Sherry

Gatehouse Barricade

The gatehouse is swarming with players, easily over a hundred just hanging back and either watching or tossing out ranged attacks into a horde of gross hand people. Like, actual, literal gross hand people. What the actual fuck are these enemy concepts and who hurt the guy that came up with them?

It wouldn't be so bad if they were stylised in some way, but seeing a functioning human person made out of hands is just...yeesh.

From what I can tell, they're not very strong, but there's a fucking lot of them, and it's all the people manning the barricade can do to keep them from swarming over it. Interestingly, there's no NPCs doing it, which you'd think they would considering how trigger happy they are about players kicking up a stink. I recall Silver mentioning that Guards are less OP when they're involved in Quests and shit, so maybe they're too chickenshit to do it themselves.

Speaking of chickens. Angelus is surrounded by the majority of the gathered crowd, but he doesn't look like he's in danger or anything, just mildly annoyed. A second later, he raises his hand and a pulse of glowy magic radiates from his body, the wounded chucklefucks around him perking up as the ring passes through them.

"Thanks!"

"Woo, I'm back in business demon bitches!"

"Praise the birdguy!"

They immediately scarper off back to the frontline and start bulldozing through the monsters, leaving a tired-looking Chickenfeet behind. After a couple of minutes spent talking to a straggler, he notices me, nods in implied greeting, and struts over, full of pride, "Hello, Jade."

"Yo," I wave back, "What was that about?"

He smiles, "When I came to check on the situation I noticed a lot of injured people were loitering around feeling sorry for themselves while they waited for natural regen, so I offered my services. For a small fee from each of them, naturally - It's also an opportunity to raise my Masteries a little."

"Oh?" I feel my ears prick, "What kinda dosh didja get?"

"A Stone Silver per-person," Chickenfeet reveals, "So, 2 Stone Gold and 4 Stone Silver in total since I started."

"Nice," I give a thumbs-up, "Don't tell Silver or he'll confiscate it 'for the Guild'."

He shrugs, flexing his fingers and shaking his hands off, "I don't mind, especially. If there's something I need I'll just ask him to foot the bill. Besides, it's not like I'll be handing over all of it."

"Say no more," I wink, "Anyhow, if it wasn't already obvious, I'm here to bring you back. Though we're like, going to be walking back over here anyway, so I'm not really sure why they can't just meet over here instead."

"If that's what Silver wants, that's what we'll do," Chickenfeet doesn't seem to care, "Surprised they didn't all come with you."

"Jupiter was still offline when I left, Win and Tour Guide went off to get a helper and some more cash from some other schmucks," I count off on three fingers, "So they'll be wai-"

I feel my hackles rise, immediately preceding a pair of explosions from the direction of the barricade, the shockwave and gust of wind almost pushing me over. Aggrieved yelling follows, and my ears are ringing almost as badly as those fucking sonic mines from yesterday. The ground shudders, then again and again in a rhythmic pattern I think is something walking.

Obliquely, I look up and find Angelus already running toward the barricade rather than away from it, and I see a much larger one of those gross hand things stomping it's way into a scattered crowd of people, moaning and groaning from injuries, those nearest to the front being the worst off overall, and almost certainly about to get whomped by what I'm just going to call Hans.

Clicking my tongue, I take out my bow and follow after the suicidal healer. If I let him die without doing anything, I'm going to catch hell for it. Weedy as he is, I catch up pretty quickly, "What the hell're you doing?!"

"Helping," Chickenfeet responds tersely, focused on running, coming to a halt in the rough centre of the defenders; Taking a deep breath, he holds his left hand up in the same pose from before, "<Inspired Healing>, <Lifeforce Wave>!"

A larger, more vibrant pulse of magic washes over the injured, restoring them all to good health the moment it touches them. Shocked, a few don't respond or try to move for a good two seconds. Coughing up a wad of blood, the healer roars, "Get off your asses and kill that thing!"

I'm already drawing an arrow, myself. Conscious of the small damage boost from Inspired Healing, I activate Split Shot as I let my arrow fly, the projectile flashing and splitting into a pair of glowing arrows mid-flight. Both shots slam into the huge creature's torso, joining a number of other projectiles and staggering it.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it dies under the rallied forces combined efforts. The hulking mass of appendages falls to the ground with a thump, and the survivors cheer victoriously, likewise praising Chickenfeet for his decisive action. Worse for wear from the health cost of Lifeforce Wave, he still smiles serenely.

The only thing missing from this saccharine situation is a pillar of holy light and a pair of wings.

---

 

It's finally our turn to be served. Or, rather, my turn. The tent is unbearably stuffy, not to mention stinking of bituminous smoke and old sweat. Unequipping my gear, and feeling distinctly vulnerable, I place it all in front of the Armourer, "I'd like these repaired please."

The man eyes it with wariness and curiosity, "I cannot."

A quirk of repairing crafted items is that you often need to have learned the Schematic for it if you're not at a certain level, and you also need the primary materials that comprise it. At least if you do it manually - Arcane Mending Kits don't really give a shit who's using them or what they're used on so long as it's within their Tier.

"I know," I'm not surprised, "Henna can though."

Hearing her name, the smith perks her head up from the sword she's working on, then smiles when she sees me, "Silver. Greetings."

"Hello, Henna. Could you repair my equipment, please? I'd also like a quick word once you're done, if you don't mind," I request, gesturing to my equipment.

She eyes my gear, "I don't have the materials. I assume you do?"

I nod simply, dumping out what I estimate to be enough, "I have plenty of Terrorstone to hand, yes."

"Very well, you'll just need to pay for the iron, then," Henna instructs, "I don't have my own stockpile available, as ya can imagine."

I flick my gaze to the Armourer, and receive his agreement, "60 Stone Silver."

Wincing at the marked-up price of half a Stone Gold, I reach reluctantly into my coin pouch and pay the man so that Henna can get to work. Since she has to make the Terrorsteel from scratch, the whole process takes twice as much time as it normally would, but taking that into consideration, I observe that her speed and confidence are leagues ahead of what she started with two weeks back. Evidently, working in here has done her craftsmanship a world of good, likely owing to the presence of a skilled peer and the sheer volume of work compared to her quiet days alone barely scraping by from week to week.

I have to admit I'm happy for her.

Equipping the repaired items, heedless of how hot they should probably still be if Astral Reckoning were to adhere completely to realism, I feel some peace of mind to be back in armour again. I feel pretty naked without it, in all honesty.

"Thanks," I breathe a sigh of relief, "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Sure," Henna agrees and steps out of the tent, I follow behind, along with a hesitant Windy and Miss Leovoldt who aren't sure whether this is supposed to be private or not.

I glance back, "You can stay behind if you want. This won't take long."

Miss Leovoldt smiles nervously, "Yeah, I'll...just wait here then."

Looking at the Ravager thoughtfully, Windy sighs, "Then I'll keep you company."

No skin off my back either way, so I leave them to chat with each other. From how they were getting along swimmingly during the hunting expedition into Goldmoss, I figure they're probably in the process of becoming mutual friends, so I don't feel especially guilty.

Henna stops behind the fireproofed tent, then turns and looks at me expectantly, arms folded.

I get straight to the point, "We're about to mount an expedition into the city to deal with Geronil's minions. Do you want to come with us?"

The smith clenches her fists, "Yes."

"Very well. But first, I'd like some assurance that you can handle it," I inform her, "How do you feel your training has progressed since the last lesson?"

Henna smiles softly, "Quite well. I sparred a little with that thief girl, Olrica last night and this morning after requesting for her to teach me her techniques."

Blinking with surprise, my eyebrows shoot all the way up, "Oh? How interesting..."

Hearing that Henna has managed to recruit Olrica as a teacher on her own initiative is a welcome surprise. It was something I was already considering beforehand, so this saves me some trouble and gives me a bit more confidence about bringing her along, "Did you beat her?"

"Six times out of twenty with daggers, 8 times out of ten with the zweihander," Henna admits proudly.

Grinning, I applaud her, "Very well done. Olrica is an expert with knives, so to hear that you thrashed her so thoroughly is heartening."

Inwardly I hope that Olrica isn't discouraged by her losses to a complete novice, even if Henna is a veritable prodigy. If it were me, I'd only be motivated to surpass her, but I can't say I know Olrica well enough to guess at how she must feel.

Henna beams at my honest praise, or well, not so much in her expression as in the aura she's giving off, "Thanks. It was...fun."

Drawing my Terrorsteel Horrorblade as she looks on curiously, I hand it over to her, "Show me what you can do. Imagine you're fighting her again."

With a nod, Henna takes the sword's handle into a firm grip, employing just enough tension to keep it secure without showing the whites of her knuckles - a sure sign you're clenching too hard. Raising the sword, she falls easily into a simple stance and swings it experimentally to accustom herself to the weight and balance of the ugly cleaver. Once satisfied, Henna closes her eyes, entering a state of high focus. Her body slowly shifts into a more aggressive stance reminiscent of a high guard. It's not something I taught her, but something she came up with on her own, and while I can see the benefits, it leaves her open to attacks on her left side and doesn't allow swift response to threats from behind either.

I keep my criticisms to myself for the time being, however, and allow her to complete the exercise in silence. Henna's face twitches, and with a smooth sliding step backwards she swiftly blocks a pair of imaginary daggers, her head snapping to the vulnerable left flank with a sly grin. With surprising speed, she steps around the phantom-Olrica, turns and brings her sword trailing ahead of her to rest at where the woman's neck would likely be after dodging into the 'vulnerable zone'. Executing a risky but solid feint to bait her opponent into over-committing to a deliberately revealed weakness.

Certainly, it's impressive, but I also question the wisdom of defaulting to such a tactic. I'll admit that the majority of swordplay is predicting and outsmarting your opponent, but I find it hard to believe that such an obvious ruse would work reliably. If anything, I feel like Henna is deliberately showing off to me, trying harder to demonstrate how cool she can be than how well she can fight. I find it hard to judge her, considering I used to act the same way around Lady Jannis and a few of my prior mentors.

Coming to rest, Henna opens her eyes and looks to me for feedback. If she had a tail, it'd be wagging furiously right now, I imagine. Sighing, I hesitate to burst her bubble, but resolve myself to do as my mentors did and teach her as well as I can without holding back on the negative aspects of her performance. It's for her own good in the end, and I doubt Windy or Olrica will be able to bring themselves to do it from what I know of them.

"That was subpar," I evaluate harshly, feeling a small piece of my heart wither as Henna is left crestfallen, "Too showy, not enough substance. You've improved, I'll grant you, but you're too caught up in trying to impress me."

I inhale, "For a start, you absolutely shouldn't be allowing an opponent nimbler than you to get inside your Territory uncontested. She's using knives, you're using a two-handed blade well-over twice the size of a single one of her daggers. The moment Olrica tries to rush in to confront you, she should be 'dead' before she gets close enough to reach you with even the utmost tip of those weapons because once she's close enough to threaten you, you've lost the advantage and endangered yourself needlessly."

Reach is one of the sacred principles of combat, and properly exploiting it to your benefit is oftentimes key to victory. It doesn't matter that your opponent is a master swordsman if he gets gunned down ignominiously from fifty feet away by a sniper, after all. Without supernaturally enhanced bodies and magic, the age of melee combat was shot apart by a hail of bullets and cannon-fire in Reality after all.

Seeing her absorb the information silently, with a trace of guilt, I continue, "Furthermore, your priority should be to end your opponent in as efficient a manner as possible. Performing for an audience should seldom be a concern when your life is on the line. Grandstanding and arrogance will bite you in the ass every time."

Taking back my sword, I take a deep breath, heft it up, and motion for her to watch.

Closing my eyes, I fall into an aggressive stance, then envision the same set of circumstances that Henna did. Olrica standing more than ten feet away, rushing in with alacrity, ready to attack. The moment I estimate she would come close to my Territory, I launch forward at an angle and swing mightily in an angled, upward arc that's near-impossible to dodge. Assuming that someone on her level would duck and roll out of the way the moment she realised the threat it posed, I switch grip and smash it down on the half prone assassin, 'ending' her without an ounce of grace, and without entering so close that she could easily counterattack. Her only options would be to retreat or die.

Opening my eyes and sheathing the sword, I turn to Henna, "Does that help at all?"

Eyes burning with determination, she nods, "Greatly. Thank you."

"Always remember that weapon choice truly does make a world of difference," I advise, "I have something else to do before we set out, so I'll leave you to digest this lesson on your own and meet you at the Barricade. Bring your gear with you, naturally."

Henna cracks her knuckles, "See ya there, Silver."