Alex's Room, Le Chevalier

We spent the afternoon on additional sparring matches, and of the hundred or so bouts, Winfrey managed to take away 21 wins. Most of those victories were towards the end, and it became clear that was about as far as it could go with the movement delay in place and without proper facilities. She's certainly got a good degree of talent, though she has a bad habit of getting impatient and trying to force an opening prematurely.

With training and time, under a competent teacher, she will acquit herself well as one of the better tanks in Astral Reckoning in the coming days - though whether she can claim the #1 spot in the role has yet to be seen. Regardless, I'm pleased to have brought her on side, and the bonding experience was enjoyable, admittedly.

I'd say that overall, it was a productive day, and she has improved a fair bit with her foundational swordplay - though it's clear she's more used to Valiant Advance's combat system and the availability of a full arsenal of special attacks and the like, something that Winfrey complained about after multiple defeats in a row.

Although I have yet to receive any messages from Olrica, that doesn't mean that I am going to delay the public's chances at the dungeon any longer. If they still haven't managed to clear the dungeon, then they can only blame their guild leader's greed for Terrorstone equipment over Beginner's Bronze, or their own incompetence after being given a cheat sheet.

Thus, after updating Jade and Angelus via the Guild's group chat on the state of affairs, I open the official forum and start a new thread.

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Astral Reckoning's Official Forums

Thread: The Location of <Miner's Nightmare>

Silver Nosster:

As promised, the location and basic information of Miner's Nightmare is as follows:

Recommended Level: 7

Difficulty: Bronze

Location: To the west of Meteo City at Liggit Mine's Mineshaft, guarded by Level 7 Elites with passive stealth detection.

Do not send private messages asking for a strategy guide, you will be ignored.

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Hex Check:

:o

Thanks so much!

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Poly Golt:

Danke

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Justinian Ray:

Fuck yeah. Anyone want to get a party going? Level 5 Trapper here.

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Oil Baron:

@Silver Nosster Didn't think you'd actually do it

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Jayeon Adan

@Silver Nosster Thanks from Holy Spring Orchard

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--

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That should light a fire under everyone's collective ass. A small, petty part of me wants to send a message to Olrica to ask for a picture of Hadrian's face when he realises he doesn't have a monopoly anymore. The Darkest Dumbasses Alliance are probably throwing a fit as well.

Some twenty minutes into my diary writing time, a buzzing noise comes from my phone, the caller id tagged as Olrica, unsurprisingly.

"Good evening, Olrica," I greet her while suppressing a yawn.

"You have no idea how pissed off Hadrian is at you right now, man," The assassin forgoes a proper greeting of her own, "He practically turned purple."

"That's his problem," I dismiss the issue, "I made no promise of confidentiality to him, whereas I had made a promise to publicise the location of Miner's Nightmare prior to our 'negotiations'. He has no grounds from which to complain."

"Hm. Now that you mention it, you did, dincha?" Olrica clicks her tongue, "I don't think that'll make much of a difference to him, though. Wouldn't be surprised if you just scuttled your deal before it even left the harbour."

While I would certainly consider him a vindictive man, I surmise that his pride won't let him renege on a deal struck, "If this much is enough to rattle him, I don't fancy the chances of his company if he successfully inherits it."

Which he actually might in this timeline, given my meddling in the main storyline.

She snorts, "How much do you actually know about us?"

"Not as much as you might think, but enough for my purposes," I admit.

"So you didn't go looking into what my cup size is, or rummaging through my trash?" Olrica snarks.

I roll my eyes, "I have no such interests."

"Aw, but you gave me such a fancy gift," she lowers her voice to a tone that she probably thinks sounds seductive.

"Miss Nennot, please," I sigh, "You're not getting any more information out of me."

"Hmph. Well, I had to try, it kind of is my job y'know," Olrica confesses casually, "As an aside, I do really like the new daggers - I feel less like a hobo with a toothbrush shiv now."

"Then I take it your party, at least, experienced more success with Miner's Nightmare," I question.

"Yep. Killed Trophytaker like...just over an hour ago? The Nightmare kind of flattened Astra. He got hit by that big boy punch and sort of crumpled like a can of soda then killed the rest of us," Olrica digresses, "But uhhh you didn't hear that from me, k?"

"I'm not about to tattle to your officers," I deny, "I take it that means you'll be able to finish in the morning after you recover your Levels?"

"Hm. Maybe? We still have another group who went in after we came out, so who knows?" I can hear the shrug in her voice.

"Well, I wish them the best of luck," I comment sincerely, since I'm relying on their success to see this deal through.

"With Hadrian and Dennis in the group, they'll probably be fine," Olrica replies unconcerned, "The boss man's a smarmy asshole, but he's not completely incompetent. We just got used as test subjects for your strats."

"Reasonable, if a little callous."

"When he's not on his high-horse or thirsting after shiny shit, that's Hadrian's MO," the assassin agrees, "Oh, before I forget. I'll have the recording I promised sent in about 5. You're welcome in advance, and I'm not talking about the promise to send it to you. See you around, getting another call."

"Tha-" And she's already hung up.

Idly, I wonder if Hadrian or one of his officers will put two and two together when they realise that they can't get any drops appraised after seeing Olrica's shiny new dagger. Tomorrow will be an interesting day, I can already tell.

---

 

Henna

Stone Arsenal, Meteo City

Though the sun has already set, and the forge has gone cold, the blacksmith, Henna, remains outside at her workbench, admiring the unusual, cracked longsword she spent the afternoon creating, drawing in large part from the Schematics, but with a few minor adjustments to suit her preferences.

In truth, the blade is a rather amateurish piece, buoyed by the unusual composition of the alloy that created it rather than the smith's skills at the forge, nor the quality of the design which led to its creation, written by someone with only the barest understanding of how to work metal, and even less understanding of the ominous magical stone that lay at the core.

Fit for a collector of strange weapons, but no use to a serious warrior on the battlefield. The pieces created by Silver, she judges, are much the same, even accounting for the unusual forging method he used, transmuting the materials directly into finished products.

But after years of creating uninspired blades and armour, working with better quality materials on experimental weaponry spoke of something greater at the end of that train of thought, whatever it was that awaited her there.

Taking up the blade from it's resting spot, Henna twists her hand this way and that, feeling the weight of the sword in her hand and the imperfection of a slightly tip-heavy balance and improperly ground crossguard. It all felt strangely natural, and 'correct'.

"'How does it feel, to hold something you made with your own hands?'" she echoes, muttering under her breath.

Memories of the failed ambush resurface in Henna's mind as if waiting for a lapse in concentration. Her grip on the weapon tightens, accompanied by a wave of nausea and a tight, stinging restriction around her heart. The man she fought and defeated, lying dead or close enough to not matter at her feet, trembling not with fear or remorse.

But because for the first time in her life she felt powerful.

A fleeting sensation, quickly overtaken by a return to self-awareness as the axe was pried out of her hand.

Then came the disgust.

The lingering condemnation.

With shaky hands, Henna puts down the sword, and with stiff fingers pulling away from it one by one, she releases the hilt. Finally releasing a breath the smith hadn't realised she was holding.

As a blacksmith trading in weapons and armour, she is no stranger to the killing she enables, nor the feelings she experienced after listening to stories of veteran mercenaries looking for cheaper repairs and bootknives than what the Pioneers Alliance offered. Henna just never expected that one day it would be her in that situation, and having stood at the edge of death and madness, found only questions about herself that she could not answer on her own.

Why did she feel that way?

What does it say about her, that she derived as much pleasure from vanquishing a foe as from making such a rare and interesting blade?

In her mind, she could only feel that the two sides were at odds with one another, and the former comparatively reprehensible. At least, when applied solely to herself. Silver, both unrepentant and brutal as a killer, and calm craftsman presents to her an example of someone who embodies both and an air about him - one of nebulously defined substance. A trait she felt she lacked, a glue, so to speak, that mended the contradiction.

"Damned if I know what it is," she grumbles, standing from her seat and stretching aching limbs.

A different hunger, one for strong spirits to cut through the nausea gnaws at her mind, but is suppressed. If Henna were to start drinking in this state, she felt that there was no predicting if and when she would stop, nor what any consequences of such a sorrowful binge might be.

"What would dad think of me right now, eh?" Henna sighs, self-deprecating, "Some 'hero' his little girl turned out to be, eh?"

If nothing else, she mused, these past few days since meeting Silver have been the most alive she's felt since before her father's disappearance. Taking him as an apprentice may have been vanity on her part, but Henna could not deny the impact the Silva man has had on her life in a short amount of time.

"Now, boss!" A shout from behind surprises her, and a group of four Newborn rush the forge with their shoddy weapons raised, "Grab the sword! We'll get a hefty bonus if we can sell it to a DDA team!"

While three look to engage Henna herself, the fourth, a greed-blind Kon, runs toward the workbench with his arm outstretched. Thinking to deal with both problems with the same solution and fearing for her life, the smith grabs the blade, ignoring the slight pain as the edge digs into her hand and swinging with her right after grabbing the hilt once more, taking the arm of the leader and cutting through the neck of the nearest of his subordinates in one motion, the wooden limb dropping to the floor and tripping him, not even registering the pain.

Shocked by the woman's strength, the remaining combat-ready duo recoil briefly, and after a moment rally to mount a concerted assault.

"Stop right there criminals, in the name of The Empire of Stone!" Yells a gruff, thuggish looking City Guard patrolman. Freezing, the two players curse and try to flee, only to be entrapped by the City Guard's Rule of Law, whereupon the three still-living Newborn vanish.

Approaching, the Guard looks from the corpse of the Newborn to the smith, still holding a bloody sword.

"You have murdered another within the city, Henna Rask," the Guard smirks, revelling in the scene, "You will accompany me to City Jail immediately to await trial, or face harsh reprisal. Will you comply?"

Shaking with rage, Henna glares at the corrupt Guard with an intensity that makes him stagger back, "I. Will. Comply."