[The Pontar River, Early April 1271]
Inside his small cabin aboard the ship as it cut through the Pontar, Armet stood at his desk, tracing an unfinished diagram one careful line at a time. The workspace was a mess. Shards of black chalk lay scattered across the parchment, and rulers of various shapes held down the corners to stop the paper from curling. He was trying to solve a particular problem in his head and to put his ideas on paper as clearly as he could.
Simply put, he now lived in a world of magic. He could not wield magic himself, but many things here were magical and could be worked with. Alchemy was part of that, partly because monster parts and organs carried strange properties. Related to that was runewrighting, which used those properties to enhance weapons.
Runewrighting was rare knowledge, but studying at Oxenfurt had its perks. A year before he had met an Ofiri merchant on the docks. The man belonged to a rising monotheistic faith from Ofier that worshipped a single God. Armet did not care much for the sermon, but he noticed that the religion prized the spreading of knowledge. He also knew that Ofir was full of runewrights. So he asked about runes. The merchant himself was not a runewright, but because his faith encouraged sharing what it knew, he taught Armet the basics and even gave him a few books. Though the books were written in a language Armet could not read, he kept them anyway.
After that meeting he cross referenced what he had been taught with rune lore from the university and managed to piece together the art of rune magic, at least in part. He had acquired a few things: runestones and glyphs. In his pouch lay one of them, a lesser dazhbog runestone, a stone meant to spark fire.
To Armet this felt like the key to a new kind of firearm. Not a flintlock, not a matchlock, not a wheellock, nor the modern iterations from his old world, but something different. It would be expensive and crude at first, and only for his use, perhaps a temporary step until he could produce the weapons he pictured. Cartridge ammunition was not possible for him now, not with the little time he had, but the runes offered a promising route.
If he could somehow make the runestone fit into the firearm, especially at the hammer, he would not need an external spark like a flintlock at all. He would only need to load the powder, then the bullet, then pull the trigger.
The problem was that once the powder touched the runestone, it ignited instantly. He needed a barrier that remained closed until the trigger was pulled.
With a few other runestones to enhance the weapon, he might build the first low-maintenance, highly reliable blackpowder repeater in this world.
Not to mention the other possibilities. Cannons that did not degrade quickly, that were less prone to exploding, that were far stronger and more accurate. A cannon twice the size of a conventional one but several times as powerful thanks to runes. What a sight that would be.
His train of thought snapped when a noise from the deck made him curious. He looked out the window and saw a peculiar sight. A sea of tents bearing the banner of Temerian lilies stretched as far as the eye could see. Apparently there was a siege underway. He grabbed his telescope from his bag and went out onto the deck.
He climbed the short stair and stood by the railing where sailors also gathered to watch. He opened the telescope and began to study the scene.
"La Valette Castle," said a sailor, who happened to be the captain. "Why's Temeria attackin' their own fief?"
"Even the king is present," Armet said, watching Foltest himself on the battlements, talking with men around him. "Treason, I presume."
"Treason?" the captain asked. "For what?"
"I heard rumours that the house of La Valette pressed for new privileges and got rowdy, trying to stir conflicts among the nobility," Armet answered, closing his telescope. "Add the whispers that the baroness's son might actually be the king's, and you can see why this has come to a head."
The captain scoffed. "Nobles. Hundreds o' people'll die jus' for this. For petty squabbles."
"Such is the rot of feudalism," Armet hummed. "Our course won't be disturbed by this?"
"No blockade from the looks of it," the captain said, shaking his head. "So long as we fly the banners o' Redania, we shan't be disturbed, I reckon."
Armet nodded. "Right. Then as you were, captain."
"Aye. If anythin' comes up, I'll send one o' me boys to ye."
—
[A fishing village near Vergen, early April 1271]
As Armet dressed in his traveling clothes, he strapped a couple of holsters around his waist for his pistols just in case and grabbed his bag. He left the room he had stayed in for almost ten days, climbed the stairs, and breathed in the fresh outdoor air. At the side, he saw people already unloading his chests and crates onto the small dock of the fishing village. He walked over and jumped down to the platform below. There, the captain waited, overseeing the unloading.
"Careful, boys!" the captain shouted. "One o' those chests might explode if ye drop it too hard!"
Noticing Armet, the captain turned to him.
"Everything's in order, I presume?" Armet asked.
"Aye, just a couple more crates," the captain replied. "Still, how'd ye move all this to Vergen? I'm not familiar with this place, never dropped anyone or traded here."
"If I remember correctly, Vergen's just a few miles from here. I could pay some villagers to send me there with a carriage. Shouldn't take too long."
The captain hummed. "Weird place, Vergen."
"How so?" Armet asked.
"Well, as ye said, it's just a few miles off a river. Why didn't they build the city here?" he said. "Much easier to trade by water."
Armet chuckled. "Vergen's a former mining colony of the dwarves. Most are still dwarves, and elves, and all things considered, freaks by the standards of the northern realms."
"Ah," the captain scrunched up his face. "Are ye a… freak?"
Armet laughed. "No. Just a normal human being, as far as I'm concerned."
The captain sighed. "Well, I shan't question why ye're goin' there. Ye've paid yer due."
Armet merely smiled. "So long then, captain. It's been a pleasure to travel with you this past week."
—
Now, Armet sat on a carriage beside the driver, admiring the view around him. It had been so long since he last saw all this. Much had changed, but most things were still the same. The terrain of Vergen was mountainous and almost labyrinthine. The road was confusing, winding through rock formations. Some of the stone here was white marble, a precious material that gleamed beautifully when carved. He remembered an old quarry just a short distance from the town. He often wondered why it was abandoned. Then again, a quarry required many men to operate, men the town probably did not have. And, of course, monsters lurked nearby.
The driver, who had been quiet all this time, finally spoke.
"Visitin' this old town, sire?" he asked. "Ye've brought so many things. Merchant, perhaps?"
"I'm not a sir. Just an academy graduate," Armet replied. "And no, I'm not a merchant. This is my hometown."
"Really?" The man seemed surprised. "A homecomin' then? I'm sure yer parents'll be glad ta see ye."
"I'm an orphan," Armet chuckled. "But thank you for the sentiment."
"Ah, then why'd ye come back?" the man asked again. "The city's jus' run by grumpy old dwarves. Well, at least 'til recently."
"That's part of the charm. Maybe it's memories of my childhood talking," Armet said. "But what do you mean, until recently?"
"There was a rebellion. Ye know the Virgin o' Aedirn?" he said.
"Oh, that," Armet hummed. "Well, at least it's not the Scoia'tael kind of rebellion."
"Aye. I admit, this one's much nicer," the man said. "Though I heard rumours they've started workin' with them elf brigands."
"You believe it?" Armet asked.
"Never mind what I think," the man said. "If the Virgin o' Aedirn can stop the murders by the forests by workin' with 'em, puttin' 'em on a leash, if ye know what I mean, then I'm sure a lot o' people'll be happy."
Armet chuckled. "Not much to say about that."
The carriage finally arrived at the gate of Vergen. He remembered it as the Mahakam Gate, the one facing southwest toward Mahakam. The structure itself was distinctly dwarven, consistent with the rest of the city. Symbols of the dwarves of old were carved into it. The wall was low, again typical of dwarven architecture. Atop the gate stood a couple of guards, all dwarves, carrying crossbows.
"Halt!" one shouted. "What brings ye to Vergen?"
Armet looked up. "I've come here to settle."
"Settle?" the guard grunted. "Ye've come t' aid Saskia, the Dragonslayer? T' help 'er forge a land o' equality, eh?"
"…Not really," Armet said. "You see, I don't know this Saskia the Dragonslayer. I've heard of her, but I've never paid much mind to what she wants to do. I grew up here, probably born here too. I've just graduated from the Oxenfurt Academy and want to settle here."
A pause came as the guards looked at each other. "What've ye brought 'ere then, scholar? Tha's a lot o' things ye're bringin' t' the city. Ye plannin' t' sell it?"
"Uh, no. It's my personal belongings. Books, drawings, crowns, farthings… do you want me to continue?"
"Er… no," the guard said. "Right then, ye may enter. But we'll be needin' t' search ye fer contraband first."
Armet sighed. "Search away."
The gate opened, and the carriage was dragged inside. Armet jumped down, facing a couple of guards who began unloading the carriage and checking the chests and crates one by one.
As they worked, he turned to the man who brought him here. "Well, it seems this is going to take a while. You can just go. Here, your payment. Though it's in crowns, you can exchange it for marks elsewhere."
Armet handed the man a pouch of crowns, and the man broke into a wide smile.
"Thanks, sire. Well, if ye need my services, ye know where to find me."
After that, the man left with his carriage, leaving Armet alone with his belongings being searched. He watched the guards leafing through his books and commented, "I don't remember Vergen being so… closed off. The gates were always open before. It's definitely changed."
"Invasions from the black ones an' Kaedwin'll do that t' ye," the guard scoffed. "An' there's whispers that Prince Stennis wants t' march up 'ere to stop the rebels. Patrols're tightened in case any spies, assassins, or scouts slip past the perimeter."
"Stennis with an army? His father's just been assassinated and he's marching here?" Armet whistled. "They sure are scared of the Dragonslayer."
"Ye scared now, scholar?" the guard asked. "Ain't too late fer ye t' turn tail an' run."
"On the contrary," Armet said with a shrug. "I'm a weapons engineer by trade. And an alchemist."
"Weapons engineer?" the guard raised his brow.
"Yeah, you can take a look at one of those crates over there," Armet said, pointing. "All the weapons I made. Though most of it is useless right now, no ammunition is loaded."
The guard grunted and walked to it. He pulled one out, a firearm that looked strange in the eyes of the dwarf. "Can't even begin t' guess what ye're tryin' t' cobble together 'ere."
"Well, perhaps at another time I'll show you," Armet said.
The dwarf looked at him deadpan. "Sure, scholar. We'll allow these for now, but if there's any mishaps, we'll be takin' 'em off yer hands."
A voice came from behind. "What's all this then? Stoppin' a merchant again, are ye?"
Armet turned and saw a familiar face. An old dwarf he had known well as a child. Cecil Burdon. He had been the ealdorman's advisor when Armet left.
"Ealdorman, this one's no merchant," the guard said. "A scholar, he is. Says he wants t' settle 'ere. Claims he grew up 'ere."
"Settle?" the ealdorman raised his brow, looking at Armet.
"You old dwarf, you don't remember me, do you?" Armet crossed his hands.
"Who're ye callin' an old dwarf?" the ealdorman scoffed. "Don't recall yer face at all."
"It's Armet," Armet said. "The orphan you took to shelter a few years past. You have a short memory or what?"
"Alright, alright," the dwarf cut him off quick. "Armet, was it? Armet…"
The dwarf frowned, sharpening his eyes toward him. Then a memory popped up, and a smile grew.
"Ye bugger! Ye were but a wee lad when ye ran away," he laughed. "An' look at ye now, turned yerself int' one o' them fancy scholars."
"I told you, didn't I? Didn't need a single mark from you either," Armet scoffed. "So you're the ealdorman now? What happened to the previous one?"
"Dead, what else?" Cecil snorted. "Clearly ye've grown since then. Come on, let's head t' me home an' have us a proper chat! I've some Mahakaman Mead that I've yet t' open!"
"Really?" Armet raised his brow. "Last time we went drinking I had to carry you to your bed because you were so drunk. Though I suppose that worked in my favour. I could run away because of that."
"Oh, come now," the ealdorman feigned ignorance. "It has been a long while since we talked. Do not let this old dwarf sit here thirsty, eh?"
"Oh, now you call yourself an old dwarf?" Armet sighed. "What about my things?"
Cecil turned to the guard. "After ye have finished searchin' fer contraband, send it to me home," the old dwarf said.
"What? I am no porter, ealdorman, I am tellin' ye."
"Then find someone who can. And if I hear this young man complain that aught's missin', ye will be the first t' be tossed in jail," the ealdorman said, then he turned to Armet again. "Come, lad, we have a lot t' catch up on."
Armet began to walk with Cecil through the streets of Vergen, leaving his belongings behind to be sorted.
—
Inside a home practically carved out of the mountain, Armet looked around as Cecil took out a bottle of Mahakaman mead and poured it into two wooden mugs. "Sit yerself down, lad. Tell me what ye've been doin' all these years," he said.
Armet hummed, sitting down on one of the dining room chairs, taking one mug and sipping the mead. "You know, usually you drink at the inn. Why here?"
"Why not?" Cecil scoffed. "It's the home ye grew up in. Surely ye'd fancy this over that damp inn."
"Well, I remembered you prefer that place over this," Armet said, sipping more mead. "But whatever."
"Now talk," Cecil said. "What happened t' ye after ye ran off from me?"
Armet sighed. "Not going to bore you with details, but I followed a couple of bands of soldiers and merchants from here to Oxenfurt. Rough couple of months, shall I say. Did things I don't want to remember anymore."
"Aye." Cecil shook his head. "The road's no place fer boys like ye. I half expected ye t' be dead halfway there. Still, ye proved me wrong. How'd ye get int' the academy?"
"I became an amateur peddler for a while," Armet answered. "Did good with the things you taught me and from what I know. I did pretty well, I think. Scammed a couple of foreign merchants with novel contraptions that were otherwise useless, and gained a lot of crowns and farthings from that. A couple years later, I finally had enough to cover the tuition for the first year. So I got in from that."
"An' the years after that?" Cecil said.
Armet smiled softly. "Well, I met someone, and I started a smuggling business with her. Really profitable, with me managing it, and her getting and making the goods. I still even have some of the crowns from those days. But after some time it crumbled, and I looked for a professor to sponsor me. I got one. He even paid for me to get a second diploma."
"Ye've certainly worked these past years… but 'her'?" Cecil said curiously. "Mind tellin' me about 'er?"
"Maybe some other time." Armet sipped his mead again. He looked at Cecil's drink, still untouched. "What about you? What've you been doing all these years?"
"Eh, I made do," Cecil murmured. "War's been rough so far. Ye're lucky ye're a student; don't have t' see the horrors o' battle. What can I say? Lost me sister t' a mob lynchin', an' I've had t' look after me nephew ever since."
"Sorry, old dwarf," Armet muttered. "My condolences."
"No big thing. I'll introduce ye t' him later." Cecil clenched his fist. "As ye've likely heard, Vergen's been invaded by Kaedwen an' Nilfgaard alike. Fought battles 'cause o' that. Sieges. One near cost me me life. I reckon ye came by water t' get here, but if ye'd gone by land ye'd have seen the devastation. Countless villages burned t' the ground. An' all that from one sorceress usin' one bloody spell… a sorceress that's dead now, thank the gods."
"Only one mage? What happened? A mishap spell?" Armet asked.
"Nay. Intentional." Cecil shook his head. "One o' Henselt's mages did it. She called down a hail o' fire from the sky, burnin' the whole battlefield an' more besides."
Armet hummed. "Mages have too much power sometimes. How'd she die?"
"Burned at the stake by Henselt," Cecil chuckled. "Ironic, ain't it? She burned half the villages wi' her spell, an' in the end she died by the very flames she loved t' summon."
It was then that a knock came at the door. "Ealdorman! That scholar's things're here!"
"Just open the door, ye buggers!" Cecil shouted.
The door soon opened, and a couple of people who weren't guards quickly placed the crates and chests in the living room.
"Bloody hell, why've ye got so many things?" Cecil asked. "No wonder it took so long t' search fer contraband."
"It's my books, my alchemical ingredients, and weapon prototypes," Armet sighed. "It's not cheap to transport it from Oxenfurt to here."
"Aye, I can tell," Cecil scoffed.
As the last of the crates were placed, one of the dwarves approached Cecil. "It's done, ealdorman. I've hauled yer manling's things t' yer home, just like the guards told us."
"So? What're ye waitin' for? Out o' me house, the lot o' ye!"
"Pay up. We're porters fer a reason."
"I'll pay." Armet took out a pouch from his pocket, looked inside, and shrugged. "Here," he said, tossing the pouch to the dwarf. "It's enough, right?"
"Aye," the dwarf said, glancing inside the pouch. "Pleasure doin' business."
And so, the porters left, leaving Armet and Cecil alone again at home.
"How rich are ye now?" Cecil raised his brow. "Throwin' coins about just like that."
"I'm not rich. I'm just paying someone who's done their work. Or are you not doing that in this town?" Armet scoffed.
"Ye just told me ye scam folk moments ago," Cecil laughed. "Now ye're payin' someone their due?"
"That was desperation, you old dwarf," Armet shook his head. "Anyway, I noticed something from you. Something's strange."
"What?" Cecil frowned.
"Your drink," Armet continued. "You haven't touched it. You used to gobble mead like a drunkard."
The dwarf flushed as if caught in a crime. "I'll drink it later. Yer stories're interestin'."
"Don't lie to me," Armet said. "Drink it then."
"Ah… later. An' bugger off wi' those questions."
"A dwarf that delays drinking… if your subordinates hear it, it'll be a scandal," Armet whistled. "Something happened?"
"Lad, ye're too observant," Cecil clicked his tongue. "Don't tell a soul. I promised me sister I'd be sober when I take her son into me care after she dies, an' I honour that promise. I swear, if anythin' leaks, I'll know it was you. Keep it till ye're laid in yer grave. I don't want Vergen's morale shattered if folk hear their ealdorman went back on tradition about drinking."
"Alright, alright. I understand," Armet chuckled. "Still, an honourable thing to do."
"Ugh, I swear, if that secret gets out…" Cecil muttered. "Anyway, what're ye plannin' t' do here now? I don't reckon a scholar'll thrive here. It's a trade an' minin' town. This ain't Oxenfurt."
"It's a metallurgist's town," Armet said. "I haven't told you, but I studied Technology and Alchemy back in Oxenfurt. I specialize in weapons. A weapons engineer, if you will. I create new weapons for war."
"Bloody hell, Armet, really? Create weapons? All those crowns ye paid t' the academy for that?" Cecil sighed. "Then seems ye've come t' the right place. This city's in the hands o' a rebel now, if ye've heard."
"The Virgin of Aedirn," Armet hummed. "Don't know much about her."
"Hell of a speaker. Managed t' bring folk together. Men, dwarves, elves." Cecil stated. "She talks about creating a nation without prejudice, a nation where men, dwarves, elves and all kinds of freaks alike can coexist peacefully, with equal rights."
"Sounds very revolutionary," said Armet a bit sarcastically.
"Hey, don't talk shite about her. Ye're a manling, even if ye lived among us once, ye don't truly know what it means to be a dwarf. Or an elf. The fear of persecution and pogroms…" Cecil muttered. "I agree to shelter her 'ere, as I want to see that dream come true, however hard it will be to achieve it."
Armet sighed. "I wasn't being hostile. I was just a bit surprised that only now a figure like her does appear. After all these mess around the northern realms."
"Trust me, lad, there's a lot more people like that." Cecil said. "The difference is, Saskia is hell of a commander as well. Drove off the Aedirnian royal forces wi' little more than peasant rabble an' a few sympathetic nobles. Broke 'em good at the Dyfne river. That was late last year."
"Before Demavend got assassinated…" Armet hummed.
"Aye. You heard that too," Cecil muttered.
"First news that came to Oxenfurt when the snow melted."
Cecil sighed deeply, as if tired. "The whole nation's in chaos now. An' I've just had a missive from Vengeberg that Prince Stennis, Demavend's heir, is marchin' on Vergen."
"To crush the rebellion?" Armet asked calmly, though he already knew the answer.
"No." Cecil shook his head. "T' parley. The prince wants t' prove himself a benevolent ruler. He wishes t' hear Saskia's demands. An' he claims he's got news as well. News he refused t' send by letter, so it must be important. It's not like he could crush Saskia's forces anyway, nor lay siege. The royal host's already been decimated by her."
Armet hummed. "You think she might like what I might offer?"
"I don't even know what ye're offerin'," Cecil scoffed. "If it's some sham that—"
"Like I said, that was desperation." Armet sighed. "Well, I can't show you here. But I can show you if you follow me out of the walls."
"Why's that then?" Cecil asked. "Why not here, eh?"
"It's noisy," Armet said. "It involves Zerrikanian powder. Explosive."
"Argh, I've no patience fer that. Don't want me ears bleedin'." Cecil rubbed his beard. "I'll ask her circle if they'll want to see ye, but I make no promises."
"It's fine. But right now, the important thing is I need a place to stay. Like a workshop," Armet said.
"I've got one empty. But I won't be givin' it t' ye for free," Cecil scoffed.
"I can pay."
"How many coins have ye got?" Cecil asked. "I doubt ye could pay after all that travelin'."
"I could… rent it?" Armet offered.
Cecil sighed. "Ye'll pay in installments. Need t' check the price I offered it publicly first, then ye'll pay part o' that every year."
"Oh, thank you, old dwarf," Armet sighed in relief. "By the way, when you ask Saskia's circle about my services, tell them I could make them a weapon that only needs a week to train men on, even peasants, if trained right in that week. That weapon can scare horses, waver a man's bravery. Used properly, even a child or the sick could kill fully plated knights that've been trained for years, given the right conditions, all after a week of training."
Cecil raised his brow. "Ye're spoutin' nonsense now, lad."
"Well, you haven't seen it yet," Armet shrugged. "Like I said, I can show you if you want."
Cecil frowned. "Yer claim… is near unbelievable," he said. "They'll not believe it when I tell 'em. An' I ain't seen it, so I can't confirm. Very well, I'll see this weapon o' yours first. But later, I'll deal wi' yer workshop first."
—
In the evening, Cecil and Armet stood inside an empty workshop, already loaded with Armet's things stacked in the corner. Armet sighed, a bit tired, as he helped move the chests into the place as well in this case. The workshop itself was quite big, rectangular in shape, and more carved out of the mountainside than actually built. It sat at the northeast of the town, near the Metallurgist Gate.
"This'll be yer place now," grunted Cecil. "I'll see to yer payment tomorrow, so make sure ye prepare it. Ye can also find furniture an' all them things in the market tomorrow."
Armet hummed. "Thanks, old dwarf."
"Rest well for tonight," Cecil said, walking toward the door. "I'll see ye in the mornin'. I'll look at this so-called weapon o' yours then. I'll bring some folk to weigh in on it."
"Right." Armet nodded. "You rest well too."
After that, Cecil exited, leaving Armet alone in his new workshop. He sighed at the sight. There was still much to do: buy furniture, set up his workstation, and organize supplies. But for tonight, it could wait. He would just roll out his bedroll and sleep. He'd grown quite weary after all the carrying.
—
By the time morning arrived the day after, and when Cecil knocked the door to see Armet again, he had already woken up from his sleep. It was not the most comfortable sleep in his life, nor is it the most uncomfortable either. When Cecil arrived, Armet had already had the crowns necessary to pay for the installment of the place.
"It should all be here." Armet said, dropping the pouch to Cecil's hands. "I'll wait for you to count it."
"I trust you lad, I'll not count it now, I'll do it at a later time." the dwarf waved it off. He looked around, seeing nothing has changed since yesterday, save the bedroll on the ground. "Do you want to shop for furniture now? It's kind of sad seeing this room in such a state."
"What about you showing you the weapons?" Armet asked. "You said you'll bring folks around."
"Aye. but that could wait later."
"No, let's do it now." Armet shrugged, walking to a chest, taking one of the weapons inside it. It was a firearm, and when it was placed upward, it's taller than Cecil himself. He also took a much shorter one, one that would suit the height of a dwarf. "I know you're a busy dwarf, with you being the ealdorman and all."
"Eh, I'm not that busy." Cecil scoffed. "But sure. Whatever you fancy. I'll gather the folks. We'll meet by the Metallurgist gate."
Armet nodded. "Alright, I'll prepare. Oh, do you happen to have a breastplate laying around? One that preferably won't be used anymore."
Cecil scratched his beard. "There might be one, at the guards' post, for training newbloods. I'll see if I can find one."
"Thanks, old dwarf." Armet hummed, with him wrapping the two firearms with a cloth already. "I'll see you later."
—
In the afternoon, Armet, with his travelling clothes, arrived at the northeastern gate of the city. He could see that it's open right now, with a bunch of merchants waiting to be inspected, but he does not care for it at the moment. Right now, he's looking for Cecil. Not a second of looking around later, he saw him, in the corner, with a worn breastplate placed on the ground near him, and with someone he didn't know. He walked up to them with the covered up firearms on his back, and greeted him.
"I hoped you didn't wait for too long, old dwarf." Armet sighed.
"Nay, we're still waitin' fer one more," Cecil shook his head. "It's the only one I could bring wi' me. The rest refused."
"It's not a problem. At least they wanted to come." Armet hummed. He turned to the person besides Cecil. "Who's this?"
"Ah, this is me nephew I was talkin' about yesterday. Skalen," Cecil said. "Skalen, this is the boy I took in before ye. Armet."
"Nice to meet you." Armet nodded to the dwarf. "You coming along out of curiosity or is he forcing you?"
"What d'ye think?" he scoffed. "I don't even know what ye're plannin' t' show."
"Then you're in for a treat." Armet smirked. "You don't have sensitive ears do you?"
"My ears're normal. I think," Skalen answered.
"Then it should be fine." Armet said.
"The boy's sometimes a bum," Cecil stated. "Spends his time gamblin' back at the inn. But he's a hard worker. He'll be me assistant one o' these days. Greet the guests if I'm busy."
"Oi, ye old dwarf! I'm not a bum!" snorted Skalen.
"Gambling, huh?" Armet whistled. "What's your poison?"
"Many a thing. Dice poker's me favourite. Arm wrestlin' if I'm in the mood. Ye play?"
Armet shook his head. "I dabble from time to time. But not religiously."
"Come play at the inn if ye've free time," Skalen nodded. "First round o' drinks is on me."
Armet chuckled. "I'll take you up on that."
"Ergh, this dwarf's takin' his time," Cecil clicked his tongue in impatience. "He should be here any second now…"
It was then that a rather messy looking dwarf approached. He had a shaved head, but a long unkempt beard. He had a drunk look on him too.
"There ye are, Yarpen, ye slowpoke," Cecil said, a bit annoyed. "What took ye so long?"
"Hey! Be grateful I came at all," Yarpen snorted. "I was curious what ye were talkin' about, but not that curious. Prob'ly some bollocks anyway."
"Well, I'll be glad to prove you wrong." Armet stated.
"I had low expectations, lad. In the first place, yer claim o' makin' a weapon that can have a peasant kill a knight with just a week's trainin' almost sounds absurd," Yarpen scoffed. "Even if it's real, there must be a catch."
Armet chuckled. "There is a catch."
"Armet, this Yarpen Zigrin, he's one of Saskia's war council members. A veteran at Brenna." Cecil said before it goes into a full blown argument.
"Brenna? I knew someone that fought there." Armet hummed.
"Yeah? Which detachment?" Yarpen asked.
"Not a fighter actually, a medic." Armet said.
"Argh, of course, you're a scholar." Yarpen grunted. "Still, a medic's crucial in a battle. A well-respected profession."
"Let's stop talkin' here," Cecil continued. "I shan't waste any more time. Let's head t' the forest nearby an' see for ourselves."
—
In between the trees, Armet is now setting up the dummy that he will use as a showcase of the abilities of his weapon. He put it straight, putting the stake that supported it deeply to the ground, making sure it won't fall with just one shot. After that, he stepped back for almost eleven yards, and turned to the group that watched him with a bit of boredom.
"Well, gentle-dwarves, this is the weapon that I will show you today." Armet said, showing the long firearm, taking it out of the cloth. "There's one more that you could use, it's much shorter, but the important thing that I want to show you is not the weapon itself, rather, the concept of how the weapon runs by."
"Somethin' about usin' Zerrikanian powder?" Yarpen muttered. "That alone'll cost a pretty pouch o' marks."
"Indeed." Armet smiled, taking out a leather pouch full of the stuff. "This is the powder. It's not really the proper recipe of the classic Zerrakanian powder, it's much stronger. But a bit less than a Mahakaman mix."
"What'd you call it?" Asked Cecil.
Armet shrugged. "I have a couple of ideas, but I want to know what you want to call it first, after the demonstration, of course."
He poured a proper amount through the barrel of the firearm, using the cap of the pouch to carefully measure it. After that, he took out a ball from his pocket, wrapping it in a thin piece of cloth.
"This is the projectile." Armet stated. "A lead ball. The cloth's used so that it is stuck in place."
"Why lead, then? Why not iron, eh?" Cecil asked curiously.
"It's much denser, it'll have more penetrating power, and it's easy to melt." Armet shoved the ball to the barrel, pushing it with a stick that comes with the firearm. "But you can try to use anything you want, as long as tests are performed of course."
"Ye said it could kill a knight. Can a wee ball like that even punch through a knight's armour?" Skalen asked. "Even the strongest crossbow sometimes can't do that."
Armet smiled. "Well, only one way to find out."
He raised the firearm, and saw the flintlock contraption. "The most complex mechanism comes from here. From where we start the powder. This one uses a flint. But I have many ideas and more efficient ones. But alas, those are more expensive to make. In this, we just have to put a bit of powder here, and cock it backwards."
Armet cocked the flint backward, and put the stock to his shoulder, aiming towards the breastplate in the distance. "Obviously, we aim the barrel towards the victim, then… pull the trigger."
The sound of a click entered Armet's ears, and the hammer came down to the powder.
*CRACK!*
The powder simultaneously combust as the flint hit it, and it triggered a chain reaction until it reached inside the barrel, where more powder was lit up, exploding, releasing tense pressure that instantly pushed out the lead ball outwards from the barrel. Towards the breastplate dummy. Then the smoke came. Rising through the air, passing through the leaves above.
"Bloody hell, that were loud!" Skalen complained, covering his ears tightly.
Armet chuckled. "You okay there?"
"Aye," he gruffed. "Gave me a hell of a fright. Didn't reckon it'd be so loud."
"I told you, didn't I? Asked if you have sensitive ears or not."
"Still…"
Armet smiled. "It works in the wielder's favour. The noise, the smoke. It scares horses, it creates chaos, it hurts morale. The smoke, it covers sight, someone who's charging at the wielder will be a bit disturbed by it. Even if it didn't hit you, what would you do if you were standing in front of a man with this weapon, even at a far distance? Shields can't stop it. A thick plate of armour might stop it, but even then you have to be far away."
"A wee peasant might just piss himself and run there an' then," Yarpen grunted. "Aye, I get yer point."
Yarpen walked to the dummy, inspecting it. He frowned. "Well, what d'ye know? A clean hole," he muttered.
"See? Though that breastplate might be low quality." Armet shrugged. He took out the shorter firearm. Showing it off to the others. "Anyone wants to try?"
Yarpen turned to Skalen. "Ye! Skalen!"
Skalen was surprised. "Me?"
"Try it." Yarpen simply said.
"But I've ne'er used it," Skalen answered.
"That's the whole point, ye bugger." Yarpen said.
Skalen clicked his tongue. "Alright then."
He approached Armet. Armet gave him the shorter firearm, the leather pouch of powder, and the bullet pouch.
"Here, I'll show you. First put the powder in the barrel, use the cap for measurement." Armet instructed. "Then—"
Armet continued to instruct Skalen on how to use the firearm. And the dwarf followed it well enough. A minute later, he's ready to fire.
"Aim…" Armet commanded. Skalen raised the firearm, and aimed it at the breastplate. "Fire."
Then, Skalen pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunpowder exploding filled the air, the smoke rose from the barrel.
"Ho ho ho!" Skalen laughed. "I love this! Packs a punch on me shoulder. I feel like I'm shooting a thunder from me arms. Did it hit?"
"Probably. It's only eleven yards." Armet looked at the breastplate. "Yeah, look at that. Another hole. See? Easy to use. Easier than a crossbow."
"Why d'ye think that?" Cecil asked. "Ye only need t' load bolts. This weapon o' yours needs a couple more steps."
"With a crossbow you still need to draw it back. And unless using tools, it's hard on the arms. A malnourished peasant can't do that." Armet said. "And if you weaken the draw power, what's the point of it? You're just slinging a glorified stick at that point. With this, it's constant. It isn't hard on the muscles. Doesn't need much training. The only thing you need to worry about is the peasant's ability to listen to instruction. So. Discipline."
Armet wrapped the firearm with the cloth once more. "I can tell you much more about the benefits of it. Supplies, for example. It's much easier to transport barrels of powder and lead balls than arrows and bolts. Much quicker to produce. Each bolt and arrow are a work of art and a half. While lead balls only needed mold to produce. Sure, the powder is a bit harder, but we could think of a way of mass producing it. The only problem that I could think of is that it's expensive to produce these weapons, which is the same as a crossbow, but compared that to the training time of archers, you're basically buying time if you use this weapon instead, and usually, you can't buy time on something like that. The complexity is more or less the same as a crossbow, if not a little bit less complex. But still, I saw a lot of crossbows at the walls. I presume you dwarves have the ability to produce these as well."
Cecil scoffed. "Ye underestimated us dwarves, Armet. Give me the diagram, an' next week I can have a wee factory runnin' to make these weapons o' yours."
Armet hummed, turning to Yarpen. "Is that what the Virgin of Aedirn would want?"
Yarpen scratched his beard. "Truthfully, I was jus' curious, that's why I came. Didn't think much o' it. But I admit, lad, this has potential."
"I have more ideas if you want to hear it." Armet said. "Like I said, the important thing is the concept. If we can apply it at a bigger scale, we can create an artillery piece that, if used correctly, could crumble walls in the matter of days. Artillery that would shoot fifty pound iron balls twice per minute with three times of range than that of a trebuchet, many times smaller than it and mobile as well. I could—"
Yarpen grunted. "Aye, aye, I get it," he grunted. "I'll speak in yer favour at the next war council, lad. Prince Penis is comin' to Vergen, an' dependin' on what Saskia thinks on what we should do next, we might need yer services."
Armet chuckled. "Prince Penis… that's funny. Alright. Thank you. I'll be eagerly waiting. Here."
Armet threw the small firearm that was already wrapped around a cloth, along with the pouch of powder and lead balls. "Consider it a gift. You can use it to show it off to your Dragonslayer. I have more in my home."
"Lad, word o' advice, don't talk shite about Saskia," Yarpen said.
Armet raised his brow. "But I didn't say anything."
"Yer tone, I don't like it," Yarpen said. "Some'd take it as an insult, what with how ye speak o' her. She's Saskia the Dragonslayer, the Virgin o' Aedirn. She's not yers, nor mine. She's for all. Do well t' remember that, lest ye want t' face an angry crowd."
"You talk as if you worship her." Armet said.
"Some truly do," Yarpen said. "She's brought hope t' us non-humans. A dream o' a land without prejudice. She's that symbol."
Armet hummed. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind."
—
Two days later, Armet is currently moving some furniture to his new workshop. He had just done a couple of chores all day. First, he exchanged his remaining crowns and farthings for marks. Then he had bought furniture from the market, nothing custom, just whatever's available. He helped the porters move it, telling them to place it at specific places. That took a whole day, but the result speaks for itself. Now, Armet's workshop is fully furnished. Complete with drawers, workstations, and more tables. Well, there's one more missing. His alchemy kit. But he planned on setting up later, as it's too late already.
He sighed tiredly as he looked upon his workshop, satisfied with the work. But it was then that a knock came from the door, which he opened to see who it was. It was Skalen, looking a bit drunk.
"Ey, Armet! I'm offerin' ye that drink," he said. "Come t' the inn. Ye haven't been there yet, have ye?"
"Drink?" said Armet, looking at the darkened sky outside. "Alright, I'm quite tired after all that hauling anyway."
"Excellent!"
"Let me get my pouch real quick."
The walk to the inn was quite quick, as it is located dead in the center of the town, walking down some stairs near the market. Its name was The Cauldron, probably named after the symbol of the place, where a fat bare-chested woman was bathing in a cauldron as she drank from a golden cup.
When he entered with Skalen, the place was already lively, as dwarves came here from a hard day's work to drink their night away. Armet followed Skalen to the corner of the room, where he raised his hand to the innkeeper.
"Oi! Two mead here!" he shouted.
"Comin right up!" the innkeeper answered.
Skalen grunted, making himself comfortable on his seat. Armet looked around. He could see a group of dwarves grouping up in the back of the room, circling two people that are most likely having a fist fight. In another scene, someone was playing dice poker. And at another scene, someone was armwrestling. It seems he's the only human here, a rare situation, though he didn't really mind it at all.
"So, how is it? This dwarven inn o' ours," Skalen laughed. "A bit rowdy, but ye know how it is."
"This is definitely not a sight that I can see back in Oxenfurt." Armet chuckled. "I kind of miss it."
"Hah! Those milk-drinkers haven't got nothin' on us! Thank the gods ye're here now!" Skalen snorted. "Speakin' o' which, how'd me uncle take ye in? Never mentioned ye."
"I don't remember much on how he took me in. I was an orphan as far as I'm concerned." Armet shrugged. "But around eight, nine years ago, I ran away from home. To become a scholar. He probably thought I was dead. A boy like me couldn't survive long on the road, as far as he knew, so he didn't bother telling you that. I mean the road was dangerous. Especially at that time. It was around the slaughter of Cintra. Soldiers are moving through the realms in preparation for an invasion."
"What a time that was…" Skalen muttered. "How old are ye now?"
"Will turn twenty one this year." answered Armet.
Skalen chuckled. "Ye're still a wee babe in a dwarf's eyes."
It was then that a barmaid came. It was a dwarf, a female, Armet thinks, even though she had a thin beard.
"Two mead, like you ordered." she gruffed.
"Thanks." Armet nodded.
The barmaid left, and Armet sipped the mead, while Skalen practically swallowed half of it in an instant.
"Ah… that hit the spot." Skalen burped.
"I uh… heard of what happened to your parents." Armet stated softly. "My condolences."
"The old dwarf told ye, eh…" the dwarf turned somber. "It were one o' those pogroms… lynchin'… back at Gulet. They thought we non-humans aided the Black Ones an' rounded us up. I managed t' escape 'cause o' me parents. Went straight t' Vergen with a letter from me dead mother an' nothin' t' me name. Gave the letter t' the old dwarf. He's been takin' care o' me ever since."
"And you don't hate me? A human?" Armet asked.
Skalen scoffed. "What for? It weren't ye that did it. 'Sides, ye grew up wi' me uncle. I'm sure ye bear no spite agin' us. Now if the Dragonslayer marches to Gulet, that's a different matter. I'll take up arms an' burn every face I knew, same as when they burned me parents."
"I don't think Saskia would allow that." Armet said.
I'd do it anyway." Skalen muttered. "Argh, enough o' this talk. Armet, would ye mind if I buy one o' yer thunderers?"
"Thunderers?" Armet raised his brow.
"Well, ye said ye never named it. I think that name suits it pretty well," Skalen stated. "The lead ball's almost invisible, but it's still there. No one knows it's there till they're struck by it, like lightning. The only thing they'll notice is the sound, it roars like thunder. Hence, thunderer."
Armet hummed. "I like it. Still, I don't know if I should call it that."
"Argh, I don't care, I'm callin' it that from now on. Anyway, are ye sellin'?"
"I don't know about selling. I only have half a dozen left. Different types as well." Armet said. "Why do you want to buy it anyway?"
"To shoot it, what else?" Skalen scoffed. "Can't get the sensations out o' me head yet. The feel o' pullin' the trigger. It's madly addictin' when I think on it. Scratchin' the right surface."
"Well, even if I sell it, you still need the lead balls and powder." Armet said.
"I could buy the powder from ye," Skalen said. "The ball though, that's easy enough t' make, so long as ye give me one t' make a mold from. It's lead, I can cast it o'er a campfire."
"Eh, I don't know, Skalen." Armet muttered. "I'll wait until news comes from Saskia's council, if they want my services or not."
"Urgh, guess I'll have t' wait," Skalen clicked his tongue.
The night then devolves more and more into drinking as the hour goes late. Both of them chatted merrily, most conversations are just useless banter, but the two of them are comfortable with it, drunk chatting until the night is over, and they had to get kicked out of the inn from heavy drinking.