The Panacriph

[Raforever]

waiting, where´s the rest?  

[Corsair5]

Patience, child.

[Silverbolt]

Sorry. I didn't tell anyone that I was going to go to Greece. That's where I was the past ten days. And it was Divine. And I saw Mount Olympus and the Meteora Monastaries and and...I wanna go baaack!

I have some ideas for the story. I'll get back to it.

[Corsair5]

Did the Hydra try to eat you? Did Cerberus try to get food from you?

[Silverbolt]

Nope, but guess what I ate there! GYROS!

Yup...the same you could buy in QFG5!!111one

Those are pretty good.

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER TWO:  A Party of Adventurers

The morning air smelled sweet. The streets were almost empty. Arhyld walked towards the gates of the City, which were a mere half hour away from the Barracks. He decided not to spend any money at the time. Not before he’d find some companions. He opened his purse. It was heavy and very large. Derron had taken his Idyll currency and exchanged it at some shady moneychanger that would ask no questions. Also, as a recruit at the Academy, Arhyld was entitled to a room at the Barracks residential area and 10 gold pieces weekly. He reached the gates and greeted the guards. They nodded in response. As Arhyld stepped through the enormous gateway he looked at the road that led southeast. He started walking towards the inn. The hours went by quickly. It was mid-morning when he arrived at the inn. The adventurers were setting out or grouping outside. He decided to go in. Derron had told him that the innkeeper could be trusted, so he was the first person Arhyld talked to. The innkeeper’s name was Thaksworth. He was a man in his fifties. Fat, bald and with a greasy beard. He told Arhyld who to ask for help.

“Well, sir Paladin, there are quite a few bands of adventurers here, but you would best go with Marcus’ troop. They’re three good men and you can trust them. That Marcus fellow keeps pretty much to himself, he does, but you can trust him.”

“Where could I find them?”

“Well, they’re always the last ones to leave, because…well…I don’t like to gossip. You can find them in the backroom.”

“Ok, Thaksworth, thank you. This is for your trouble.”

Arhyld gave him one gold piece and headed for the backroom. Upon entering he only saw a man on a seat. He was wearing a blue cloak and cleaning a longsword. Arhyld cleared his throat and greeted the man.

“Hello, good sir. Are you by any chance Marcus?”

The man took off his hood and looked at Arhyld. He was a young man. Probably in his late twenties. He had black hair and a short beard. He smiled at Arhyld.

“I am. With whom am I speaking?”

“I am Arhyld. Paladin of Dawn. I am on a mission and I need a group of adventurers to travel with.”

The man rubbed his beard.

“I see…and what would this mission be?”

“I…”

Arhyld stopped. He felt the Panacriph warming up against his chest. Could he be in such luck?

“Sir…are you by any chance…a Guardian?”

Marcus smiled and nodded.

“So…you’re one of Derron’s people? Your mission must be important if Derron has entrusted you with such a secret. What is it, boy?”

And Arhyld told him his story. Marcus’ face became serious.

“Then we must hurry on to The Ash Mountains. We were planning to go to Iss’a in Wintercrag to check out the rumors of a Dragon Hunt. The Ash Mountains are close by. I guess we need to wait for…”

The door slammed open and a large muscular man with long hair dragged a smaller one into the room and placed him into a chair. The large one sat down grumbling. Marcus introduced them to Arhyld.

“Arhyld, these are my companions. The little guy is Skip.”

The small man jumped on the table. He was very nimble. He started to juggle three daggers.

“Skip, at your service, kind sir. Master thief of riches and women’s hearts. Husbands’ bane and resident jester. The burly silent oaf is…”

The large man picked up a gigantic axe and slammed it’s shaft into the table causing Skip to lose his balance. He spoke with a deep voice.

“I can introduce myself. I am Thrandor. Prince of Tegar. My father’s life grows longer and such I am to be the next King of Tegar. Our people’s customs say that I must perform an act of honor and bravery before I can step up to the throne. Who are you, boy?”

“I am Arhyld. Paladin of Dawn. Your companion agreed to accept me into your party…if it’s okay with you, sirs.”

Skip started to run around Arhyld checking him out.

“Good teeth, nice sword, big purse full of gold, I say we take him Marc. Can we keep him, pleeeaseee?”

The large man nodded.

“Skip is the reason we’re always late setting out. He always has a midnight affair with some maiden and it’s my task to drag him back here in the morning. What about you, boy? Are you a skilled fighter? We can’t drag around useless whelps.”

“If you must know, I have spent the past year training at the Valdar Academy. I know how to wield a sword fairly, though I may not look like it.”

Thrandor grumbled and picked up his axe setting it on his back.

“We’ll see. Are we ready to go, Marcus? Or are there any more of your friends tagging along?”

Marcus picked up some scrolls from a drawer and checked out the room for any items they may have left behind.

“I think we’re about ready to set out. Come. Let us go to Stormkeep.”

Thrandor shook his head.

“Stormkeep? I thought we were going to Iss’a.”

“Our new friend has some work to do at Stormkeep, Thrandor. We’re stopping by there first.”

Thrandor shoved Arhyld aside and walked out the door.

“Now we have a new leader? Bah! I’m watching you, little whelp.”

Marcus followed Thrandor to calm him down. Skip helped Arhyld back up.

“Don’t mind Big T, my Paladin pal. He’s just grumpy-wupmy all day longy. Come. Let me help you. Need me to relieve you of any weight? Sword, backpack, gold? Just kidding. Come, let us riiiiiiideeee, into the morniiiiiiiing!”

Skip ran out the door and Arhyld followed him slowly.

“What have I gotten myself into?”
 

[Corsair5]

Skip is my favorite character already.

[Silverbolt]

Yeah, I made him up on the spot. I already knew that I was going to have a thief in the party, but the moment I started to write, Skip just...came out.

Skip rules.    

[Corsair5]

Midnight affair with some maiden. He's my role model.

[Silverbolt]

Different one every night, bay-bee!

Oh, doo beehayve!

Totally shagadellic, baybeh!

Ok, Austin Powers mode disengaged.

I'll have the next chapter ready by today or tomorrow.

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER THREE: Journey To The Mountains

Arhyld stepped out of the inn to find Marcus talking to Skip, while Thrandor was standing a few feet away from them. Skip ran up to Thrandor, but the giant pushed him away. Skip seemed like he was about to fall, but instead backflipped away. Marcus approached Arhyld.

“Do not pay any attention to Thrandor. He’s a good man, but lately, he’s been under a lot of stress. See, it is Tegarian custom that a king-to-be accomplishes a task of bravery before he is named king. Thrandor has not found an opportunity yet and his father’s health, as the people say, grows worse by the month.”

“Ah. So the dragon you were going to investigate is his hope of doing something great?”

“Yes.”

“But that means that I’m just getting in the way…”

“Do not trouble yourself. Come. Let us go.”

Everyone was quiet on the way south. Everyone except for Skip.

“So, my Paladin pal, looking at you, I see you have a thief’s body. Come on, you can tell me. I mean, you’re a little tall and all, but could be a thief after all. So? Any treasures you have stolen? Pockets picked? Locks picked? How about your nose? Tell ole’ Skip.”

“I’m no thief. I confess that the silver that my sword was forged from was stolen from the mines of my homeland, and that I can sneak fairly well, but I never stole someone’s belongings and I don’t know how to pick a lock.”

“It’s quite a shame. Skip is my name. Perhaps you’d like to learn my game?”

“What are you talking about, Skip?”

“I could teach you how to thieve, my Paladin pal. I could teach you how to be a master thief. Steal from the rich and keep to yourself.”

“I have all the money I need. And mugging people is not my thing. One of your brethren wanted to rob and kill me near the Orcish grounds.”

“I am shocked that a fellow member of the Thieves Guild could do such a dreadful thing. Who is this scoundrel you speak of?”

“His name was Flig.”

“Oh, don’t make me flip my wig! Flig is but a common criminal. Not a smooth thief. He is part of the criminal syndicate, NOT a member of the honorable Thieves Guild!”

“Fine. Whatever you say.”

A few hours later, just before noon, the party arrived at what appeared to be a market. Carts of merchandise and merchant tents lay on the banks of a river. The road turned southeast there. Marcus decided that they should stop by and see what they had for sale. Thrandor coldly told Arhyld that he should get himself some bracers before he went into battle, or his hands would get chopped off. The part split up and Arhyld walked up to the armor stand. A large man, heavily armored, was in front of him talking to the merchant. At one point, his tone became threatening.

“Listen you little worm! I didn’t ask if you would show me the bracers. I *told* you to give them to me!”

“But…this was not our agreement. I…I need the money.”

The man grabbed the merchant by the throat.

“I am taking those bracers!”

“Please, sir…I have a family…those bracers are unique. I had to go through a lot of expenses to get them…please…”

The man lifted the merchant into the air and tightened the grip on his throat. The merchant squealed. Arhyld cleared his throat and tapped the large man on the shoulder. He dropped the merchant, turned around and looked down on Arhyld. He had a lot of scars on his face and his eyes were full of hatred. He roared at him.

“Who are you to disturb me while I’m conducting business?”

“I am a Paladin of Dawn and I command you to leave that man alone!”

“Or what?”

Arhyld was certain that the man could snap him like a twig. He decided to play the law officer.

“…or I shall be forced to arrest you.”

The man started laughing.

“You puny little whelp! Your paladins can’t touch me! Come on! I dare you! Arrest me!”

The man drew a gigantic claymore and slashed at Arhyld. Arhyld was quick to evade the blow and draw his own sword. He ran to the man’s side and slashed one of the straps that were holding his cuirass into place. The man groaned and swung his claymore again. Arhyld barely avoided certain death by the blade. He managed to slash another one of the straps. Arhyld looked back. Two more men wearing similar armour were approaching, swinging longswords. Arhyld evaded another blow of the claymore. This time it came from above and sank into the earth. Taking advantage of the situation, he ran up the blade of the sword and slashed one of the straps on the shoulder, then kicked away from the huge man. He heard a shout behind him and turned around to see one of the other swordsmen just feet away from him. One more second could have meant his doom if not for a dagger sinking into the swordsman arm, causing him to drop the sword. Two more daggers sank into his shoulder and forearm. The man dropped down in pain while Skip approached him and knocked him out retrieving his daggers afterwards. Marcus had dealt with the other man and was sheathing his sword. Arhyld heard a rumble as the last warrior managed to take his sword out of the ground and charged towards him. Arhyld prepared to avoid his blow, but a cry from behind drew the man’s attention. Thrandor was there, with the enormous battleaxe in his hands. The man turned around and charged towards the Tegarian, giving Arhyld the opportunity he had been waiting for. He ran up behind the man and cut the last of the leather straps. His cuirass fell to the ground, split in two. Blinded by rage, he turned to Arhyld. Thrandor roared and raised his axe above his head. The man turned around once more and shoved Thrandor onto the ground. His axe flew a few feet away. The man raised his claymore and prepared to deal Thrandor the finishing blow. Just when Thrandor thought that this was his end, a sword emerged from the man’s chest. Blood came pouring out his mouth and he crumbled to the ground. The claymore fell to the ground with a dry *clang*. Arhyld took his sword out of the man’s back and wiped the blade clean. He sat down by the body. Thrandor picked himself up and approached Arhyld.

“Hmph. I guess I owe you my life, little boy. You were brave to stand against the other Tegarian…maybe I was wrong about you. But don’t think this is going to change anything. Not just yet…are you listening?”

Arhyld seemed to be in his own world. He didn’t pay any attention to anyone around him. After a few minutes, he suddenly let out a cry and ran behind one of the tents to throw up. When he came back he was pale and he knelt by the body. Marcus knelt beside him.

“It was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“I could feel his heart beating as my sword sank into it…I could feel it through my sword and into my arms, then into my own heart. When it stopped, I feared I would die too.”

“The first death you deal is always the hardest. It gets easier with time.”

“I don’t *want* it to get easier!”

“Sometimes, killing your adversary is the only way of getting out of trouble. Your life is more important than some ruffian’s. It does not matter if it does not sound right. That is how you must think.”

“Marcus…what did Thrandor mean when he said that the man was also Tegarian?”

“Well, judging by stature, armor and appearance, I incline to say that he was indeed from Tegar. Possibly an exile.”

“I understand. Wait. I need to talk to the merchant.”

Arhyld stood up and walked slowly towards the merchant, as the crowd that had gathered dispersed. The merchant seemed to be frightened still.

“I th-thank you, milord. How may I show my appreciation?”

“The bracers that the man asked for. I wish to see them.”

The merchant reached under the counter and took out a small chest. He opened it and showed Arhyld a pair of beautifully crafted bracers, made out of a strange metal.

“It’s adamantine, milord. They are said to have belonged to a warlord of the old days. Back in the Chaos Wars. One of them has a concealed wristblade. Just press the button on the top to make it come out.”

Arhyld picked up the bracer and pressed the button. A blade about ten inches long flew out. Arhyld looked at the bladed bracer. It was a work of art. He looked the merchant in the eyes.

“How much?”

“Well, milord…it cost me a pretty penny to locate them. Then I had to hire people to retrieve it…I spent fifty gold pieces together.”

“I’ll give you seventy five for it.”

Skip coughed behind Arhyld as if he had choked. Seventy-five gold pieces was no small amount. One could have bought a fair amount of land with that much money. The merchant started to stutter.

“M-m-milord…I was going to ask for but sixty.”

“You said you have a family. Take the…”

“Milord, you are too generous. I can’t…”

“What kind of merchant are you? Just take the damned money!”

“Fine, milord. As you wish. Thank you. Thank you.”

Arhyld picked up the bracers and donned them. He hit one of them with the sword. It left no mark. Not a scratch, not a dent. Thrandor approached Arhyld and spoke.

“That was a noble thing to do. I know the man. His family is poor and he had to take out several loans to get those bracers. You are either very honorable, or very foolish.”

As Thrandor left ahead, Marcus walked up beside Arhyld.

“You know…we may need money later on. Do not make the mistake of throwing it around. You may have a kind heart, but your goal is not making every beggar in the kingdom rich.”

“You don’t understand, Marcus. It was my way of making amends for the warrior’s death. It may have not been much, but it was more than nothing.”

“I see. I understand you, Arhyld.”

“I don’t!” shouted Skip. “Seventy five gold pieces? You are a madman, Paladin pal! Why if I had such bulging pockets I would…”

“…spend it all in one week?”

“Yes, Paladin pal. But what a week it would be! Why I would…”

Skip’s voice seemed to fade away as Arhyld walked on, his mind wandering. The scenery and hours went by without him or anyone else saying anything. Even Skip had fallen quiet. They went southeast and then east around the Forbidden Tower. A road led southwest towards a cemetery. They didn’t follow that road. After a while, the party arrived just south of the tower. A road led south and across the river, towards the mountains. It was sunset when they entered the pass that led to “Stormkeep” according to the signs.
 

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER FOUR: Storm’s Pass

As soon as they entered the pass, Arhyld learned that its name was not simply for dramatic effect. Strong winds blew down on them from the mountains. Several times a stronger gust of wind almost blew Arhyld off his feet. Marcus shouted something from ahead. Arhyld could barely hear him over the currents whipping his ears.

“Stay close to me. We have to reach Stormkeep before night falls upon us!”

The sky was getting darker by the minute. Gray clouds had gathered above. They were in tune with the mountains, as Arhyld noticed. Mount Pyr towered above the Ash Mountains. The sky above it glowed red and the ground sometimes trembled mildly. Mount Pyr. The name sounded strange to Arhyld. He remembered Atreon’s lesson on the languages of the Continent. At first, as the teacher had told him, there was but one language. The Old Tongue of Artana. After the other countries became inhabited, something peculiar happened. Usually, throughout history, when two languages come together, they blend into one. Never before had it happened that a single language would split into many others, but somehow, Artana’s Tongue did just that. When the other countries were spawned, each people took part of the Old Tongue and developed it. That was why most places in Artana had names that resembled words from the Human Tongue. Places such as the Ice Wasteland of Iss’a or the great volcano that was Mount Pyr. The border port of Frin’j or the peak of Mount Athmos. The mound of earth in the Woods of Ter and the Forest Elves’ city of Syl’Vaan. The fabled underwater city of Aquos and so on. Marcus’ shout snapped Arhyld out.

“Keep up, Arhyld! We are almost there!”

The Pass went on. It was another half hour until they could see fires in the distance. Night had fallen. Arhyld ran up to Marcus. Skip and Thrandor were close behind. Arhyld yelled into Marcus’ ear.

“What are those fires?”

“Storm Beacons! We are in luck! The Dwarves light them to guide ranging parties and travelers in times of windstorms! We should follow them!”

As soon as they reached the first fire, the road turned left towards the mountains. Through the darkness lit only by several more beacons, Arhyld could barely make out a large group of stone dwellings, but they seemed deserted.

“Where is everyone?” Arhyld asked Marcus.

“During storms, everyone in the village retreats to the castle!”

“What castle? I can’t see anything!”

Marcus pointed towards one of the fires and Arhyld was stunned by what he saw. The castle was built into the mountain. Nothing but the gates and two towers stood out from the great stonewall. The craftsmanship was amazing. It seemed to be able to hold up against anything nature or man could throw at it. They pushed on through the village and towards the castle. As they reached the enormous gates, Marcus shouted something in a strange language. A faint voice responded from atop a tower and a small door in the gates opened and the travelers were able to enter the castle. The door slammed shut behind them and the storm seemed to be no more. A robed dwarf approached accompanied by two guards. The guards were heavily armored and seemed uneasy. The robed one spoke in the Human Tongue.

“Who are you, travelers? Why do you come to Stormkeep during such times?”

Marcus took off his hood and made a swift gesture. The guards took out their swords, but the old dwarf ordered them to sheathe them back. He replied with another gesture and Marcus in turn did the same thing. Arhyld was growing confused. The old dwarf spoke again.

“Take the large man and the small one to our guest chambers. I need to speak with these two in private.”

The guards led Thrandor and Skip out of the small entry hall and up some stairs. Once the three were alone, the old dwarf looked at Marcus gravely.

“I suspect this is an important matter…Marcus, was it? I haven’t seen you in a while and have never spoken to you, I think.”

“Yes, Father Brodden. This matter is grave indeed. It has to do with the Tower and the Panacriph. The boy bears it.”

Brodden turned to Arhyld and measured him from head to toe.

“An Idyllian, eh? What’s your name, boy?”

“I am called Arhyld, Your Grace.”

The dwarf laughed. A jolly laughter, he had. When he stopped he smiled at Arhyld.

“Boy, you’re not too keen, are you? I’m not the King of these halls. Nor do these halls have a King. The Ash Mountains are but the northern part of Dranthermond’s mountains. We may be Dwarves, but we don’t belong to Dranthermond. We belong to Artana and it’s Artana’s King we answer to. The *Lord* of these halls and the Ash Mountains goes by the name of Darlan. I am but a humble Priest of Vall.”

Arhyld suddenly felt small and simple. He blushed. The dwarf laughed again.

“Come, now lad. You’re not a maiden, are you? Come! Follow me to the library. We shall discuss important matters there.”

The three exited the entry hall and passed through a tall and narrow archway. The next room was what Arhyld suspected to be the Grand Hall. Many doors and stairways led away from it. The hall itself was incredibly long, wide and tall. Two rows of columns supported the roof. The dwarf led them to the end of the hall. Three wooden doors stood there. A double door in the center and two smaller doors in the two corners. The center one led to the Lord’s Throne Room, the one to the right led to the Chapel of Vall and the one to the right, the one they entered, led to the library. The library room was in fact a very tall tower. The old dwarf led Arhyld and Marcus up a spiral stairway to the very top where his study and chambers were located. Arhyld found it difficult to climb the stairs, seeing how the steps were much smaller than normal steps, having been build for dwarven feet, and he was not accustomed to them. After a long while, they reached the study. Arhyld’s feet ached from the long walk and the climb. The dwarf invited the two to sit down. Arhyld found the chair to be very comfortable. Brodden cleared his throat and spoke.

“So, boy…you bear the Panacriph?”

“Yes, milord.”

“I told you before, lad. I am no lord. You may call me Father Brodden.”

“But…you are not my father…”

“Ah, I forget. You Idyllians don’t understand the concept of religion. Let’s not waste precious time with such things. We have important things to discuss. Lad, what do you know of the Four Wizards?”

“I know that the Fire Wizard was said to have been killed in the heart of mount Pyr.”

“Very well. Now, we dwarves are not too fond of the underground, but…”

“What? I thought that you lived in great caverns and that you…”

The dwarf frowned. Arhyld fell quiet and let him continue speaking.

“It is not very polite to interrupt, lad.”

“I am sorry. I just thought…”

“That we live like the Old Dwarves? No, boy. We dwarves moved out of the caverns a long time ago. It wasn’t healthy. All the dust and powdered gold and lead…Our main trade is still mining, but we usually live in villages at the surface. Each town or city has one great keep such as this one for refuge in times of war or storm. Many galleries have remained deserted and many have been forgotten. There is a door in the depths of the mountain with the symbol of the Panacriph on it. It is clear what lies beyond. It is said that when the Fire Mage died, his spirit created the door and engraved the symbol upon it. Lord Darlan, however, will most likely not allow you to go there. We shall see in the morning. You must rest now, boy. You’re probably tired.”

Arhyld stood up and thanked the dwarf for his help. Marcus led Arhyld to his room on the far side of the castle, back towards the entry hall. The walk there seemed to be a blur and he fell asleep without realizing it, as soon as he lay down on the soft bed.
 

[Silverbolt]

CHAPTER FIVE: A Lesson on Economy

Arhyld woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. His room was one of the few in the castle that had natural lighting. The sun shone on the horizon. Arhyld got out of bed and got dressed. As he descended the stairway back into the Grand Hall he saw a lot of dwarves leaving the castle. They were returning to the town, Arhyld assumed. Some didn’t pay attention to him, some glanced at him curiously or untrustingly. Arhyld saw that Marcus, Thrandor and Skip were waiting for him near a door on the side of the hall. Arhyld approached and greeted them all. Thrandor grumbled. Skip jumped next to Arhyld.

“Can I tell him, Marc? Can I, please? Oh, I want to tell him! Let me tell him!”

Arhyld gave Marcus a confused look.

“What does he want to tell me?”

Marcus smiled and looked at Skip.

“Go on, Skip.”

“But, Marc…I can’t tell him. You never told me what you wanted to tell him. Why didn’t you tell me, Marc? Hmm? Why?”

Thrandor mumbled something and whacked Skip on the back of his head. Marcus cleared his throat and spoke.

“Yes, as we were trying to tell you, Arhyld…this door leads to the dwarven smithy. Now, I talked to Father Brodden about your mission. He told me that he was to try and convince Lord Darlan to grant you access to the deserted galleries. However, the Lord is short of temper and patience. He may change his mind, and that is why you have to be prepared when you show yourself to him. After he has given you leave, you must proceed immediately.”

Arhyld eagerly blurted.

“But I *am* ready!”

Marcus shook his head and pointed at Arhyld’s boots. Leather.

“Do you mean to brave the depths of the volcano wearing leather? You need new boots, young Paladin. The smithy might have what you’re looking for. Come on.”

Arhyld stood silent and shamed. He slowly followed Marcus into the smithy. The clanging of hammers and the heat of forge fires was omnipresent. Marcus approached the lead smith. A mid-aged dwarf with no beard. Arhyld was surprised to see a shaven dwarf, but after all, who could work near a fire while wearing a foot-long bunch of hair on his chin? The dwarf rested the hammer on his anvil and looked at the four. Marcus gently pushed Arhyld forward. The young man cleared his throat and introduced himself.

“I’m Drent. Master smith of Stormkeep.” The dwarf said holding out his hand. “How may I help you, human?”

“Well, I am looking for a pair of boots. Something light and resistant to heat.”

“Hmm…follow me, then. The shop is this way.”

The dwarf led them to a room beyond the smithy. It was full of glass cases with pieces of armor and weapons on display. The weapons were by far too short, having been made by dwarves. So were the cuirasses and other armor components, though a few seemed to have been crafted for humans. Arhyld checked out the display cases and suddenly, his eyes fell upon a pair of boots. They shone under the torchlight and they seemed to be made of a strange metal, similar to his bracers. Adamantine, he thought. The boots covered the leg from foot to under the knee in the back, and went above the kneecaps on the front side. They bore the dwarven insignia below the knee: a golden hammer inside a kite shape. They seemed to be light enough, just as the bracers. The smith noticed Arhyld’s interest and opened the case.

“A good choice, master human. My great-ancestor crafted these boots. His name was also Drent, it was. Drent the Nimble they called him. Us Dwarves are not too fast or fancy-dancy, but Drent was, they say. Many found it funny to see such grace in a dwarf, but he paid them no heed. He was an enchanter as well as a smith and he once decided to help all dwarves be as gifted as him. He crafted boots that would make them more agile, ye see? But the problem is, them boots can’t help one that has no skill whatsoever. They can’t give you something that ye can’t control or something that you have not. Them boots were long lost or broken and only these remain. He crafted them for a human-size and wanted to make a business out of them, but poor soul died before he could. In the Chaos Wars. What say you, lad? They cost a pretty penny, though.”

Arhyld considered it for a moment but not for long. He decided to buy them.

“I can pay what you ask of me. I have enough gold on me to…”

“Gold?! Do you mock me, human? This mountain is practically *made* of gold! We drink from golden goblets and we eat with golden spoons and forks. What do I want with gold money?”

“But…sir. I thought gold was…the humans think it to be valuable. I have nothing else to pay but…”

The Dwarf didn’t seem to listen. He rambled on.

“…damn elves. Let’s see them make their jewels with no gold to shine prettily. Let’s see them. Thought they were smart, hoarding all the silver!”

Arhyld grinned. He understood it to some degree. Everyone found gold to be more valuable than silver, except for the dwarves, as it appeared. He reached for the bottom of his bag and took out five fist-sized chunks of silver. The ones that remained from forging his sword. The dwarf’s eyes widened. Arhyld tried to sound bored.

“I trust this would be satisfactory?”

The glint in the smith’s eyes was unmistakable.

“Aye. It will. That’ll even buy you a nice sword sheathe. Wait here. Try the boots on, if you will.”

The dwarf hurried back into the forge. Arhyld started to put on the boots and looked towards Marcus. The man was smiling.

“Well done and well thought, Arhyld.”

“Thank you. Though, I must ask. Why the difference in economy?”

“Remember when I told you that the peoples of Artana don’t get along well anymore? The Dwarves mine about everything from these mountains save from Mithril and silver. The Elves have those. When the relationships between the Dwarves and Elves grew cold, prices rose quickly for gold to the Elves and to silver to the Dwarves. And seeing how the humans prefer the elves, it was the same for them. The kingdom is going through a crisis, but that need not concern you. Your task is to…”

Marcus’ line was cut short when Arhyld finished putting on the second boot and jumped to his feet. He was propelled several feet into the air and landed on his back. The dwarf was entering the room again and started to laugh.

“What did I tell you? You need to control them. Do you still want to make your purchase?”

Arhyld steadied himself and stepped sideways. It was more of a slide, but he seemed to be alright.

“Yes, please. It was just the initial shock. I’ll get used to it. Is that the sheathe?”

The dwarf was holding a beautiful sheathe made of steel dressed in boiled leather straps. It was light and sturdy. Arhyld attached it to his belt, the one Gorg’Thal had given him a year and more ago. The dwarf took the old sheathe and the boots from Arhyld. I trust you won’t be needing these anymore?

“No, I…wait!” Arhyld quickly reached into the side of the right boot and pulled out the dagger Myter made for him. Looking into his new boots, he noticed a compartment that seemed to have been made for the same purpose. He slid the dagger in and bowed to the shopkeeper after giving him the silver.

“Thank you, good sir.”

“It was a pleasure, human. And between the two of us…I wouldn’t have sold you anything if Father Brodden hadn’t vouched for you. Don’t be sending friends around here for bargains, y’hear?”

“Fine, master Drent, I won’t. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, boy. Be sure to train with those boots until you master them.”

Arhyld realized that the smith had been serious, as he started to skip towards the exit while he tried to walk.

“What’s the matter, Paladin Pal? You want to steal Skip’s name, do you?”

“That’s not funny, Skip. Come on. Let’s go see the Lord of Stormkeep.”

Marcus and Skip followed. Thrandor started after them after his traditional grumbling. Lord Darlan was expecting them.
 

[Sirus]

Wow, that's long. (at least longer than anything I wrote)

I'll have go and read all the chapters, looks good (I skimmed through a bit).

[Silverbolt]

Wheat! I gots readers!