Playing God

Fernwick was a modest settlement, to put it mildly. It consisted of a collection of simple houses, a blacksmith, and a tavern called "The Old Cask." A stream ran along the perimeter, and at the center, where the roads met, stood a sturdy stone well.

Thanks to Fern’s poultice, my arm felt as good as new. With my Hunting skill up to eight and Foraging at nine, I’d quite enjoyed the walk through the forest. I felt stronger, fitter than I had in…well, ever. My Endurance had increased by two points, Luck had gained a rank, and Healing was up to four from changing the poultice each day. Wilderness had hit seven. I’d even leveled up, but I was holding off on spending skill points until I knew what challenges lay ahead.

So it was that I strode into the town with a carefree smile and a confident air, keen to find the dungeon and begin my rise to power and glory.

The only problem? I had no money, which ruled out the tavern. Maybe the blacksmith would be friendly; it was as good a place to start as any.

I followed the clanging of metal striking metal, finding the forge in the center of the village. The blacksmith was a large fellow, broad of chest and shoulder, with a round belly to match. He preferred to work shirtless, which made sense in the warmth of the day and the heat of the forge, clad only in leather apron over coarse hemp trousers.

The walls were rough-hewn thick stone, reinforced with timber beams that lent the building a sturdy, rustic charm, while the roof was made of wooden shingles. Many nearby buildings had thatched straw, but I reasoned that might be a fire hazard for the blacksmith’s shop. An overhanging roof provided welcome shade as I propped myself against a post, watching the blacksmith work.

“You want something?” the man grunted, not looking up.

“Just arrived in town,” I replied. “Still finding my way around, and thought I’d come and say hello.”

The blacksmith jerked his head toward the bellows. “Want to make yourself useful?”

“Sure.” Helping out was a good way to make a friend, and any opportunity to increase my skills or attributes was welcome.

I dropped my pack on the ground and laid my jacket on top, then took a grip on the bellows. “Just pump away?”

“Yeah, just pump away.”

It was surprisingly hard work, and the heat of the forge soon had me working up a sweat. My arms and shoulders soon began to ache, and I looked forward to the respite I got when the blacksmith quenched his metal. Then the bellows would need to be worked again, to bring the fire back up to temperature.

“That’ll do,” the blacksmith said finally, wiping his forearm across his brow. He looked up at me for the first time since I’d arrived. “Thanks, friend. You’ve saved me a heap of time and effort.”

“My pleasure,” I said, stepping back from the bellows and easing my stiff shoulders.

Endurance has gained a rank. Endurance is now level 8.

Endurance has gained a rank. Endurance is now level 9.

I smiled. “Worth it, too.” I wandered over to the water barrel, dousing my head and washing away some of the sweat.

“How can I return the favor?”

“I’m not after much,” I said, wiping my beard. I hadn’t grown a beard before, but without access to a razor, it wasn’t like I had much choice. “Some information, maybe a bit of local knowledge about the area.”

“I can help with that,” the blacksmith said. He jutted his chin toward my rapier, which I’d left propped up against my pack. “That looks like a fine blade. Mind if I take a look?”

“Of course.” I pulled it from its scabbard and turned it, offering the grip to the blacksmith.

The big man stepped into the sunlight, examining the blade with a practiced eye. “Fine work,” he said, tilting it to examine the edge. “Very fine work.” He turned to me. “Where did you get a blade like this?”

“It was a gift for helping a lady,” I gave a small smile. Reminders of Lira never seemed far away.

“Well, I doubt I could improve on the edge,” the blacksmith said as he handed it back.

I took it, sliding it back into its scabbard. “I used my dagger to start a few fires,” I said, pulling the smaller blade. “I’m afraid it didn’t like that one bit.”

“No, I can’t imagine it did.” The blacksmith didn’t seem too impressed with my misuse of the weapon. He examined it like he had the rapier. “Another fine weapon, but you’ve worn it to crap. Let me see what I can do with it.”

“That would be very kind.”

On a whim, I tried something new. Show dagger stats.

Weapon: Dagger. Quality: Fine. Attack 3 (-2). Speed 12.

Wow, it worked. Excited, I tried the rapier.

Weapon: Rapier. Type: Sword. Quality: Masterwork. Attack 6. Speed 9. Keen edge, crit +10%.

Hmm, a masterwork blade. That was good to know.

The blacksmith took a quarter of an hour on his grinding wheel before he was satisfied, then spent another ten minutes polishing the blade and checking its balance. “That should do you,” he said, handing it back.

Weapon: Dagger. Type: Dagger. Quality: Fine. Attack 3 (+1). Speed 12.

“Perfect,” I said. “I regret I have no money; otherwise, I’d buy you a drink at the very least.”

“Let me,” the Blacksmith said, pulling off my apron and grabbing a shirt. “You worked the bellows longer than I worked the grinding stone, and we could both use a tankard.”

That was a good way of looking at it. “I’m Kaelan,” I said, offering my hand.

“Rolf.” The big man grasped my forearm with considerable strength. It made me curious.

 

“Strong fellow,” I murmured. It was the first time the status had shown a strength score for anyone other than Lira or me. Endurance, too. I was getting the hang of this world.

Rolf shrugged. “Need to be in this job.”

Together, we made our way across the road to the Old Cask tavern, where Rolf leaned on the bar. “John, a tankard for Kaelan here. He’s just arrived.”

The barman gave Rolf a nod and poured the drinks. “Welcome to Fernwick,” he said to me.

“Thanks to you both,” I replied. The beer was rough but tasted good after days of nothing but water from streams.

“What brings you this way?” John asked.

“Just in search of adventure.” I gave what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “I have no money, and I’m need of supplies. Looking for work, or something I can do to help. I heard rumors of some monsters in nearby caves.”

The two men exchanged a glance. “Fancy yourself a monster hunter?” John said.

“I do my best.”

“He has the weapons for it,” Rolf muttered into his tankard.

John the barman nodded. “There’s a mine, about a half-day west of here. We used to take iron out of it, before a pack of goblins moved in. It’s hurt the village badly, truth be told.”

“Aye,” Rolf added with feeling, then took another swig.

“How many goblins?” I asked.

“A score or more,” John said. “More than any single man could handle alone, no matter how good he is with a blade.”

“I’d heard Kobolds too? Giant rats?”

Both men shook their heads. “Just gobbos, far as I know,” Rolf said.

It was likely the tale had grown in the telling. I pondered a moment. “Would you be willing to trade me a few items if I give it a go?”

John raised an eyebrow, but it was Rolf that answered. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing too extravagant. A cooking pot, a flint and steel, and a bow.”

Rolf nodded. “I have a spare pot and a flint and steel I’d be willing to give you for your work today. Got no other use for them. As for the bow … Therin is the fletcher around these parts. I expect he could be persuaded.”

“If you somehow manage it, the village would be very grateful,” John said, placing a platter of bread and cheese on the bar between us.

“Would there be a reward?” I asked delicately, biting into the food. It was the best bread I’d ever tasted, the cheese tangy and delicious.

“We haven’t got much,” Rolf said, “but we could scrape together a purse of silver and gold for you.”

“Sounds good to me.” It was the experience I wanted, but the money would be a bonus. “I get to keep what I find, and you get your mine back.”

Rolf banged his empty mug on the bar. “That’s a deal then, and one worth another drink. John?”

It was more than a few drinks before Rolf and I staggered out of John’s bar some hours later.

“You’ll be wanting a bed,” Rolf said, swaying a bit. “I’ve slept by the forge on more nights than I care to admit. It’s warm enough, and I can lend you some blankets to make it comfortable.”

“Very kind,” I replied, my words slurring. It would be a significant improvement over sleeping wild in the forest.

“And in the morning, we can call on the mayor. It would be good for him to know of your venture.” Rolf narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re a trustworthy man. I have good instincts on people, so I have no issue in getting you a decent bow off Therin. But, my friend, what you propose to do is dangerous. I can’t say I have much faith in you pulling it off without getting yourself killed.”

I had expected something like this. “Don’t worry about me, Rolf. I have a plan. Just be aware it may take me some days to put it into effect. Even if you don’t hear from me for a while, I give you my word I’ll be back victorious.”

Even if I only killed one goblin for each time I died, I knew I could do it. The challenge was reawakening in Lira’s temple, and having to escape. Plus, there was the travel time.

Still, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do, and it was as good a way as any to rank up.

“Bold words, my friend, bold words.” Rolf hiccupped. “Let’s turn in and see the mayor in the morning.”

The bed by the forge was a long way from the comfort of the good mattress in my apartment on Earth, but it was an improvement over lying between the roots of a tree, and I went to sleep happy. I’d made a friend or two, and found a quest to complete.

I was eager to get started.