Path of the Pioneers

I opened my eyes, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness. A groan escaped my lips from the terrible ache in my skull, it was then I realized that descriptions of hangovers weren’t exactly an exaggeration. Or maybe dwarven ale was just that brutal. My body went still as I realized where I was, finally: my inn room. Adeline was still laying next to me, her arm slung over my body while she slept peacefully. My face went bright red as I realized that it was real, every single thing that happened last night. Adeline Cirix, this Adeline, she was interested in me?

I was hesitant to wake her, mostly because it felt rude. I wasn’t even entirely certain how much time had passed during my slumber. The room was a fair bit brighter, which I found odd. 

Very suddenly, Adeline’s hold on me became tighter, pulling me in closer until my head was buried into her shoulder. I was still in shock at the situation, my brain at risk of frying from being held so tightly. Had she always been such a heavy sleeper? “A-Adeline..?” 

She stirred slightly, mumbling out to me “Just a little longer..” I wasn’t going to be the one to refuse that simple desire, so I kept laying there with her. 

A few minutes later, Adeline loosened her grip on me, and I returned back where I was, my face a fair bit away from hers. She opened her eyes, rubbing them for a moment, and then looked at me. The way Adeline smiled when she saw me made my heart melt a bit, and I could’ve sworn for a moment that I’d be able to have a happy death at that exact second.

“Guess the old man’s going to want us around sometime soon..” She glanced over my shoulder, presumably at the window. “Almost noon, it looks like.” She sighed, “Gods, I don’t want to get out of bed..” Her gaze moved back to me, and she continued, “You look even better when you’re a mess, Sybil.” My face went red once more at her provocation, which put a slight smirk on her face. She always said the exact words that would unmake me with ease, it was simply unfair.

“It’d be better if I didn’t push things, though.” She slid out of bed, standing up and stretching with a small yawn. “We have things to do today.” I sat up in the bed, and then stood up off of it. A difficult task, given how comfortable it was. I was hesitant to leave it behind. I grabbed my master’s hat, slipping it onto my head after tidying up my hair a bit. She opened the door, and spoke again, “First, though, we should eat.”

I was, quite frankly, blown away by the selection available for breakfast at the inn. Fried potatoes, sausages, eggs, bread, cheese. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given how opulent the place looked, but I was still amazed. I thought I had an appetite when faced with last night’s dinner, but I ate enough during breakfast to put myself to shame. Though, Adeline clearly seemed to have a much larger stomach than myself, eating nearly twice as much as me.

We set out from the inn after a rather heavy breakfast, with our destination being Cairbre’s shop. He told us to pay him a visit, after all, and it seemed as if even Adeline was unwilling to reject the request of a Pioneer. From the inn, it was only a fifteen minute walk. The most notable thing about the trip was the brightness of the city. It was distinctively lighter out, as if Tirsollain still followed the daylight cycle of the surface. As nice as the city was, though, the trip felt longer after a night of drinking, however. Water and fat could only help so much.

The bell jingled once more as we entered the shop, and a familiar hammering sound filled the smithy’s front room. I hadn’t had a good chance to look around before, but there was something odd about this shop. There wasn’t a single piece of his work put on display. No armor, weapons, or jewelry in sight. It was a relatively plain room with some seating for clients who were waiting, the counter, and planters lining the windows, filled with some kind of leafy plant.

Adeline called out from the counter, “Cairbre? It’s us.” His voice came from the other room, the sound of his hammer still striking against metal, “Get back ‘ere then!” Adeline glanced over at me, and then made her way around the counter, heading towards the back room.  The hammering sound stopped as I rounded the corner, stepping through the door frame. Cairbre stood there, wiping sweat from his brow.

The back room had a floor made of stone, with several tables lining the walls, adorned with varying craft instruments. Two large, wooden buckets, almost more like basins, were placed near the middle of the room. An anvil which was wide, but not tall, was placed not far from the buckets. A white-hot glowing ingot was currently sitting on it, presumably what Cairbre was hammering away at. On the opposite site of the anvil, a door opened to the side of the building, to where the forge was located.

Adeline’s eyes widened, “Cairbre.. Are you..” The dwarf shot a look her way, “Ye’ve been abandoned by yer family an’ ye thought I wouldn’t? Don’t be a fool.” He then looked over towards me, “Lass, come ‘ere. And you, pup, go wait in the front.” Slightly confused, and a touch worried, I approached, awaiting his next words as I heard Adeline shuffle out in a huff, closing the door behind her.

“Morgan had the damndest skill, lass. She could make metal soften up like rubber with her magic.” He scoffed, “Even my blasted class doesn’t give me such an easy shortcut fer success. An’ yet, the woman called it a parlor trick.” He cleared his throat, continuing, “But.. If ye happened to be taught this ‘parlor trick’..” He glanced back over at the ingot, still resting upon the anvil. “I could make somethin’ gorgeous.  Not just some trinket, but a masterpiece.”

He spoke of [Transmutation], the same skill I had made use of in order to remove the arrows from Adeline all that time ago. I certainly wouldn’t have described the skill as a ‘parlor trick’, but my master undoubtedly knew spells that would put that one to shame.

Transmutation

Temporarily shifts the properties of most solid, inorganic materials. Affects elasticity, plasticity, strength, ductility, and hardness.

Mana cost is variable to the material amount.

(65%)

It may be shameful to admit, but when I first received the skill I hardly understood the description. But to put it simply, the skill [Transmutation] could affect a material in a multitude of ways. It was the kind of skill whose strength was dependent on the creativity of the wielder. 

I nodded, “I.. Think that I have the skill you’re talking about.” Cairbre’s lips parted with a wide grin, his fist clenched with excitement. “Follow me, lass.” He led me over to the anvil, where that same ingot sat. Although, its color seemed to be shifting back from white to a cherry red. On a table next to the anvil were two chunks of the mithril ore I had obtained in the dungeon, and a wooden bowl filled with an orange, sand-like powder. Another bowl was next to that one, albeit larger, and it was filled with a black powder. 

“D’ye know what a sword means to an aura wielder, lass?” Cairbre held his hand over the ingot, and it began to shift in color once more, returning to a bright, white hue. He continued on, “Weapons’re a conduit fer their power, fer their aura.” He clicked his tongue, “Most o’ the fools I meet don’t know a damned thing about how important it is. Yer sword needs to fit ye perfectly, ‘specially so if yer strong. It’s as tough as it is for the girl because of ‘er talent.”

“The girl’s aura is like a sparkin’ storm, made o’ fire. Almost impossible to tame it, so we’ve got no choice but t’endure it. That’s what I’ve been workin t’wards, all this time.” 

Cairbre looked to the ingot, and then back to me. “All I need ye to do, lass, is use yer skill on the metal. Soften it up as much as ye can, while keepin’ its ductility.” Ductility, that was part of the skill’s description. And yet… Which one was that again..? I blinked a few times, staring back at Cairbre. “Erm.. Sorry, but, what’s ductility again?” After all, the words sounded so similar, ending in -ility, -icity, and so on. It was easy to forget which property was which.

“Right.” Cairbre cleared his throat, “Yer no smith, makes sense that ye wouldn’t know, ‘pologies. Ductility is how far ye can stretch a material ‘fore it breaks. We want this metal to be soft ‘n stretchy, but not elastic.” I nodded. It came back to me rather quickly. My master had explained the meaning of those words to me, after all. Knowing about the properties of materials, to nobody’s surprise, makes a skill that affects a material’s properties far more efficient.

I stuck out a couple fingers towards the metal, sending my mana out to touch the ingot. Through that connection, I cast [Transmutation]. I adjusted the metal to make it soft, while increasing the ductility. All as Cairbre requested. As I adjusted it, the metal slowly lowered in height until it resembled a mound of clay. 

Slimy, soft clay.

Cairbre clicked his tongue and whistled, “Color me impressed, lass. The damn stuff is even melting a little. Better get t’work, then..” The dwarf reached over to the black powder, sprinkling a handful of the stuff over the goopy metal. He then grabbed into the orange powder, adding some into the mix as well. “Crushed fire opal and charcoal. One t’help absorb the aura, the other t’help the structure of the metal.” 

He reached down with his bare hands, and began to grab the hot, melty mithril. I was astonished, at first to see him touch it, and then to see that it didn’t seem to affect him at all. In fact, he began folding the metal together, kneading it like a baker might with dough. It was an incredibly strange sight. “Just as I thought, the metal’s just like sugarslag. Ye’ve done good work, lass!” 

The name ‘sugarslag’ meant little to me, but I nodded nevertheless, “Thank you. But.. It won’t stay that way for very long. Ten minutes at most, I think.” 

Cairbre laughed, “That’s plenty!" He sprinkled on some more of each powder, and then redoubled his efforts in folding and kneading the mithril. 

I had cast the spell, and yet I was still shocked by every single thing I was seeing. I wasn’t a smith, but I knew that this must be wrong.