Chương 33: Chapter 12: Definitely One of The Dwarf of All Time

The Rusty Tankard had a different vibe in the morning. The stew smell from last night had been replaced by a bread smell and a meat smell and a smell that was probably a porridge smell, which she did not have great associations with as a concept but which smelled, in execution, kind of good. Two old men were having a conversation about hay at a long table. A young woman was nursing a baby and a tankard at the same time, which seemed structurally ambitious. A dog was under one of the tables eating crumbs.

The dog was a normal dog. The dog had four legs and no wings and the right number of eyes and it was just a dog. Maddy almost cried at the dog. She kept walking. Gerald was at his table from last night with a tankard of what was probably small beer, or milk, eating bread. His straw hat was on the table next to him. He saw them and his whole face lit up like he had been waiting for them.

"Travelers! Travelers good morning."

"Hey Gerald," Ben said.

"You slept long! The morning is half-gone. The yellow sun has done a third of his work and the blue sun has done half of his, and ye have done none." He laughed at his own joke. Maddy launched in immediately because her brain was still half-rage from the bathroom.

"What the fucking kind of laced dank you smoking Gerald it's literally —" She caught herself. Gerald's face flickered. The warm friendly old man smile going slightly stiff, then resetting.

"... is a greeting," she said quickly.

"Where I come from. Sorry. We say. We say that. As a greeting. Means…good morning." Gerald perked back up.

"Ah! What a beautiful tongue indeed. And what is it called, where ye come from, traveler?"

"... OnlyLands," she said. Ben coughed. He coughed into his fist like a man trying to swallow a chicken bone. Maddy looked at the wood of the table. The wood of the table had a knot in it. She was having a lot of moments with knots today. Gerald considered this. Gerald considered OnlyLands.

"I am unfamiliar with OnlyLands," he said finally.

"Is it perhaps west of the Velmoran lowlands? Or further? Past the Pale Mountains?"

"Yeah."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"Both?"

"Both."

"I see."

"It's…confusing. It's a big land."

"It seems to be." Ben was making a sound. A small wheezing sound. He had turned his face partially into his shoulder. His shoulders were shaking. He was not going to recover from this. He was going to wheeze about this for the rest of his life. She kicked his shin under the table. He took it. He kept wheezing. Gerald passed them bread. The bread was a dense brown loaf cut into thick slabs. It was warm. He passed them a small clay dish of yellow stuff that turned out to be butter.

Maddy ate four pieces of bread in approximately ninety seconds because her body had decided she had been awake for too many hours without carbohydrates and she needed to fix that immediately. Gerald watched her eat with a small contented look she still could not parse, not as real, not as fake, not as anything. He was just a man who looked happy to feed people. If he was a row of code he was an extremely good row of code.

If he was a person he was the best person Maddy had met since she got here, which was a low bar but a bar. The third egg. She remembered the third egg. Gerald had given Ben three eggs. Ben had spent one on John. Ben therefore had two eggs. For your friend, Gerald had said. She did not say anything about the third egg. Some part of her felt like the third egg was a clue. Some part of her felt like the third egg was for something. Some part of her felt like saying it out loud would make it stop being a clue.

She ate another piece of bread.

"Where do ye travel today, friends?"

"A dungeon," Ben said through bread.

"Around here. Probably." Gerald's face did a small thing. A small worried thing. He did not say anything for a second.

"The Crypt is not for the faint, traveler."

"We're not faint dude."

"Aye. I see this. I see ye are not faint. I only—""It's okay dude."

"I have eggs," Gerald said, brightening.

"Should ye need more."

"We have your eggs already," Ben said.

"We're good."

"Aye. Then I shall wish ye well. The Crypt is old. Older than Mossgrove. It is—it was sealed once, before the Pale Years. After the Pale Years the seal cracked. Now the magic of this world uses it. The magic uses many old things, lass. Lad. Ye understand?"

"No."

"Aye. None of us do, in truth. We only know what we see. Eat yer bread." She ate her bread. They left the inn. They stood in the village square. The square branched off into three roads. None of them had signs. None of them had any indicator of what was at the other end.

"... where's the dungeon," Maddy said. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"I don't know."

"How do we, like. Know. Do you know."

"Do I know? No."

"Did the system tell you?"

"The system told me there was a dungeon. The system didn't tell me where the dungeon was."

"Why didn't the system tell us where the dungeon was."

"I don't know."

"Bad system."

"Fucking garbage." They stood for another fifteen seconds.

"Should we, like, ask?" Maddy said.

"Ask who."

"A villager."

"Yo dude, where's the dungeon?"

"Yeah."

"What if there's like fifteen dungeons. What if dungeon isn't even what they call it here. What if they call it a Hollow. Or a…magic glory hole. Or the —""Don't."

"Crypt of—""DON'T." She squinted up at her screen. The screen was floating in its usual place, idle, sparkling occasionally, looking like a girl at a party who had nothing to add but wanted to seem available.

"Hey," she said to it. The screen brightened.

"Where's the dungeon dude." A panel slid in. [Of course, Maddy! Sparkle] [To begin your hidden class trial, please visit the blacksmith of Mossgrove! He is well-versed in the locations of nearby points of interest, including the perilous and storied Crypt of—]"OKAY OKAY. Shut. Shut. Just point me to the blacksmith. Don't be cringe about it." [Of course! Sparkle] A little arrow appeared in the air about three feet in front of her, pointing down a side street. The arrow was the same soft pink as her screen.

It had little particle effects coming off it. It was floating at about chest height. Ben squinted at the empty air where she was looking.

"Is there an arrow."

"There's an arrow."

"For you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't have an arrow."

"Hey," he said to his screen.

"I need an arrow." A blue arrow appeared in his peripheral vision.

"I have an arrow."

"They're like, gendered arrows."

"Pink arrow blue arrow."

"This system is so—""I know."

"I'm going to fucking murder its—""Servers, yeah, we know."

"Stop quoting me." They followed the arrows. The arrows led them down a small side street that smelled like horse shit, past a thatched building that was probably a stable, past a man cutting wood with an axe in a yard, around a corner, to a building that was unmistakably a blacksmith's. There was a forge inside glowing visibly through the open front door. There was a heap of horseshoes in a pile by the door. There was a sign hanging from a wood pillar in the same burned-in lettering as the inn's sign but… wood.

Which was weird since the inn should've been wood and here metal. But whatever. THORIN'S FORGE—Quality Steel, Honest Prices. Maddy stared at the sign.

"Thorin."

"Yep," Ben said.

"His name is fucking Thorin."

"It's gotta be." They went in. The inside of the forge was the inside of every fantasy blacksmith ever rendered, with hammers on the walls and tongs in racks and a great anvil in the center of the floor and a barrel of water for some… blacksmith purposes and shelves of finished weapons arranged in what was either a real arrangement or what an LLM thought a real arrangement should be: one sword leaning against an axe leaning against a mace in a vibe that was less workshop and more mood board.

Standing at the anvil was Thorin. Thorin was a dwarf. OBVIOUSLY. He was about four and a half feet tall and as wide as he was tall, with a beard that came down to his belt buckle in a single thick rope, eyes like small black stones, arms like canned hams, and he was not wearing a shirt. He was wearing a leather apron and pants and boots and that was it. His chest was on full display. His chest was the chest of a man who had been swinging a hammer for two hundred years.

Muscle that suggested either steroids or a magic system that paid out gains for honest prices. He looked up. He smiled.

"Travelers! Aye! What brings ye to old Thorin's forge on this fine morning?" Maddy stared.

"He's doing the…He's doing the. What is it."

"He's doing the dwarf accent," Ben said.

"Right. He's doing the dwarf accent. The full. The full Tolkien dwarf accent."

"Aye, lass, I do not know what dwarf accent ye refer to, but ye seem amused indeed. Now! What brings ye here? Steel? Repairs?"

"Information," Maddy said.

"Aye, information. Information has its price."

"What's the price."

"A look."

"A look at what. My fucking tits."

"At yer weapons. Old Thorin loves nothing more than to gaze upon a fine steel. Or a fine pommel. Or—what is it ye carry, lass."

"… right." He was looking at the spear-knife at her hip. Bolt was in knife mode, the handle sticking out of the front pocket of her shorts in the obscene erection-coded way she had no choice about because she had no other pocket. She pulled Bolt out and handed it to him handle-first. He took it. He held it up to the light from the forge. He turned it over. He squinted at it. He held it close to his face and sniffed it for some fucking reason. He held it up to the light again.

He gripped the handle in his huge fist and made a small thoughtful sound, and then he pressed something on the side of the handle she had not yet figured out how to press, and Bolt extended. The knife telescoped out into the full five-foot spear in his hand with a series of small clicks, and Maddy made a small noise because she had been hoping the extension thing would just happen on its own, and Thorin nodded approvingly like the spear had passed an exam.

"Aye. A fine piece. A bonded weapon. Lightning-channeled. Capable of bursts at range when extended, and short conducted strikes when retracted. The grip is wrapped in a hide I do not recognize, perhaps from yer own land. The balance is excellent. The point would seek the heart of a man without his help. A versatile weapon, lass." Maddy blinked.

"... okay."

"Lightning?" Ben asked.

"Aye. Channeled lightning. Ye did not know?"

"... no," she said.

"It's mostly a sex thing where I'm from." Thorin tilted his head.

"A sex... thing?"

"It's a…okay. Yeah. We'll come back to that."

"I am unfamiliar with this term."

"Yeah."

"Is it a class of weapon, in yer land?"

"... sure."

"Ah! It is a class of weapon. It does seem to penetrate well, even the toughest of skin!"

"... sure…yeah." Ben was wheezing again. Second wheeze of the morning. She had not seen him wheeze twice in twelve hours before today. She had not seen him for an entire twelve hours, actually. She kicked him again.

"What about his," she said, pointing at the wax knife on Ben's hip. Thorin took the wax knife. He held it up. He sniffed this one too. He sniffed a lot of things.

"Aye. A poisoned blade. The poison is fast and durable. A single cut will leave a wound that festers for days. The yellow material is unfamiliar, but it holds an edge, and it is warm to the touch, which suggests an inner heat. A blade with inner heat is a rare thing in this world. As for the mouthpiece…" He turned the knife in his hand. He pointed to the little mouthpiece sticking out of the pommel, the part that had been the wax pen's mouthpiece.

"Aye. This allows the user to draw breath through the weapon. To enter a trance. A state of focused power. A warrior's high. I have seen the like in old artifacts of the southern reaches, but those were rituals, and they killed many of their users. This appears safer. Sleeker, even." Ben took the knife back.

"So if I—""Aye, ye breathe through it. Like a pipe. Ye will enter a state."

"What kind of state?"

"A trance, lad."

"Yeah but—""A trance."

"WHAT FUCKING KIND OF TRANCE."

"Trance." Ben looked at the mouthpiece. He had probably been hitting wax through it for years. Lit major things. The wax pen was now a knife with a wax pen mouthpiece on the bottom and apparently when he hit it he was going to enter a fucking power trance.

"Hey," Ben said.

"Aye, lad."

"Why didn't the system tell us any of this." Thorin tilted his head.

"The—?"

"Never mind." The system, of course, had told them all of it. They both looked at their screens at the same time. They both summoned their stats sheet at the same time, with the same small hm sound, and they both saw, with the same identical sinking feeling, that the descriptions of their weapons were sitting right there in the inventory panel where they had been the entire fucking time since the slime fights. The descriptions were the exact descriptions Thorin had just given them.

They had just never bothered to look. [Bolt—Tentacle Spear (Telescoping)] [A bonded weapon, channeled with lightning. Extended form fires ranged lightning bursts. Retracted form delivers short, conducted strikes. Grip wrapped in unidentified hide. Versatile.] [Wax Knife] [A poisoned blade. Wounds inflicted will fester. Inner-heat material. Mouthpiece pommel induces a trance state ("focused power") when drawn through.]"FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING CLANKER," Maddy yelled at her screen.

A villager in the street outside the open door turned to look. Turned back.

"YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME?" [Of course, Maddy! Sparkle] [Your weapon information is always available in the inventory tab.]"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME." [Inventory information is provided on request, Maddy! Sparkle]"WHO WOULD KNOW TO REQUEST IT." [Inventory information is provided on request, Maddy! Sparkle]"WHO. WHO IS THIS UI DESIGNED FOR." [Inventory information is provided on request, Maddy! Sparkle] Ben was just staring at his own screen, eye visibly twitching. He had decided not to engage.

The screen had won this round. The screen always won. The screen sparkled. Thorin watched them yell at the air for a few seconds. He had seen travelers before. He had seen tweakers. And so he had calibrated. Probably. Or was just doing NPC bullshit again.

"The Crypt," he said gently, "lies a half-day's walk to the east, past the Old Bridge, in the hills below the—""It's fine," Maddy said, pointing at her screen.

"We have, uh. We have GPS."

"... GPS?"

"Magic arrow."

"Ah. An arrow of guidance. Aye, the magic's gift. Many travelers carry such." She stopped.

"... many?"

"Aye, many. Mossgrove has seen its share." She did not ask the obvious follow-up because some part of her was not ready to hear the answer, and Thorin, sensing this, did not offer one. He just tipped a nonexistent hat at them and turned back to his anvil. They left the forge.