The Golem, Meteo City

"I don't suppose you've been waiting for very long?" I query out of politeness to the gathered group as I exit the storeroom door.

"Been here all morning, more or less," Olrica waves from her seat at the table, around which is sat Windy and Jade, with Angelus and Jupiter at an adjacent table.

"We still have a few hours left," Angelus shrugs, "So it's not a problem worth mentioning."

"How are you feeling this morning?" Windy asks out of concern.

"Terrible," I reply shortly, rubbing my neck, "But I'll likely be heading off as soon as we're done. I can handle a couple of hours at least."

"Your funeral, man," Jade snorts, "Ugh, I feel like shit as well. Doesn't help that this is eating all my leave."

"You barely have any shifts normally anyway," Windy rolls her eyes, "Not like you show up to lectures either."

"Shush," Jade swats her arm, "Let me be grumpy."

"You're always grumpy though?" Jupiter remarks, the verbal equivalent of poking a lion with a stick.

"Like you're in any position to fuckin' judge me either, kid," Jade glares at him.

He shrugs, apathetic, "This is more entertaining than school. How old are you if you're calling me 'kid' anyway?"

Ok, this needs to stop before he provokes her into murdering him before we even get to Arevas' Lair.

I clap my hands together, "Before we bear witness to manslaughter, may I suggest we go to Stone Arsenal and pick up Henna?"

Olrica twitches, "Are you sure that bringing her along is a good idea? I mean..."

I sigh, no more enthusiastic than she is, "Henna insisted, and even knowing the danger involved...I couldn't find it in me to deny her the chance to put any lingering doubts and attachments caused by the loss of her father to rest. After a fashion, it could be said that she's the protagonist of this performance. Not me or any of you."

Angelus nods along, "Unlike her, we don't really have a personal stake in this at the end of the day. I'll keep an eye on her condition as best I can."

I bow my head in gratitude, "If you could. I'll trust your judgment on the matter - If things look to be going irreversibly south, I'd appreciate it if you could all ensure that Henna at least escapes. The natives don't really get do-overs as readily as we do."

"Resurrection spells exist, I take that to mean?" Angelus reads between the lines.

"Mhm. But they're not easy to get ahold of as you can probably imagine, and they behave differently for us compared to the average Merrowan," I explain solemnly, "Though I can't really speak on the details of each variation of the concept - just treat it as if this is the one and only life she has. Even if we were to get ahold of such a tool later on, odds are high it'd be too late to redeem our mistake by then."

The only two reliable ways of getting it early on I'm personally aware of involve either high-end combat and Luck in the 40-60 Level range, or a ludicrous amount of Reputation and Favourability grinding with relevant organisations and individuals. Neither is feasible for the time being, though the former will be something Truthseekers will have to invest resources and manpower into regardless.

It's possible that there are Legacy Trials and Dungeons that flew under the radar that might deal with it as well, but that'd be akin to trying to hit a bullseye with a grain of sand in the dead of night. Such things would be kept under wraps by those in the know, and I was an utter nobody for several years, only gaining a reputation by association through my Guild, which in turn was only respected through my old leader's connections with someone far above us in standing.

I can't help but admit to some lingering feelings of my own. Of envy and frustration with my lot in life, as good as I had it.

No use dwelling on it any longer.

"By difficult, how difficult are we talking, exactly?" Jupiter leans over his table, arms folded, "Like, we have to kill a superboss with half our equipment hard, or 50000 hours of grinding hard?"

"The latter, mainly," I shrug, walking towards the door and beckoning for everyone to get up, "Spell Tomes, Skill Gems and Trap Designs are exceptionally rare drops as it stands - as are Crafting Recipes, Schematics, Blueprints and so on by extension. An ability as potent as resurrecting the dead would be in the upper tiers of rarity even amongst them. Then you have to hope that your Healer's Class is compatible with that specific method - and if not then congratulations, until you manage to get rid of it, you likely have a target on your back if word gets out you possess something so valuable."

"I can already taste the dry-streak," Jade complains, "We're going to be farming for it, aren't we?"

"Maybe not us specifically," I concede, opening the door, "It all depends how things develop by then. Could be we'll be able to just buy them outright, or we can send out some farming parties of our own to fish for a lucky drop. I expect we'll have better things to be doing with our time by then."

"Ah, yes, of course," Jupiter chuckles theatrically, "Minions to do our bidding, how could we forget about something so obvious?"

"Please never refer to other members of the Guild as minions out loud," Windy reprimands him before I can, "It's not cool."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just joking around," he grumbles, "I'm not stupid."

"You historically have trouble keeping your mouth shut," she points out, to which the Wizard just snorts derisively.

"If being sociable is a crime, just throw me back in jail," he huffs, taking it a little personally.

I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling stressed by proxy, "I understand we're all feeling on edge, but could you please try not to agitate one another?"

Windy's shoulders sag, "Yeah. Sorry, boss. Sorry, Jupe."

"Apology accepted. Also, 'Jupe'?" Jupiter questions, "Please don't, it's way too similar to how some people I've heard say 'Dupe'."

She snorts a laugh, "Hah, yeah. Point taken."

The remainder of the short walk to Stone Arsenal passes out in tense silence.

I rap the back of my knuckles on the rear door, not even finishing the third knock before it abruptly opens, and I almost hit Henna, the smith looking frankly awful, with pronounced bags under her eyes. In contrast to the full ensemble of armour, making her more closely resemble a soldier on the Liberati Front kept awake by constant cannon fire.

"Silver," Henna greets me tersely, sparing a nod for the rest of my cohorts before turning on her heel and heading back inside, leaving the door ajar.

"I don't think she's a morning person," Angelus notes dryly.

"Probably feeling the stress more than we are," Olrica mutters, pushing past and into the shop.

"I guess," Windy mumbles, the rest of us following behind.

The storefront is much more furnished than before, but a few things, particularly that showpiece shield Henna's uncle made, are conspicuous for their absence and are likely gone for good. Could be that a player stumbled across it in the city during the siege and took it for themselves. Speaking as a smith of experience though, it's not a great shield, and it's only real monetary value is in the metal alloy used to make it. Odds are it'll turn up in a shop somewhere in the near future. I'll keep an eye out for it, I guess.

Henna leans against the counter, arms crossed, as we filter in and form a semi-circle around the smith, her features inscrutable, but the arhythmic tapping of her fingers against her elbow belies the nervousness lurking beneath. 

I take a breath, "Last chance for you to back out, Henna, if any doubt remains."

She clicks her tongue, irritated, "I'm going. Even if Taracün of the Fated End 'imself were to descend from the Heavens, and tell me nay, I'd punch him in the nethers and go regardless."

"I'd advise against casually threatening an entity like that before we even get to Arevas' doorstep," I wince, "The odds are already not in our favour without you disrespecting one of the most powerful arbiters of chance in the world."

"...Literally who?" Jade's face scrunches in consternation.

I roll my eyes, "An Intermediate Deity associated with, as his appellation bluntly states, Fated Ends - an embodiment of inevitability with the purported ability to modify probability and manipulate events to said end - thus, not someone whose ire you should bring upon yourself. Now's not really a good time to explain theology, so, moving on."

Not as powerful as Lady Jannis in a straight fight, both being considered to be of Intermediate rank and power, but anyone whose domains involve the building blocks and metaphysics of reality is by their nature a cut above in terms of options to mess with people who piss them off.

It's like jinxing yourself, basically. With real consequences.

"Yeah," Windy agrees, "Save the lore of the land for another time. Better question: What exactly is the plan?"

"The first plan is to somehow convince Arevas not to kill us without also making ourselves beholden to him in Geronil's place," I explain, "A few ground rules on that. Don't speak unless spoken to. Do not be rude. And above all else, stay calm, and don't let yourself be provoked. I can more or less guarantee that Arevas will try to get under our skin - that's just the kind of asshole he and most high-grade demons are."

"Do I have time to go buy a fiddle?" Jupiter snarks.

"We're not in Georgia," Jade smirks.

He's about to respond but seems to think better of it.

"And if negotiations break down?" Angelus prompts

"Improvise and survive - our saving grace is that he is nowhere near full strength," I reiterate, "Still extraordinarily dangerous, but our objective should not be to take him down directly."

"So, run for the exit?" Windy suggests.

"Assuming that's an option of course," Angelus muses, "I expect that we'll be locked in before it even comes to blows. If we can't take the fight to the boss itself, perhaps there's something in the environment we can use to level the playing field."

"Don't count on it," Olrica grunts, "Hoarder or not, I doubt he'll conveniently have left a Hammer of Kill Arevas Specifically +8 nearby for just anyone to pick up and use."

"Something to keep an eye out for anyway," Angelus shrugs, "I expect most of the difficulty of any combat encounter will be surviving long enough to figure out the right strategy in any case. Weakened or not, something as powerful as you claim it is will still be in a league of it's own, no?"

"Seems that way," Jupiter agrees, "Is there like, anything we can buy from around here that'll aid in us dying slower?"

"Not enough to make a difference," Henna shakes her head, tone sombre, "The only thing of value passing through the city is food and furnishings from Ghoath."

"And you won't be able to get into the Pioneers' Alliance's headquarters until they finish cleaning up and reopen tomorrow," Olrica adds, "Believe me, we've - Rambling Rose, I mean - already tried. Got turned away without a second glance or a chance to convince them."

"Not like there was much worth taking when we were down there last time," Jade recalls, "Besides that mystery box. Hey, what happened with that anyway?"

"Uhhh..." Jupiter blinks, "Still got it in my bag, actually. Kinda just...forgot about it."

Likewise, come to think of it. I've had so much on my mind it just slipped past me in the shuffle. The context being what it is, it might be extremely relevant to our current predicament. If we have enough time, that is, having spent several days on other concerns.

"Take it out, and let's have a look at it then," I request.

Complying, the wizard moves to the counter and nudges Henna out of the way, removing a large, bloodcaked wooden box with darkened metal bindings and a palpable aura of malice radiating from within it. I feel a strange itchy feeling drumming along the deep core of my muscles and raking across my bones. Not the instant, forceful rejection that seems to characterise artefacts related to The Magpie Demon. Almost certainly demonic in nature, but far less potent.

 

 

"If it's a Quest to open it, there must be something juicy inside," Jade hypothesises, "But why's it Bronze-tier? There a trap in it or something?"

"Possibly," Windy concurs, "Don't think there was a key on his corpse unless we somehow forgot about that as well?"

She scans the group, all of us shaking our heads in denial.

"That being the case..." I stroke my chin, "Olrica, would you mind giving it a shot?"

The Scout flinches, "Uhhh..."

Reluctance suffuses her being, staring at the box from out of the corner of her eye, "I'm almost positive that this thing'll do some weird shit if I try to break the lock."

"And I'd prefer not to damage the contents by taking my lumber axe to it," I quirk a brow, "Please, Olrica?"

The group look at her hopefully. Under the expectant gazes of all of us, her willpower crumples like paper in short order, "Fine...Just, get to a safe distance in case there's a bomb in it. And if it kills me, you owe me one."

"I'm not really keeping track of favours passed back and forth, but I feel like you're behind in that regard," I roll my eyes, but lead the others in acquiescing to her entirely sensible request to move away from the potential explosion, pressing my back against the wall of the building's front wall and squatting down with my arms forming a barrier over my face, though not before I equip my helmet.

Just in case.

In the meantime, Olrica sets her lockpicking tools on the counter beside the box, then scrutinises it from every angle; picking it up, noting the heft, the rattling of it's contents and staring at the seams, joints and lock, looking for traps. Clicking her tongue, she slides a flat, paddle-like instrument out from the cloth bundle and digs it in between the lid and receptacle, then slides it across.

"Oh yeah, that would have been unpleasant," she mutters to herself, barely loud enough to hear.

Leaving it wedged in, she moves on to the lock itself. After taking out and systematically inserting up to four separate tools into the lock, a final pick is inserted and twisted to generate a clicking noise.

"Ok, hard part..." Olrica comments, removing two of the picks and placing them back in at a different angle before twisting all of them at once. The lid pops open, the first wedge falling out and clattering not he counter.

"Hell yeah," she pumps her fist in victory, flipping the lid over and leaning in, "Acid bomb. Would have melted the contents and half my face if it went off."

I stand up and walk over, "One of the many reasons I dislike dealing with Trappers. Good work."

"No problem, got to 5-Star Lockpicking off that," Olrica smiles proudly, "Definitely one of the most complicated locks I've seen. That prison checkpoint door was only a little easier by comparison."

Twisting the box around, probably scratching the counter, I remove the contents not connected to the trap's mechanism.

 

 

Opening the weighty cloth sack, a large number of coins and small gemstones sparkle from within. Spilling it onto the counter, Jade rushes over and starts pawing through the wealth.

"Fuck yeah, there's the payday I was looking for!" the greedy fox cackles, "Hn. No idea what these gems are worth, and there's a lot of weird coins in here..."

"Ghoathan Byrs. The national currency of the Kingdom of Ghoath to the direct east," I explain, picking one of them up, "He was one of the heads of the smuggling route going in and out of Ghoath, so it's not unusual. Geronil likely planned on fleeing across the border with it."

"Makes sense..." Olrica nods, rapidly counting the Empire of Stone currency up, "Well, that's still...239 Stone Gold, 13 Stone Silvers and 40 Stone Coppers. Hot damn."

I can hear Henna choke behind me, either from surprise or anger, "That bastard..."

"As for the gems, they're all relatively cheap," I judge, taking one between my thumb and forefinger, "No value in crafting, basically just quartz. Not worth a whole lot, and I'm not familiar with the current exchange rates of Empire Stone to Ghoathan Byr. Henna?"

She leans around me, "Perhaps 20 Stone Gold? Before tax."

"I guess that fixes any financial concerns we have for the foreseeable future, assuming we survive today," Angelus comments blithely.

"If our ambitions were more ordinary, perhaps," I douse the excitement, "I expect this will all be gone in the next few weeks. But it's still helpful, all the same. Personally, I'm more interested in this."

I pick up the palm-sized black tablet, the surface inscribed in dark red with what looks to me like High Lendosian Runescript, a fairly obscure language favoured by pretentious Enchanters that want to appear more sinister and mysterious than they actually are. Holding it makes me feel like my hand has pins-and-needles, so I place it back down after bringing everyone's attention to it, then swap my helmet for my monocle to appraise the accursed object.

 

I grin, in spite of myself, "Well, well, well..."

"What? What is it?" Windy prods my arm.

"Hope," I answer, laughing.