If I could afford the time or coin for one.
His wrinkled face is twisted into a grimace as he strokes his graying red beard, his focus firmly on the restoration of his smithy. I can’t blame the man as I’d have been the same way only a few days earlier.
“And you’re sure there’s nothing you can spare for me?” I plead once again, knowing the answer won’t change no matter how many times I ask. Barduk huffs out a weary sigh as his gaze turns to me with eyes that answer before he speaks.
“Can bang out a masterwork in a hop. Enchantment though? Hmmm, I’ll not have the materials for at least a week.” He responds, his thick features scrunched deep in thought. The costs are left unsaid, I know full well I haven’t a fraction of the coin needed for even a minor enchantment, I’d be fortunate to not end up in debt when my shop gets repossessed to pay off the loan. His pity sits uneasy in the pit of my stomach, but giving in to my shame won’t help Sierri.
“Could you make me some kind of polearm or spear? Preferably something that can smack and slice.” I reluctantly ask, hoping to leverage the proficiencies of my new class. The man gives me a strange look, but simply gets to work gathering the materials and tools he needs.
I don't feel very confident choosing for myself at the moment, not that I need to explain myself.
A glaring issue in being handed a combat class instead of earning one is that I’m woefully out of my element when it comes to the related skills, a weakness I’ll need to rectify sooner rather than later.
What else did the class description say?
Valkyrie of Calyndra
You vowed your service to the goddess Calyndra, to be an arbiter of justice and defender of the weak. Not content with the role of healer or defender, you chose to become the tip of her spear. To seek out injustice where it hides in the dark corners of the realms and cleanse it of its insidious infection.
Key Ability: Strength
At 1st level your class gives you an attribute boost to strength
Hit Points:
10 plus your constitution modifier. You increase your maximum health by this amount at 1st level and every level thereafter.
Saving Throws:
Expert in Willpower
Trained in Fortitude
Expert in Reflex
Skills:
Trained in Athletics
Trained in Diplomacy
Trained in Medicine
Expert in Perception
Trained in Religion
Proficiencies:
Trained in All Armors
Trained in Polearms
Trained in Shields
Trained in Spears
Abilities:
Battle Trance
Blessed Armaments
Wings of the Valkyrie
‘Trained’ is quite laughable with how clumsy and unskilled my fighting will be. Perhaps twenty years ago I would have imagined myself a valiant knight or warrior, back when I was a teenager and our divine blessings felt more miracle than aid. But no, it can only work with the materials it has available and for me that means a particularly well executed flailing around.
Blessed Armaments
Your equipment channels the blessings of the goddess, reinforcing and strengthening them.
Armor: Medium and Heavy armor you wear reduces all damage by 1 + ? Class level rounded down. Armor can be worn and slept in comfortably.
Shield: When blocking with a shield increase material hardness by 1 + ? Class level rounded down.
Weapon: Any weapon you wield deals additional spirit damage of 1 + ? Class Level rounded down. This damage has the holy trait.
The ability is a rather straightforward enhancement to my equipment, then again so were most of my smithing feats, but the actual application of those was infinitely complex. Perhaps when I’ve become a skilled warrior I can inspect the effects more thoroughly, however not a priority with my limited time.
Wings of the Valkyrie
A Valkyrie flies into battle with speed and grace. Channel your divine blessing into ethereal wings to enhance your mobility.
1st level: Reduce the velocity of any plummet as if you had fallen 10ft less.
7th level: Able to fall from any height without hurting yourself.
13th level: Gain the ability to fly as easily as you walk for up to one hour each day.
I haven't gotten to the point where I start throwing myself off the mountainside so the uses for this ability seem limited. Except for the flight which even my miniscule education in strategy can see uses for.
It won’t be available until far in the future though, another ability that will need to be revisited. Perhaps it can serve as motivation to have one more thing in common with my draconic ancestors.
My attempt at levity falls flat, the mire of my thoughts resisting every effort to banish it. I give up on the lost cause and resume my contemplation.
Battle Trance
Enter a focused state of combat at will for a number of minutes equal to class level + constitution bonus per day. While in Battle Trance gain +4 to Strength and add your Intelligence bonus to Armor Class, Reflex saves, and Will saves.
When exiting this state, suffer from Mental Fatigue giving a -4 to intelligence for a time equal to one hour for each minute spent in Battle Trance with a minimum of one hour.
Battle Trance can be exited at will.
This is the ability that I’m most grateful for, something that should make up for my poor combat skills. Between this and my armor I should far outclass most threats expected to be faced at my level, hopefully letting me survive until I’ve learned how to not act the part of a novice on the battlefield. The familiar clanging of metalwork echoes out, cutting through my pondering.
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I've been doing my best to ignore him, but the loud strikes of metal on metal are impossible to tune out. They’re a reminder of what I once was and will never be again, not in this life. I pull myself off the wall I've been leaning on and exit into the blessed silence of the cold outdoors. The thick wood door closes with a thump, separating me from the unpleasant memories inside, yet they refuse to give up, taunting me with lost happiness.
Sitting on the snowy ground with my back to the stone the scenes of my life bubble up and threaten to drown me. In the glint of a hammer in the firelight I see them, familiar faces reflected in the steel. Scenes of joy and creation, of a neighborhood that I forged for decades in. Kitchen knives, pots, pans, clasps, door handles, and all the other little things that one would use. Not for war, but to live and love and connect. Details carefully etched into my memory.
The slow grinding wheel letting out sparks as I carefully sharpen the edge of a knife, imagining it cutting through the dense potatoes and carrots or precisely shaving off thin slivers of cabbage. To make meals for a family to share and fill their bellies with warmth after a long day out in the cold. Tough, smooth, sharp, I consider the use of each item as I make them.
Strong and precise, measured and checked are the hinges for a door. Any imperfection causing a creak and bend, scraping noises and damage. I mark the pieces with my charcoal pencil, the soot staining my hands and leaving a lingering smell that persists even when I wash them. How many times will the door be opened in a lifetime I wonder, wearing down as if to mark the passage of time with each use. At first a child leaving and coming home from playing, a teenager off to their apprenticeship, an adult coming home from work.
The fire from a roaring forge burns through me and it’s too hot to breathe. I can feel myself shutting down, becoming the corpse my mind insists I am. Eliza the smith died that day, along with everything else I loved.
“There you are lass. Was wondering where you ran off to.” Barduk's voice pulls me from my spiral and I creak my weary neck up to look at him.
There's that damnable pity again.
He carries a polished steel poleaxe, blade and speartip deadly sharp with a weighty hammerhead to round it out. I don't even need an identify to know it's a quality piece. My inspection deliberately avoids his eyes that burn with concern, I don't want more reminders of my accursed fortune.
“Thank you Barduk, I appreciate your help. Will five gold be enough?” I respond in a flat tone, my attempt at a smile failing miserably. He shifts uncomfortably at my words, but must have thought better of arguing as he nods and hands the masterwork weapon to me. The five gold brings my remaining savings down to sixteen, but the small bit of normalcy is well worth the price.
“Of course Miirx, whatever you need just ask.” He mulls over something before adding “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”
I wince at the reminder, thankful he can't see the reaction through my helmet. “Yea, I know.”
We grip forearms in a muted goodbye, a show of competitive respect from the decade we've known each other not marred by the recent loss of my class. The weapon marks the last of my remaining tasks here and it's time I leave before I lose my nerve.
It’s a slow plodding walk through the lower district as the moonlight shines down on me in the unforgiving chill. No one calls out to stop me or offer condolences, my armored guise concealing my identity, but the memories come all the same, sharp and clear in my mind. Every greeting and hug, all the songs and life, but the winds are too cold to shed tears in.
I make it to the stables in a daze, the thuds of crates and whinnies of horses bringing me back in a snap of lucidity. I shiver from the frosty air as I approach a nearby carriage, still packing for its long trip. The dragonkin man in the well tailored travelers clothes giving commands is my target, hopefully the owner or close to them.
“Excuse me, might I ask where this wagon is headed.” I pitch my voice low and hoarse, reaching into my pouch for the realm’s most potent charm.
“What business is it of yours?” He stops just short of spitting his words at me, though his eyes widen in greed as I flash the gold coin in front of him.
“I wish to pass to Bruzak.” I respond, his focus never leaving the gleam of my coin.
“Tch, ask Geldin. He should be running that way, the old dwarf with the braided beard. Tell him Corvin sent you yeah?”
His aim is obvious, but I thank him anyway as I search the wagons for the aforementioned dwarf. I speed up as I spot him already settled in the driver seat and have to break into a jog to rush over as he’s moments away from snapping the leads of the reins and driving off.
“Excuse me, Geldin!?”
To my great relief the man turns to me instead of riding off, his calculating gaze assessing me without a response. I pull the coin out before saying anything, afraid I’ll be dismissed before I can make my case.
“Bruzak. I’d like to go to Bruzak.” I state in a huff of frosty breath.
“Well get in the back then lass, I haven’t all day.” His gentle eyes and tone are like those of a completely different person.
The kind of greed I expect from someone willing to travel the mountain paths after sunset, not that anything too strong will be around with an army passing through. Not unless you’re level one with no combat experience.
I pass him the coin before dashing off to the back, aware that his friendliness begins and ends with my coinpurse. No matter, as long as he gets me where I need to go in one piece. I think as I hop up the back of the wagon, stepping over several sacks and boxes to sit down on a bench beside three other dwarves. They eye me with suspicion, but I simply greet them with a short wave before seating myself.
This is it, I’m leaving Dragonforge Pass.
I’ve been outside the city limits before, outside the country even, but when I look out the back up toward the mountain I called home for decades, I’m filled with a profound sense of loss. As if me leaving is abandoning my home and the people who once lived there. The wagon lurches forward as we begin moving and I pray with all my heart to any divine that will listen that the lost souls of the city will find peace in the afterlife.
You all deserved so much better.
The city slowly fades in the distance as I stare out at the sea of glowing lights and listen to the sounds of horses hooves. Starlight illuminates the rocks and snow on our path as the carriage rumbles along. Frequent bumps rough my posterior with jarring thuds against the hard wooden bench, making rest all but impossible. The unfriendly glares of my fellow passengers silencing any attempt at conversation.
I focus my attention on enduring the harsh chill cutting through my armor, the canvas of the carriage doing little to keep out the wind. There's nothing left to do but ponder as I consider my plans going forward. Bruzak is just a stop on the path to my destination of Rivermill, the border town of enemy territory and my birth country The Skypeaks Empire. The cowards fled east, the same direction as their home country and I can only hope to catch them before they make it back to a major town, or worse an army encampment.
I won't stop until I find and kill them, even if I need to cross the whole of the empire to do it. The one caveat is that I'm weak now, a level one combat class. Fortunate then that Rivermill is famous for its glut of low level adventurers all looking for riches and experience in the vast underground barrow nearby. If there's one place to get a foothold on the path to power it will be there. I should be able to get to the town by nightfall on foot if I leave early tomorrow morning and the roads here are far less dangerous than the mountain pass.
I am loath to admit it, but my family’s name may assist me in this should I require it. Our noble title has only brought more hardship for us from as far back as I can remember, perhaps it’s time we got something out of it. Assuming I can clear out the debt that has no doubt persisted even after my parent’s deaths.
It will certainly be an awkward homecoming for my relatives.
The long winding road down the mountain continues on through the hours as I lose myself in thought, the drifting of smoke from the fires of the army camp trailing into the night sky. A few shining eyes peek from behind trees and boulders with obvious hunger, but they keep distance from our traveling carriage. Howls echo through the air and shadows dart between hiding spots, but we remain unbothered through the journey though I grip my weapon tight.
A change in the scenery finally dispels me from my contemplations, crossing into the greenery of Ice Talon forest.
We must be nearing Bruzak.
Crystals of frost sparkle on the tips of the pines, giving the area an enchanting appearance, though no magical effect persists within. I’m grateful for my inherited darkvision that lets me enjoy this view even in the dark of night, though the feeling of wonder and whimsy have been muted as of late. Soon enough the soft glow of torch lights appear on the horizon, tiny dots of flame spread out across the wooden walls of the town. It draws us in, a siren of light and heat that promises shelter from the cold night.
Farmland sprawls out in vast swathes of swaying stalks from around the densely packed stone buildings of the town center, enough crop to feed the whole of the region. I’ve followed the fresh deliveries each week they arrived, eagerly awaiting the few dishes that were only made at those times. My mind wanders to my woefully neglected stomach stabbing me with sharp hunger pangs and I quickly swallow the pooling saliva before It can drool out of my mouth.
I’m messy enough as is.
Our cart slowly rolls to a stop under the wooden overhang of the stables on the town’s edge. The strong scent of hay overpowers everything else as the horses are hitched to their new sleeping quarters. I descend with a short hop from the back of the wagon, passing by the heavy beams and fences on each side of the open building. I’m eager to find a place of rest before the stress of the day lays me out flat like a punch from a frost giant.
Shambling along the cobbled ground of the main street, I pass the flickering torches of the few night guards as I head toward the wood carved sign of a bed. Chill air passes through my metal armor, stealing what warmth I have remaining in my quickening pace toward the inn. It’s a shabby place, rotting wooden door and overgrown with ivy, the perfect place for my lightening coinpurse.
Inside is no better and I hesitate a moment at the scowling look from the man sitting behind the front desk, but the price is a silver a night and my coinpurse is painfully light. I’m pointed to a vacant room, barely large enough to fit the sad excuse for a bad and thin sheet meant to be a blanket. It’s dirty and the lack of lock is troubling, but I’m tired enough to put up with it for at least the one night. Pulling the greasy blanket over me, I try to ignore the powerfully foul stench as I drift off into slumber, hoping the coming days will be better.