Into the city of Lonthoric, the capital of Mavigrid…
From the sky up above, down to the empire of Mavigrid, and known by many as the merchants of the sea. And from the golden light of the sky, sunrise was coming.
Seeking our sight to the adventurer's guild of Mavigrid. There, through the chambers of the guild's council, Lord Lavarent sits at his desk, scribbling parchments as the sun's light gradually creeps into his desk. Illuminating the room full of books and odd trinkets, and as the freshly steamed tea rises from his cup, a servant rings an alarm—
"Lord Lavarent, someone wishes to see you." A voice, a servant, spoke from the other side.
"Come in," Lavarent said, still at work, unbothered by who the person might be.
The door was open, not by magic but by the servant from the other side, and when the person who wishes to see Lavarent enters the domain—
"Archsage Azageis?!" Lavarent exclaimed, quickly detaching himself from the chair and his work. "I didn't know you were coming?" He adds, quickly leaving his desk.
"Oh, I've just come here to visit." Azageis raised his palm, searching for a comfy chair.
"Please…" Lavarent quickly pulls one of the chairs. "Is there anything you need, Lord Azageis?"
"Oh, just something that warms an old man's stomach from the freezing age," Azageis said. "And do drop the lord; I'm not a king or a noble figure."
Lavarent nods to the servant, and quickly the butler leaves the two as he gradually accelerates his steps.
"You seem troubled," Azageis said.
Lavarent expressed a warm smile, grabbing a nearby chair.
"Just some piles of work needed to be done; the world is changing fast, I say. And old age is approaching quite sharply," Lavarent responded, whilst fixing himself on the chair. "There must be some urgent reason for your visit."
"Ah, the road is not what it used to be in the old days." The archsage replied, and somehow Lavarent quickly turned serious, as if a presaging of impending peril were about to be revealed. "Tax there, tax here… payment to enter here, it really drains my pouch. Back in my day, we used to travel without any demands from every nation."
"I see," Lavarent sighs heavily whilst giving a smile. "True, even I seem to be exhausted from all those requirements. But it is for the best that this world will keep moving."
A pause followed…
"Perhaps I can be of assistance in your next travel," Lavarent said, "And if I may, there's an important friend of mine who might need your aid. You're the only capable person I know."
"Ah, don't fret, my friend Lavarent. Give him a little time." Replied Azageis, puffing a pipe.
"I-I'm afraid I don't follow." Lavarent faintly stammers.
Azageis smiles. "A month or two, perhaps a year or so, but give it just a little time, and Lord Ariendal will return to his feet. Forgive me for being selfish, my friend Lavarent, that I'm not willing to accept your beseech… but there's something that needs to be patched."
"I understand, Lord Azageis." Lavarent nods, yet part of his expression is peculiar. "How did Lord Azageis know about Ariendal's situation? I swear both the guild and the kingdom of Keshoval kept it secret."
"And it might be strange to you, but if you could perhaps relieve the young hero from his task." The archsage followed, "Don't worry, no harm will come from our friend Ariendal. I promise you that."
"Sir Roland?" Lavarent's eyes widen.
"Yes," Azageis nods.
Confused, Lavarent gazed not towards the old man puffing a pipe but through the open window. Cold wind enters, as does sunlight. He looks past the fluttering curtains, past the sunlight, and as the sky fully opens for sunrise to rise—
"I think I can do that, though I'm curious to know what journey you will be guiding them to?"
"Oh, it's not me, but someone who is still dwelling in her past."
Lavarent's eyes lit up, blinking at the puzzled words coming from the legend himself. Through it all, Lavarent agrees, trusting the archsage's words. Too, breakfast didn't take long to arrive.
Their meeting was short, as Azageis was soon led to a coastal port. Disguised as an old merchant, Lavarent stood at the edge of the terminal until the ship faded to the sea's horizon.
Upon the sun stood its highest peak; there, in a certain blacksmith shop, Natalak enters. This, however, was different, alone and no one to trail behind his shadows. He enters with gleaming delight—
"So is my thing ready?" Natalak smiled, fingers fidgeting in excitement.
Barry groans. "Follow me." The blacksmith said, leading him to a private chamber, a secluded and secret place.
When Natalak entered, the room was filled with lingering magic, and many armoires lined the chamber. The furniture's materials weren't wood but rather iron. But then again, these are not irons but dwarven metal, and the more Natalak leans closer, the more his skin feels the humming vibration of magic.
"This should be it," Barry said.
Pulling their past contract, Barry then placed it on the cabinet's door. And when the paper was pasted on the metal surface, embers began to consume the contract. The door didn't open, nor did it slide a welcome. Instead, the metal panel burst into shards, levitating through the air. And through what it holds, it shows the finished equipment of Natalak.
Natalak froze, admiring as his mouth slowly opened, amused by what he was seeing.
"I have to dye it with black colour," Barry spoke, pulling Natalak's armour. "It would be perilous to show an armour made of elvish steel to the public." He adds, heaving out all the items from the armoire, before the shattered metal fuses back together as the contract reemerges.
On the other hand, Natalak didn't pay much attention to Barry's advice; he was more delighted to test his newly forged items. And whence the armour was garb, Natalak felt the difference from his past armour.
"It feels light as a feather." Natalak gave an astonished expression. "It's so different from my previous armour." He adds flexing, testing the litheness.
"Aye, try using this claw gauntlet made from elvish steel," Barry responds, pointing towards the manikin in full plate mail armour.
"You want me to…"
"Try clawing the plate mail," Barry suggests as he looks for a chair to rest on.
Hesitating for a moment, Natalak then follows the blacksmith's words.
"What the?!" Natalaks' eyes unblinking, the claw gauntlet easily tears the plate mail as if it were mud. And the countenance he gave made the blacksmith smile.
"Did you put an enchantment on this?" Natalak spoke as he inspected the manikin's armour, testing if it was really made of steel plate mail.
Barry nods. "I only amplify the material's capabilities, with some help from the guild, of course. Elvish steel is incompatible with human magic; the only way you can fuse something charmed on it is by the elves themselves."
"Elven magic?"
Barry grudges. "I take it that you're not familiar with Elven magic. Are ya?"
Natalak shook his head. "I don't have much knowledge, but I'm willing to learn."
"Hmm…" Barry sighs, fixing his posture. "How do I clarify it… Well, from the start, elves were once Devas—"
"Devas, you mean like an angel?" Natalak interrupts as he fixes himself on a chair.
The blacksmith nods, taken aback by the man's sudden disruption. "Yes, it's quite a long story to tell, but there's a book about their races if you want to know more about them. As for their magic, it's much different, like natural, from our magic. I think it's best to look for a book or some people who are more into magic and things."
"I understand. By the way, how much do I owe you?"
"It's just like the last time seventy-five Shar. Oh, there are still four ingots left." Barry said as he stood, peeling back the contract paper. "I could make you a set of trousers and boots if you want. However, it might take me a month or so to finish it. Many commissions need to be done." He adds, gazing through the dozens of armoires.
"I would very much appreciate that. If it might be okay with you, can I advance the full payment?"
"You can, but we need a new contract. We might never know what tomorrow brings."
"I'm okay with that. And I'm quite curious if you can forge something like this." Natalak said, pulling out the raw blueprint of a rifle.
"Ah, this seems like those Mavigrid gadgets. Although your design is very different." Barry understood, flashing an eyebrow. "Unfortunately, crafting this type of item is not in my skill set."
"That's disappointing… but is there someone in this capital who might be familiar with these kinds of devices?"
"I don't know… the last person I knew passed away ten years ago. But if you want something similar, you can buy it through the shop that sells Mavigrid's devices. But you must complete the required documents to purchase those items… The only people I know capable of creating such weapons are the dwarves, but they don't share one with an outsider."
"I see…" Natalak paused, contemplating any other questions. "Why don't we go forge a new contract?"
Barry nodded and slowly displaced himself on the chair. The contract was made, and very soon, Natalak had to run back to Sheila's home. Dusk had already passed, and soon heavy rain was coming for a visit, followed by a harrowing wind.
Natalak returns before the storm sweeps the land, bringing restlessness and a sense of delight into the house. Yet in a day or two, that excitement of his slowly fades, replaced by weariness and the sense of a cold shoulder.
Chifya would occasionally try her best to avoid Natalak's relentless queries about the vastness of Vashkeil. But he was shunned by her silence, perhaps too tired from his constant questioning. Sheila, on the other hand, was much more approachable. Educating him on the economy and history of Vashkeil, he can't help but sense a growing distance. And on that one fateful night, the traveller from Earth awoke from his sleep.
The storm had passed, leaving a clear night sky, allowing the moonlight to dim the darkness inside. Silent as he was, Natalak slowly uprooted himself from the bed, leaving Chifya undisturbed. But when he set his sights on the table, Natalak gave a disappointed look. The table was still covered by thorn roots, moving like a snake.
Still, all he needed was a quill and a scrap of paper, and thankfully, he had it all stuffed in his artefact. And with no table to write on, the chair was the best he could think of.
As dawn enters and people awaken from their slumber, so too does the fog prowl through the city. Sheila was the first to awaken, and as she begins her morning routine, she found a letter slipped underneath the door. She checks if there is hidden magic sealed on that envelope, but she doesn't find any. Sheila senses a forlorn premonition. And after reading the letter, a grey silence followed.
While the fog slowly clears, no sunlight has yet arisen. Natalak took a walk straight through Barry's shop. And by Shar's luck, he found the blacksmith silently sitting near the entrance of the shop, drinking a morning coffee.
"You're up early today." Barry initiates.
Natalak smiles. "I'm just here to make an additional request to our contract. Don't worry, I can wait until the shop is open."
The blacksmith groans before taking another sip. "Come on in." Barry stood and slowly opened the door. And when they enter—
"So… what will it be?" Barry followed, pulling a pen and their contract.
"Well, if I don't return after a month, do give it to my companions," Natalak said, writing Sheila's address and her name on the contract.
Barry's eyes widen. "Don't tell me you're going on an adventure alone?"
"Oh no, I'm just heading to Mavigrid. There's something I want to see there." Replied Natalak, sliding back the contract.
"I understand." Barry sighs as he places the document in a magic safe.
"Oh, and if it's okay for me to ask, are there any requirements for using teleportation?"
The blacksmith paused, measuring Natalak as Barry pondered the reason the traveller had given.
"You will need a lot of documents and approval to be able to use teleportation. I can assure you, travelling with a caravan is much easier. It could take up to months or years before you gain access to the teleportation if you are not an adventurer or have zero connections. And with today's situation… You might need a decent amount of coins to gain those documents."
"Oh bugger."
Natalak groans, head looking around. "I'll think this should be enough," Natalak said. "And if you don't mind me asking… do you have some cooking utensils that are on display?"
Barry sniggers, rubbing his forehead. "You're one strange lad."
As the sunrise enters and the fog slowly clears, Chifya finally rises from her bed. She didn't even bother to notice that Natalak's belongings were absent from the room. But when she descended to the first floor, Sheila was quietly reading the message on the table.
"Is there something wrong?" Chifya spoke.
"H-he left," Sheila replied, extending the letter towards Chifya.
For some reason, Chifya felt a sense of dread, enough that it froze her, powerless even to speak. Soon, Sheila noticed the growing uneasiness as Chifya struggled to breathe. And it was not sadness she felt, but fear.