badden reached forward and raked in the stacks of gold.
With a frustrated sigh, Dakkon asked, “If you can’t tell me what the dagger does, who can?”
“No one—not that I know of. If you really want to know, keep your eyes and ears open in big cities,” said Badden. “I’m sure there’s a man or two out there who can appraise better than I, but I haven’t met ‘em.”
With that, Dakkon found he had a dagger that could still be worth anything. If he couldn’t get it properly appraised, then he wouldn’t be able to sell it when that time finally came. It could be worth a veritable fortune, or it could be worth nothing at all. He felt disheartened, like he had just lost his rainy-day fund, but a small part of him burned with the idea that the weapon could possibly even be… priceless. But for now, he couldn’t afford to entertain such fancy, simply because he wanted it to be true.
As Dakkon walked back towards the craftsman district, he used the time to clear his head and think. He was, first and foremost, handed that bag of gear with the dagger inside in a very impractical manner. “Who knows, if it really is rare maybe someone will even come to reclaim it?” Either way it didn’t matter to him now. The dagger had enabled him to pull off the impossible, completing a scenario at a low level with the help of his new companions. At any rate, he was thankful to have it.
\\\
Setting foot near the shops of artificers drew Dakkon away from his thoughts of fortune. The sky was dark now, but the area was aglow with gentle light from assortments of baubles dangling underneath long cords threaded back and forth above the walkways. The creations, of odd size and shape, radiated light of different colors and intensities; some flickered quickly, and others languorously. Smells of seared meat and garlic filled the air around him. The area felt rather festive, Dakkon thought, before rediscovering his unabated hunger. He hadn’t eaten in many hours despite his most recent frenzy of mental exercises and trip across the city. He’d need to seek out food.
Dakkon let his nose guide him to a restaurant without any advertised sleeping quarters, bought a thick round of sweet glazed ham, and washed it down with a stout dark pint. He kept his respite brief, deciding it was best to get the worst of his training out of the way. As he walked down the street, he noticed a young, familiar boy with dark, dirty hair trailing slightly behind an already drunken man, swaying a step left for every two he made forward. The boy reached his hand into the man’s purse, but an awkward step snared his wrist, pulling him into the fully bearded man.
The man was drunk, but not oblivious to the wiles of pickpockets, and so grabbed the small—now struggling—boy by his wrist and drew a knife with his other hand, placing it on the boy’s shoulder. The cold metal halted the boy’s squirming. “What you think you’re doing, you little shit?” the man blared, not stable of foot nor of blade in hand. The blade cut into the boy’s arm, and the boy cried out in fright and pain.
Dakkon approached the two, grabbing the boy by his other wrist. “You caught the urchin,” he exclaimed, presenting a silver coin to the drunk man with his other hand. “This miscreant caused me a sore bit of trouble, and he has hell to pay for it. Take this and buy yourself some drinks for your trouble.” Dakkon thrust the silver piece forward.
The bearded drunk looked dumbly at the coin before his sour expression blossomed into a mischievous grin. He put the knife away and happily grabbed the extended coin. “Make sure he regrets his actions proper,” the man said, back-handing the young pickpocket roughly then swerving away in the direction he had come from.
Dakkon examined the boy while he spoke, “We meet again, little horse thief.” The cut on his arm wasn’t severe, but may need treatment—or, in this world, perhaps he simply needed food to help him regenerate. The boy was unsettled, but looked more hungry than hurt. Dakkon released the boy’s wrist. “Relax. I just didn’t feel like seeing a boy get butchered in the street. I don’t know your situation and I don’t care, but you should choose how to make money more carefully in the future.” Turning his back and beginning to walk away, Dakkon flicked another silver coin over his shoulder towards the boy which led to the clinking of metal on stone followed by a patter of footstep
s.
As he walked forward, Dakkon chastised his own softness. He had just squandered the equivalent of 200 foodstuffs-on-sticks on someone who had literally tried to rob him earlier in the day. Thinking about money in this way made his stomach knot up. A single gold could feed him for a year by his own rough estimate. He pondered just how rich he was, before setting aside the thought and conceding that standard food was likely cheap for the benefit of children and poorer players starting from scratch. Continuing back towards the east, away from the craft district, Dakkon made his way to his favorite square of the city. The vendor he frequented had already closed shop, but he was well fed and was as eager as he would ever be to continue his training.
Instead of sitting on the bench as he had before, Dakkon began to pace while considering the nature of heat and its chilly absence. The practice didn’t come easily. His thoughts strayed to other things. He thought of his new horse, Nightshade and its marvelous saddle. He thought of how odd it seemed that he would need to have some items appraised while others were revealed to him outright. It couldn’t be a question of rarity alone. He thought about finding a relic, the idol of Daenara, and smashing it. He wondered whether the little horse thief had properly bandaged his wound. He wasn’t making any progress. With a sharp inhale and slow, steady stream of breath, Dakkon refocused on the task at hand, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind.
[Trait unlocked! Focus despite circumstance makes it easier to cast aside distractions. You have gained the Trait: Disciplined]
Dakkon disregarded the message and focused. Pacing back and forth, he began to feel the sure seep of cold into his body, then bristling heat. Every time he changed direction, he would alter the temperature experienced and its intensity. In his concentration, Dakkon walked the length of the square the entire night taking only short breaks to regenerate his mana. When the sun rose, he finally stopped to check on his progress.
|Secondary Class: Thermomancer – 80% Power (from multiclassing)
|Class Level: 12
|EXP Until Next Level: [_______1,615/3,330 ]
|Skills:
|+Thermoregulate – 19— 75% [________________ ]
|+Heat (Touch) – 1— 0% [ ]
|+Chill (Touch) – 1— 0% [ ]
Over the course of the night, Dakkon grew his skills. Manipulating his own body temperature was now easy. Now that he had increased his proficiency, and knew how to lower the intensity of his temperature surges, training was less taxing on his mana reserves. He also gained two new skills when he reached thermomancer level 10, which Dakkon had successfully ignored his curious urges to check upon until his training had concluded.
|+Heat: This skill allows the caster to warm an object in close proximity. Higher ranks in this skill will increase the degree of heat.
|+Chill: This skill allows the caster to cool an object in close proximity. Higher ranks in this skill will increase the degree of cold.
The skills were simple inverses of each other. Presumably, the ‘(Touch)’ listed next to the skills names indicated how close he needed to be to use the abilities. Dakkon was eager to try his new skills, but—like a ravenous tube—found himself to be terribly hungry. There was also the matter of the new trait he had dismissed the previous night.
|————
|Traits ( ][ ) ( ][][][ )
|————
|Appearance – 8 (Equipped)
|Disciplined – 8— 32% [_______ ]
|Heroic – 2— 2% [_ ]
|Hunter – 4— 22% [_____ ]
|Rider – 1— 10% [__ ]
|Steadfast – 1— 0% [ ]
|Stealthy – 3— 0% [ ]
|Thick – 1— 20% [_____ ]
|-Disciplined: Gained from pushing distractions aside to focus on a task at hand. Every rank in Disciplined reduces the likelihood that a spellcaster will be interrupted by attacks or other sources by 1%. Current effect: +8%.
He had gained eight points in his new trait through the course of that long night. Though it sounded like a wonderful ability to have, Dakkon didn’t spend any time thinking about the matter and, instead, found an early-rising merchant to trade with for provisions. He sat on the bench, drank water, and ate two sweet apples alongside a single bite of a stale biscuit which, unbeknownst to him, had been liberally filled with some sort of undercooked fish paste. Luckily, he had eaten both apples first, as the biscuit robbed him of any remaining appetite. Now that he had eaten, he was eager to test out his new skills.
\\\
After some experimentation, he realized that it would be quite some time until the skills were of any practical use. By envisioning heat pouring out of his hands, Dakkon could warm a space about two inches away with all the fury of a hot breath. Doing the same for cold was like a puff of air through pursed lips. He wouldn’t be rushing off to light fires ablaze or chilling a refreshing beverage anytime soon. With access to new, more useful skills, Dakkon readied himself to begin training them, just as soon as he finished out his level in Thermoregulate for the sake of an evenly rounded level 20. Then, he could forget about that skill, as far as he was concerned.
Still considering how long it might take for his skills to become useful, Dakkon gently and easily changed his body temperature from warm to cool in rapid succession. Within ten minutes he had gained a whole 25% experience for Thermoregulate level 20. This rate of gained experience shocked him. Why had it been so much quicker? Complexity? Dakkon decided he would experiment with the idea.
Dakkon placed his hands in front of him, turned inwards towards each other. With his left hand, he attempted to cool the air between his hands. Then, as though he were splitting his desires in two, with his right hand he attempted to heat the same space. Within seconds, Dakkon had gained a level in each skill. After another minute, he had gained another in both and was completely drained of mana. He could use multiple thermomancy skills at once, though it required quite a bit of concentration on top of an obscene amount of mana. Now he knew how he would master his class. The discovery was a very welcome one, but if he needed to stop to regenerate his mana after only a few minutes, he would need a change of location immediately. Dakkon set off to find a bar.
Dakkon had seen several bars on his trip between the east and west sides of Correndin and, wanting to do better than the Brass Badger where he had gained a hatred for all rat-kind, made his way to one that caught his eye. Stonewhip looked like the sort of bar where one could be left alone to their thoughts. The exterior was plain except for a large sign with the name and a mounted whip ending in a small, stone tip. The design of the weapon was impractical. Even if one could crack it effectively, the stone would certainly shatter from the whip’s massive amount of kinetic energy. Putting that quibble aside, the bar looked perfect for his purpose.
[You are resting in a bar.]
[Restoration speed is increased.]
When Dakkon walked into the bar, he negotiated with its tender for some dalberry juice—something he assumed to be a peculiarity of the game world—a bowl of tater crisps, which he guessed would be like chips or crisps in the real world, and the leave to do what he pleased in his own corner, providing he didn’t disturb the other customers. The dalberry juice tasted something like a cranberry juice that wasn’t particularly bitter. It was incredibly sour, however, and unpleasant. The tater crisps turned out to be shredded potato that had been mashed into a disk, fried, then salted liberally. Dakkon very much liked the crisps, but would think twice before trying a slice of dalberry pie.
Alone in his corner, Dakkon laid his hands on the table facing each other and repeated his previous exercise, swapping the roles of each hand. His right hand now produced something resembling heat, and his left somewhat cooled the space between them. In three minutes, he had gained two levels in each skill, and a level in thermomancy.
Chapter 14: A Taste of Power
For hours Dakkon practiced, motionless. The movement of air between his fingers grew in intensity and the air began to swirl. D
akkon would take a break to regain his mana, then continue. After his first break for additional food, he decided to try adding the use of Thermoregulate to his leveling cocktail alongside Heat and Chill. If he could use all three skills at once, then experience might come quicker still. It took another two hours, but eventually Dakkon learned how to compartmentalize his body’s tasks. He focused on the sensation of his right hand being buried in hot sand and his right hand now produced heat, he focused on the feeling of holding his left hand in a bucket of ice water and his left hand cooled. Unlike his previous mental exercises where he actually envisioned something hot or cold, or thought about the temperature in some abstract sense, he now felt the sensation itself and found the tasks easier to divide. Dakkon pushed the sensations from both hands into the air in front of him. Finally, he found himself able to allow the hot or cold feeling of one hand to leach into the rest of his body, then the next in turn, and found success. The task drained him of his mana almost instantly. Not wanting to upset the delicate balance he had created, he kept his eyes shut and waited a minute for his mana to return—which it did quickly thanks to the improved rate of regeneration afforded to him by being both well fed and in a bar. Then, he set to his task again, and again, and again, until he could no longer ignore his demanding hunger.
Dakkon didn’t check how much time had passed, he simply ordered more food, ate it in silence, and set to his training again. He continued his exercises unaware of his surroundings until he eventually felt a sharp jab in his side. So engrossed was he in his work, Dakkon might have even ignored the jab, were it not immediately followed by two more in quick succession and a loud voice.
“Oi, you!” said the voice. Dakkon realized it was the barkeeper. “You’re causing a scene. You think its funny ruining a man’s business? Now get the hell out of here or I’ll throw you out.”
