The crafting materials were arranged on the floor haphazardly. Rowan projected intention for the recipe to activate. There was a two second delay before mana sprang from nothing. It happened in ten seconds of magic: wood blocks were shaped, cut, and combined into a fancy apothecary’s table. Glass forged itself into an array of beakers, test tubes, and flasks. Cloth added finishing touches of a pricey antique. Nice. Everything else in the settlement suddenly looked bland in comparison.
He was about to craft his first fire bomb grenade (a recipe from the forums) when a slave thread shortened in his direction. Liluth. She was back from her tantrum. She promptly arrived with Gabrielle’s hand in hers.
Rowan’s eyebrow arched. “You two want something?”
“Lord LeMort,” Liluth began, sniffing. “Apologies for my outburst. I was—”
“I understand. He was your mate; your other half. Similar is true for Gab and I. I would be just as distraught. You can take as much time as you want, and by that I mean a day or two at most. We’ll have a funeral for Faenin before his body spoils.”
Liluth’s nod was slow to come. “Thank you, but I have a request, if I may.”
“And your request is?”
Her shoulders squared. “I would like his body frozen. I hope one day the merciful creators allows for his soul to return to his plane.”
His answer was quick to bounce back at her: “We can store him up a mountain. How about that?”
“Thought ya’d say that,” Gabrielle said softly.
Liluth’s head was shaking. “He would not be safe. There are dangers that could harm his body.”
“What dangers? Avalanches? Earthquakes? Vultures? We’ll just carve out a stone tomb and seal it. Zaine can do it easily.”
Her lips pressed together. Her eyes quivered. More tears?
“Come on,” Gabrielle said. “Do it for her. For me? I bet ya’d do it if it were my body.”
“I would, but…” He scratched his jaw, unsure of what to say. An enchanted building was pricey ask. Crystal Ice was the ask, currently in huge demand thanks to adventurers at tropical and arid climates. Rare, but obtainable with some Luck.
The chatbox beeped.
Gabby LeMort: Say yes or I’m gonna slap ya silly!
Her eyes bulged crazily.
Liluth begged, “Please, Lord LeMort. I shall forever be in your debt.” But she was already forever in his debt.
He sighed. “How long till his body spoils?”
“Eleven hours.”
Gabrielle added, “Longer when he chills overnight. So more like… thirty? Forty?”
That was cutting it pretty tight. “Fine. We’ll build an underground tomb next—on the condition that your third basic profession will be Stoneworker. Your advanced will be Builder. You should not part in battles anymore as you will be too valuable to lose, but your battle class will be either a healer or tank, preferably a back-line healer. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Gab, do we have the profession tomes?”
“Just Stoneworker and Builder,” she chirped.
“Good enough. Back to work, Liluth. Chop chop.”
“Thank you,” Liluth said, exhaling in relief. “Thank you.” She turned on bare feet, a cut on her left sole. Where were her sandals?
“You’re the best Demon Lord!” Gabrielle hugged him in a crushing embrace that would’ve broke him in two if it weren’t for his points in Agility.
“You’re welcome,” he wheezed.
“By the way, the hall’s dark magic rotted away our mole meat. We’re down to three eagle eggs.”
“Ah, not the mole meat!”
“Hehehe.”
43
The dry heat of the Great Plains rubbed poorly against Jonathan’s tight leather outfit. He had not ever been in such annoying discomfort, but he endured, for his new friends were counting on him. King Ralston was counting on him.
And his bonded dragon, perched regally on a rock pillar, was counting on him.
Lance walked near, asked, “Are you alright?”
“It’s hot.”
His eyebrows rose to meet his lifted helm visor. “You don’t have an enchantment?”
“My belt ran out of runestone, and it has a Heat enchantment, not Frost.”
“Oof. You must be cooking.”
“I have endured worse.”
“You’re from a hot country?”
“Relatively.” Jonathan appreciated privacy.
Lance nodded. “I’ve been on every continent, and—”
“On Earth?”
Lance bellowed laughter. “Yes, on Earth! I’ve been on every Earth continent, and I haven’t seen a desert like this. The sand itself seems to be generating its own heat.”
“Then no wonder. I can’t wait to get out of—”
From cloudless skies, a bolt of lightning fell with a booming crack. Seven feet tall, a greenish-brown-skinned man stood where the lightning touched sand. A large square war hammer was loose in his right grasp, and a leather hood protected his bald head from the sun directly above. His facial features were not human, more vicious, fit for biting prey.
? : Orc (Level 60)
Health: 100%
Every Human was on alert, weapons and shields drawn. Mages activated auras in a chorus of mutterings.
The Orc glanced at Jonathan’s dragon, then said in a low rumble, “I am Nargol, chief of the Blackwolf Clan.”
Lance stepped forth. “I am Lance Rider, adventurer, leader of guild Light’s Justice, and emissary of King Ralston the third. What tidings do you bring?”
“Whispers say on Swinetooth Peninsula a buried Demonic ruin from an age long before mortals first walked lays deep in the earth.” His arm raised in a non-threatening manner, his war hammer brandished. “Valdraed. I found it with three portal charges that will take a full raid party to the ruin’s vicinity. There are two charges remaining. I use one charge eleven days ago.”
Lance said, “Allow us to see its details, please.”
“As you wish.”
Jonathan eyed Valdraed without blinking. It was plain in appearance. He could have mistaken it for a regular though well-forged blacksteel war hammer. But the metal carried an unusual marbling of faint ruby and ivory veins.
Valdraed : Demonsteel War hammer
Forged with unspeakable magics
Type: Melee weapon (one or two handed)
Quality: 977 (Legendary)
Damage: 786
Grants Swinetooth Recall (2 charges remaining)
That, by far, was the most powerful weapon Jonathan had seen so far. Over seven hundred damage! Boy, with something like that in his hands, he could slice off mountain tops and sculpt canyons like an elder god. He could reshape this world into a utopia for all adventurers and all its native inhabitants. He was allowed to dream.
“No enchants or adorns?” Lance asked.
“You would find demonsteel is… troublesome to work with.”
Lance looked over his shoulder. “Is that true? Does anyone know?”
Someone said, “I may’ve read that somewhere.”
“You sure?”
“Ah… Yes, yes, I’m sure. It was a scroll at Illanor Library.”
Lance twisted back to Nargol. “Where will it port us to?”
“I do not know.”
“Then it could place us under a mountain for all we know.”
Nargol huffed amusement. “You fear the unknown, yet you wish to seek it out.”
After a moment, Lance said, “What do you want for Valdraed?”
“It is not for trade, but I will grant you one charge for no ask.”
That’s generous, Jonathan thought.
Lance said, “And how do we know you haven’t left anything out? Does the portal debuff us? Why are you being so friendly? Will you aid us on Swinetooth?”
Nargol’s jaw shifted in a way similar to an Ogre’s smirk—not smirk-like at all. “I will not fight alongside you, Human. Whether y
ou are successful in your foolish raid is no matter of mine, but do wish to stop the spread of this Demon taint.”
As did Jonathan. Although he strongly disagreed with their questionable diet, he did not want to turn down this offer. He scribed a message into the chatbox.
Jonathan Bladestrider (Raid Chat): I think we should do it.
He was immediately answered by multiple guild members.
Doggo TheGamer: Mate, it’s an obvious trap.
Misty Pekola: It’s pretty sus, Jon.
Aiden Firefly: Let’s attack him. I bet he’ll drop a hundred loot gems.
Halt pings cascaded.
Lance Rider: Don’t. He can one-hit any of us even without that hammer.
A growl tore through Nargol’s teeth. “What do you wait for, Human?”
Lance said, “Apologies. We were divinely communicating. As you can imagine, we are suspicious of you. Is there anything else you can offer to show you are not acting in ill intent?”
“You have my word. My honor.”
Doggo barked, “What honor? You lot eat Humans! We’re a divinely-blessed race, ye dick!”
Nargol snarled a beast’s challenge.
Doggo’s bow was drawn. “Ye want some, bud?”
“Calm it!” Lance snapped
Palms held high, Jonathan stepped out of the rock formation’s shadow. Immediately his sweaty skin sizzled. “Peace.” By some otherworldly intuition, he knew it in his heart that Nargol was not laying a trap. He was being honest and direct. That was how Orcs walked and talked. They were not schemers of the night or shifty-eyed, double-crossing merchants. They were warriors of the desert. Brutes.
Jonathan’s dragon screeched. The magical bond vibrated as though in communication, as though Jonathan’s thoughts were heard. His eyes closed. Can you hear me?
A second was wasted, then there was another distorted screech.
Do you think we should believe him?
A third, deeper screech.
Goosebumps raced up and down Jonathan’s sides. “Nargol, my dragon believes you. I believe you.”
Nargol spat, “I do not lie. We Orcs do not speak in forked tongues like your kind.”
“Then port us to Swinetooth—”
“Whaaat?” someone groaned. “We’re listening to a baby dragon now? Come on!”
“Jonathan, mate,” Doggo said, “you’re either trolling us, or you’ve got some screws loose.”
“Trust me,” Jonathan said. “Give me one chance.”
“You’re going to get us wiped.”
“Trust me.” He exchanged eye contact with each while the desert heat roasted alive. “Trust me, guys. I’ve got this.” His dragon’s jaw snapped twice in agreement. “Trust me.”
Lance took a raspy breath. “Are you one hundred percent sure?”
“One-fifteen.”
“You get this one chance, alright? But if we get wiped because of this, you’ll be hauling granite blocks for the next week.”
Jonathan was willing to accept any and all consequences. “That’s fair.”
Lance clamped down his visor. “Port us.”
Nargol’s arm stabbed upward. “Farewell, Humans.”
A column of light erupted under the full raid party of seven adventurers and one dragon. Jonathan was suddenly weightless in a tunnel of blue and white mana—your usual portal magic without a Demonic twist like he had expected. He was starting to suspect trickery a moment before his boots landed on soft ground. Sub-zero winds lashed his face.
It was the dead of night.
While trees slowly brightened, Jonathan listened to the sound of breaking waves and an owl’s hoot from a forty foot pine. They were standing on a beach before a dense forest under a cloudless sky. Many leagues up the valley, crescent moons sat over a mountain range—steep mountains that resembled a short wall of crags if one were to squint.
Someone said, “We’re near the Arctic.” Tom Silverwind. He had calmed down. The guild among others had pooled gold, silver, and credits to buy a Soul Crystal for him. A Lucky man he was, but the world was laughing. He was taking it well.
“How do you know?” Misty asked.
“Look at the constellations.”
“Oh. Did Danielle teach you about them?” Case in point.
“She did, thank you. She’s a great teacher, in fact. She could work at a school or academy, but she wants to be an Apothecary. She makes incredible apple pies that you should try—”
And Jonathan, strolling away, did not wish another sappy word upon his poor ears. His boots scuffed on a mix of soil and sand. Sand here was finer, and he swore it was radiating an abrasive emotion.
Glowing with a distinctive blue, a meteorite stole his eye. It fell over the horizon. More Soul Crystals from the heavens. From the stars. Sparse stars. But eight brighter siblings were gathered at the dome’s apex next to a faint orange star that was not twinkling. Jonathan, shivering in the constant salty breeze, was fairly confident that he had not seen those before. He hadn’t tasted such salty air either.
“Nice one!” Doggo exclaimed. He flashed a thumbs-up for Jonathan’s dragon. “I’ll ask you about next week’s lotto numbers, eh?”
Doggo was ignored, sadly, the noble dragon instead taking company of the tallest pine at the forest’s edge.
Jonathan said, “She is miffed that you doubt her.”
“Bullshit,” Doggo laughed. “You two bluffed your asses off. You just wanted to get out of the heat.”
Jonathan could not deny.
An attention ping came from Lance. “Set up camp for the night. No stone, just wood. Quick and dirty.” Get-to-work pings followed.
Trees fell at the swings of ghostly conjured axes. Lumber was sawed and cured, and Builders erected cabins, a palisade, and a watch tower in a matter of minutes, not hours or days. This light show of magic was one which Jonathan would never grow tired of.
44
“Your iron, Lady LeMort.” With a kind face, Luthias set the cast iron cake mold on the Cooking Bench, then returned to his side of the Workshop.
Gabrielle’s hands clapped together. “Yippie! Thank you!”
“My pleasure.” He sat onto a wooden stool, picking up that half-forged sword from the Forging Station. He held the red-hot metal to the anvil and muttered a magic word. A block of mana crashed down with a muffled thump, smacking impurities out of it.
The Station looked like a neatly-packed amalgamation of your usual blacksmith goodies—furnace, anvil, vice, and a few other things that Gabrielle didn’t know the names of. Glowing, a supply of runestones lodged into various nooks and crannies supplied oodles of magic. Not too ugly. And more importantly, not too noisy. It heated the room nicely too.
“Kay, let’s do it.” Her gaze meandered to Skylar, who was sitting on a stood in front of the Bench. “Ready to record?”
Silver Elf eyes flecked with gold blinked. “One sec. Can’t seem to find a place to save it.”
“Have ya tried Plopbox?”
“Ah… Got it, thanks.” He smiled cheesily, but his nerves tucked his chin. “Are you sure you don’t want Rowan to do this?”
“Nah. He’s busy with whatever.” Something to do with Enchanting, which was super, super important for the settlement and Liluth, extremely so. “And ya’ve asked that like nine times now.”
“Oh. It’s just… he’s a bit… territorial with you.”
Gabrielle put on her best comforting expression. “Aww, dun’ worry. Just say episode one is a surprise for him!” It actually was.
That seemed to work! His confidence returned. “Okay. Three. Two. One. Action.”
Whoah, that’s quick!
Gabrielle breathed in through the mouth and slapped on a cute winning smile. “Hello! I’m Gabby the Demon Cook, and I’m bringing ya Sortis Yummies, episode one! Today we’re gonna be baking a good ol’ family recipe—Draesear’s Hellfire Mudcake. I know, I can’t wait!”
A jolly breath refilled her lungs, the scent of dark chocolate wate
ring her mouth. She picked up Mister Stabby, also known as the Mithril Bone Dagger, and pointed at the ceramic cups of ingredients one by one while chirping away: “A cup of unsalted butter. Two cups of at least good quality dark chocolate. Two and a half cups of brown sugar. Five big chicken eggs. Half a cup of cocoa powder.”
She sneaked in another big breath. This was harder than it looked. “Two cups of at least good quality wheat flour. A teaspoon of baking soda. Half a cup of at least good quality cow’s milk. One teaspoon of vanilla extract powder. And if ya want more or less of this or that, it’s your choice, really. But for these last two, high quality lemon sugar icing and orange sugar icing—absolutely essential!
“Now, I’m not saying ya need to have the Cook profession, but it does help by just a pinch. Who likes to wait hours for things to stew and bake? Not Gabby! Not my grouchy husband Row, and not Mister Stabby here either. Say hi, Mister Stabby. Oh, you’re not in the mood? That’s okay. Hehehe.
“Anywho. At level one Cook, the only things that can be done with magic are… boiling, sizzling, baking, and chopping, which really is more than enough for a cake. Sadly—so, so, so sadly—we won’t gain any super buffs with this recipe, but just a single slice will grant ya the typical Well Fed buff. Amazing, I know!
“Oh, I forgot. Hehehe. This handy dandy Cooking Bench will help by tonnes. It’s a special Work Station that makes cooking way easier—and way more Lucky. Look at these magical heating pads. Look at this magical sink. Look at this magical oven, which… ya can’t see. But trust moi, it’s there. We dun’ have to use any of these cool helpers, but I do recommend cleaning up in the sink even if it does cost some runestone.”
She grabbed the clay mixing bowl. “Alrighty, let’s get started. Make sure your hands are clean. Some meanies fed me dirty, dirty mushrooms the other week, and I got really, really sick. Ya should’ve seen how crazy it made Row. Hehehe.”
Taking hold of the chocolate and butter, she licked her lips. Her forked tongue said hello. “First step, mix the butter and dark chocolate. Melt on the heating pad. Medium heat. No boiling. No lumps. Do it slowly. If I see any lumps in yours… weeeeeell, let’s just say Mister Stabby isn’t gonna be happy.
Demonborn's Fjord Page 36
