Tales of the Gemsmith

by Jared Mandani

“You’re a spy?” Dean accused him. “Double-O-Crusher?”

  Crusher stroked his massive red beard, considering. “I don’t think dwarves can be spies. We’re too noisy. But if we could, then I guess I’m the closest thing the dwarves have got.”

  “Oh,” Dean said, looking at the workshop, the anvil, and his depleted stores behind him. He didn’t like feeling manipulated by the dwarves one bit, especially when he would much rather be here, making things. But I guess this is all of my fault, at the end of the day… the mage had to admit, even to himself.

  “Okay. Do you think Level Seven is going to be high enough to start this crazy story?” Dean asked warily.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough…” Crusher frowned.

  *

  New Chapter! The Road to Shardwick.

  Story: the Ouroborax Crystals.

  Continue? Y/N.

  Y.

  Shardwick Forest was east of the city; a good way east and further than the Jodo Canyons. Luckily however, Winters revealed he had enough earnings for the pair of adventurers to afford one of the super-fast balloon-ships that crossed the trade routes of the Near Realms, only recently devised by the gnomish peoples.

  “We could probably get the Duma to pay for all of this, you know…” Crusher said, looking worriedly over the side of the large, carriage-like contraption that was as big as a house, and backed with large wooden turbine wheels. Over their heads bulged the large canvas of the balloon, and Dean’s ears were filled with the roar of the firing engines and the sigh of the wind.

  The captain, a rangy woman by the name of Helath, ran a tight ship, striding back and forth across the high deck and shouting at her mixed crew of humans and gnomes. The decks were built into elaborate rooms with arched windows and swaying, unlit lamps.

  “No need to, I’ve made a pretty bit of coin from the Markets!” Dean said, patting his wallets. Even though his physical coin pouch didn’t betray the real amount his virtual character had access to, it still chinked handsomely.

  I’ve made about 1650 gold bits from selling the Winter Rings and the Winter Guards — as he had called the shoulder braces. He wasn’t sure how much that was in monetary terms, but Captain Helath had only asked for five gold bits from both the mage and the dwarf to take them all the way to their destination.

  They weren’t the only ones on this voyage, either; a large human in white clothes and a white hat who claimed he was a chef, a dwarf priest who kept to himself, a couple of human society ladies “from the court of the High King!” also joined them. It was the latter two whose journey coincided with Winters and Crusher’s.

  “We’re going to see if our cousin, Lord Fabrio of Shardwick, is still alive!” one of them told Dean when they had embarked. She wore a sensible green jerkin and trousers – but of a much superior cloth and cut than either the mage or the warrior wore. Added to this was her black hair teased into elaborate curls and a small hunting hat that marked her out as not your average debutante.

  “Us too,” Dean said. “Although – not to see your uncle, we uh…” He stammered, remembering this was supposed to be a secret mission.

  “We have friends in Shardwick,” Crusher rescued him by cutting in, “and we heard about the recent attack, so we left as soon as we could.” The dwarf shot the human a slightly annoyed look.

  “Oh, it’s terrible, isn’t it? Those secessionists!” the woman said in a scandalized voice, patting the flintlock pistol at her hip. “I tell you – if I were to ever encounter them, I’d put a drop of lead between their eyes!”

  “I’m sure you would, lady,” Crusher said, smiling cynically. It was clear to even the city-living Winters that the lady was talking about things she had no knowledge of.

  “Let’s just hope we don’t run into them, huh?” the mage added, although, he was certain they wouldn’t. Given that it’s an ancient elvish demi-god who’s behind the attack!

  “Just like you taught that bandit a lesson last month?” said the brave lady’s partner, this debutante dressed in a much richer and more sumptuous flouncing blue dresse. She had clearly had enough of her friend’s wild assertions and claims.

  “Sari!” The pistol-wielding lady frowned. “It was the Red Hand, I swear it! Of course, I wasn’t going to start a duel to the death with the Red Hand, for the gods’ sake!”

  “The Red Hand?” Dean’s ears pricked up. That’s what the mad woman raved about, right at the start of my time here in Aldaron.

  “Yes. The Red Hand himself,” the woman said proudly, waving her chin as if she had defeated the notorious criminal in battle, singlehandedly, and blindfolded.

  “Wait a minute, lady,” Crusher rolled his eyes. “You’re saying you met the Red Hand? Legend has it, that guy’s been lost for a year! Wandered off into the Far Realms for something or another…”

  “Well I met him, out here, on the roads. I was on a quest to clean up a little nest of Kobolds – just easy experience,” the proud woman said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I didn’t expect to see him of course, but there he was! Appeared right out of nowhere outside my camp while I was provisioning for the battle. He had the gray cloak, the shabby clothes, the piercing green eyes.”

  “Sounds like any other ranger, to me,” Crusher muttered.

  “I talked to him,” the woman said and stamped her foot. “I talked to him, and he told me who he was,”

  “Any other ranger who lies, then…” the dwarf added under his breath.

  “And then he showed me his hands,” she said.

  “Did he now…?” Sari, the friend, looked appalled.

  “Yes. And not what you’re thinking, either, Sari. Get your mind out of the gutter. One of his hands had a burn mark from palm to fingertips. A red hand, just like in all the old stories.” She seemed adamant that she was telling the truth, but Dean couldn’t see what was so startling about meeting another thief-ranger in a world full of rangers and bandits.

  “The thing was, though…” The woman’s voice faltered, as she looked far off. “He looked terrible. Like he was injured – and I gave him some of my healing potion, which helped a bit, but he still wasn’t the graceful, disappear-into-the-night, run-along-rooftops sort of thief I had imagined. He looked, if anything, ill.” The woman ended her account on a softer note, her eyes staring into the green woods and hills of the Near Realm, as if searching for him.

  “Probably not the Red Hand then,” Sari the dress-wearing friend tutted. “Sounds like you met some shabby, unlucky copycat.”

  “I know who I talked to!” the woman continued to bicker as Crusher shook his head at their melodrama and gestured for him and Dean to take their leave.

  They spent the rest of that day talking to the other guests as the surroundings underneath them blurred. Green woods becoming the browns of hills, the sudden gray dashes of towns, forts, and cities, the ribbons of the great blue rivers that wove through the lands of the High King.

  “I don’t get what the big deal was,” Dean confided in Crusher, “about meeting some thief or another. So what? There must be loads of thieves in this world.”

  Crusher stroked his red beard. “Aye, there is, lad – but none like the Red Hand. Or none like what he was, anyway.” He coughed, patting his pockets for something, and drew out a small leather-bound book. “This cost me a pretty penny at the Ogre Markets, I can tell you – but it’s worth double its weight in gold!” He showed the faded gold-leaf cover of the book to his friend.

  An Aldaron Compendium

  “Take a look in here, why don’t you? Then you’ll see what the big deal was!” Crusher handed the book over to Dean, and instantly, an almost transparent parchment-like insert box appeared.

  It’s like a game guide! Dean thought in glee. If only I had one of these at the start of the game! He flicked through the contents, which was just an alphabet of letters, to the one he wanted.

  (the) Red Hand

  A legendary hero-level character of Alda
ron, and one of the first players of the game. His exploits are famed throughout the Near Kingdoms, and a little less so in the Outer Kingdoms. He is blamed for the theft of the High King’s Crown; the Archmage’s Staff of Office; a dragon egg from the Queen-Dragon Tiamet; and an entire storehouse of Elvish Brandy. Although these are the stories for which he is perhaps most famous, it is as a highwayman and bandit he is most often known throughout the Near Kingdoms (where he seems to have a particular hatred of the High King’s rule). He has become such a scourge that the High King continually places a bounty for his live capture, and a slightly lesser reward for his death. He has at various times been called an agent for House Gwylar, sowing discord and unrest in the Near Kingdoms, as well as a spy for the elves – although neither of these have ever been proven. His most famous trademark is, of course, his burned Red Hand itself, said to come from his one failed theft: that of the Red Ouroborax Crystal, said to control heat, fire, and light. Again, no one has ever been able to tell if this is true or mere braggadocio on the highwayman’s part, and he has certainly never revealed any more information about where this rare and god-level crystal item can be found!

  “Oh my God, Crusher – have you read his entry recently?” Dean said, sounding stunned.

  “Huh? What? No, not for a long while. Pretty soon, after spending a few months in the game, you kind of pick up all the general world lore anyway. I don’t even use that book so much anymore these days – but it sure was helpful at first!” Crusher said.

  “Look what it says here… The Red Hand stole an Ouroborax Crystal! Or tried to, anyway. That’s why he got such a messed-up hand,” Dean said, returning the book for Crusher to read the entry.

  “Yeah, and you know what’s even crazier?” Crusher said as he perused the open book in his hands. “The Red Hand must have found out where the Red Crystal was when he was still quite a young character, like you stumbled into the hero-level Lady of Efen story, Winters. That’s why, when he tried to touch it, it permanently re-wrote a part of his character’s code; gave him the permanent scar,” Crusher said. “Otherwise, his character would just heal the scar, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Dean nodded. “I don’t like it. The Lady of Efen, her having one of these crystals, and we heard that mad woman talk about the Red Hand, and he had one of those crystals… It’s too weird.”

  “It’s all sounding very much like a hero-level story, but not, if you get my meaning. I mean, where’s the chapter prompts? The XP? The story parts? The Y/N accept or reject?” Crusher said.

  Dean wasn’t sure what it was they had found themselves messed up in. Either way, it was strange. “I don’t know if this is a game thing, Crusher, but it’s certainly a mystery.”

  “Yeah, and us dwarves are predisposed to not like mysteries,” Crusher grumbled, just as a blood-curdling shriek split the air around them.

  Chapter 17: Shardwick Forest

  “All crew! Repel boarders!” Captain Helath shouted, seizing her rapier as snarling, hissing shapes thumped against the railings and sides of the ship.

  “What the…?” Winters looked at what was facing them, unable to make sense of it.

  They were giant birds, sort of, but they had the faces of snarling, sharp-teethed humans. Their wings were easily six or seven feet wide and a dirty, off-white color. The color of bone. Their scaled legs were longer than an equivalent bird, and, as the mage watched in horror, he saw the first on their deck jump into the air and use its talons like a boxer uses his fists to strike down the nearest gnome, before seizing him and beating powerful wings to turn and take off.

  “Where are they taking him!” Dean shouted as more shapes thumped onto the deck, but his eyes were fixed on the human-bird hybrid, now soaring out from under the balloon and into the wilds.

  “To its nest. They’re harpies, and they’re going to eat us all!” Helath snarled in anger, slashing at one’s wings in fury, but only succeeding in slicing through a few feathers.

  “Winters, behind you!” Crusher roared, drawing his double-handed hammer from his back as Dean jumped.

  Swipe. He could feel the force of the wind run across his back as one of the attacking harpies tried to beat him to the floor with its powerful wings.

  Oh, no you don’t! The mage rolled across the deck and thrust out a hand.

  “Fireball!” he shouted, and felt the power rock through his shoulder and arm as a jet of burning, incandescent flame shot out to engulf the bird.

  25 Damage!

  Harpy vanquished. 100 XP!

  One of the thing’s wings turned into a smoking ruin as it was bowled over, tail overhead, back over the railing to plummet to the ground below.

  “No flame! No flame – are you mad!?” Captain Helath was hollering, pointing up at the balloon ahead of them.

  “Oh crap!” Dean growled, momentarily feeling useless, as beside him he saw Crusher swinging his mighty hammer as skillfully as a marionette in a show. Bang. One harpy was flung into the air. Thwap. Another was thrown backwards.

  But I’ve still got other spells to work with, Dean realized.

  “Curse!” He stood up, pointing a finger at the nearest harpy, and seeing the black and purple energy hit it.

  15 Damage!

  Although the curse-energy dissipated, the bird-thing was moving strangely and awkwardly where it crouched. That’s because of the minuses you get with Curse, you overgrown chicken! Dean jumped forward, hunched low to dart in with his quarterstaff and strike the bird in the chest with a sharp jab.

  8 Damage!

  “Kreaorc!” The thing flailed, almost falling over, but it managed to beat its wings feebly as Dean readied himself for another blow. The creature was slowed down by his Curse spell, and Dean was sure, with his newly-acquired leveling-up and his specialism in Quarterstaff, that he could beat it.

  “Rac!” The thing lashed out with a scaled foot unexpectedly, and, even though Dean tried to dodge, it still scored a line of cold against his forearm.

  “Ow!” Dean shouted. “Like, really ow!” He felt the ghost pain in his real hand, and wondered if, even now on his bed, he was flinching as he spun around, sweeping his staff at the monster.

  Thwack.

  10 Damage! Harpy vanquished. 1oo XP!

  “Crusher? How you doing?” The mage turned on his heel to survey the battle site. Most of the harpies had been cleared from the deck, as the gnomes and sailors under Helath’s crew appeared to be practiced in fighting them. But not all of them were gone.

  “Help!” a shout came from the rear of the deck, behind the large stack of boxes and barrels, and Dean saw the two forms of the socialite women of King’s City attempting to fend off one of the beasts.

  Bang! The green-jerkin’d woman shot with her pistol, but missed. As she tried to reload, the harpy batted her with one of its wings, throwing her back against the barrels before launching for a killing strike—

  “Curse!” Dean shouted, flinging the most powerful spell he had in his arsenal that also wouldn’t blow up the balloon-ship.

  15 Damage!

  Like its fellow, the bird was struck and appeared stuck to the floor, as Crusher ran around the barrels, hitting it with his hammer like he was a pro hitter in premier baseball.

  Harpy vanquished. 50 XP!

  Dean’s monitor flashed up with his reward, and for a moment he wondered why it was half of his earlier score, before he realized it was because he had only half-succeeded in vanquishing the foe, and Crusher had finished it off. So, you still get XP for group efforts then, he noted with interest.

  “Is that them all? Are they gone?” Helath was calling to her embattled crew, who were wearily mumbling their agreement and collapsing to the deck in exhaustion. “Then count our losses and get us out of here!” She was annoyed, and with good reason, as it appeared she had lost three members of her gnomish crew – carried away to be a harpy’s dinner.

  “Sheesh!” Dean said, his adrenaline pumping.

 
“Hah! Great fight, huh?” Crusher was beaming as he came jogging back down the deck. “Let’s get that cut of yours healed, and we’ll be all ready for the next chapter!”

  Dean nodded, grinning. I’ve got an easy 250 XP, and now I need another 550 for Level 8!

  *

  New Chapter! Shardwick Forest.

  Story: the Ouroborax Crystals.

  Continue? Y/N.

  Y.

  The balloon-carriage descended to what looked like little more than wreckage in the forest — to Dean’s eyes, at least. The Forest of Shardwick was large, wedged up against the sharp peaks of the Wyvern Mountains, and dotted with the occasional spire of a tower rising from the tree tops.

  “Those are the Steward Forts,” Crusher said as Helath’s balloon came in to land. “They run all along the Wyvern range because over the other side lies the Outer Realms, and that means this area is a hotbed of activity for the, let’s say, less friendly visitors to the Near Realm.”

  As they dropped towards the clearing, Dean saw the other forts fade into the mists of the far horizon, and the burnt-out shell of Lord Fabrio’s tower grew larger. It was little more than a single spire (or had been, once) with an encircling wall of stone in a clearing. A stream meandered through a set of river gates, disappearing under the eaves of the dark woods beyond. A wide dirt road left the clearing and followed the river’s edge westwards through the forest, and eventually, Dean presumed, out to King’s City itself.

  “Well, I think it’s clear to say that this place got screwed,” Dean said as they touched down in the clearing. The walls were partly destroyed; blackened marks scorched rock and wood alike. But the most breathtaking disaster was the spire itself. It looks like it was once some kind of Latvian fairytale tower, Dean thought; but no longer. The singular spire was torn open along one side, revealing blackened-out levels, collapsed on themselves. Gone was the pointed ‘hat’ of a roof, and instead the soot-covered stones ended like jagged teeth. Smoke still rose from the ash piles here and there, and Dean wondered if anyone had survived at all.