Lance drew his sword in such a fluid movement, it simply appeared in his hand.
The noise tips off the demihuman called Boc, and Kalé alike. Melina has yet to see Kalé react so quickly, he tended to have a lackluster attitude these past few days. She has never seen a demihuman look so frightened, in such a way that it could be perceived as a human trapped in that small form.
But what she thought she would never see, is Lance with such an expression on his face.
He has been like a child as long as Melina has known him, with pure intentions and a fragile sense of bravery. She has seen him smile, seen him cry. Seen him fear, hesitate, and act bold. She has seen him act almost animalistic, when he killed for the first time.
But this… deadened jaw, wide eyes and an intense glare; it's a new look on him. His runes, which she have watched grow every day, become erratic; spiky, if she could describe it. If water could portray anger, if a lake could show hostility.
It is like she has laid eyes on Roard again.
The jagged runes flash to Lance's hands and feet; he is going to vault over the counter. She can see it. Kalé is moving to intercept Lance, Boc falls on his haunches. Kalé will not reach Lance in time, the young man Melina calls her ally is moving too quickly.
"Lance wait!" Melina shouts, her flashing light bright enough to reflect off his blade.
Lance freezes, never taking his eyes off Boc.
"What-" He says out loud, Melina… "I-." Lance keeps talking, cutting Melina off. "- the hell. Is that."
His mind is a storm of thoughts and feelings.
Abomination.
Heathen.
Monster.
Devil.
Beast.
Nephilim.
So many words, all accompanied by memories of their own.
"Lance. What is wrong?"
Kalé does not draw any closer; he eyes Lance warily with his hands raised.
"No need for the blade, mate. This demihuman is as peaceful as they come."
"I apologize, sir!" Boc uses his own hands to shield his oblong face; he begins to shiver. "I am sorry that I am grotesque to your eyes! Please, spare me!"
From how Boc's runes move, Melina can only guess that Boc has needed to take this position many times before. Apologizing is second nature for him.
Lance slowly removes his boot from the table, casting his murderous gaze away from Boc. His sword stays out. He glances from Kalé to Melina, that partisan strapped to his back glinting in the light of the windows. His mind begins to cool, until he spins about face, grabbing onto the door's ring-shaped latch.
"Excuse me."
His voice drips with venom; he has yet to blink. He leaves, slamming the door behind him. He didn't wait for Melina; her light begins to dim as she's cut off. She phases through the wall, wincing as the thick timber and nails pinch and aggravate every inch of her ethereal skin. It is a feeling similar to forcing one's way through a field of briars. She finds Lance standing on the front porch, staring out at the masses. He quickly sheathes his sword, before taking a seat on a short flight of stairs.
He looks embarrassed.
I don't know what came over me.
If I could describe it: I found an enemy where I wasn't expecting one. My mind flipped on itself. I felt danger, unease, and hostility. I felt that my own soul was under attack; I don't know how else to describe the feeling.
"Fear of the unknown" would probably fit best. Not like the unknown of dragons and giants, or the unknown of this world and what it has in store for me. This was different.
I've been to zoos before, looked into the eyes of animals of all types. I've met cats and dogs in acquaintances to my parent's houses', pet them joyfully even when my mom and dad looked on with disdain. I've looked in the eyes of so many living things; not one had even a speck of emotion in them. Could never tell when a cat was happy to see me, could never tell if the polar bears at the zoo were sad based off their eyes alone. To me, their eyes might as well be black beads in their heads, nothing more.
But that creature, the one Kalé calls Boc; Boc is certainly not a human. Boc is an animal, anyone from where I come from would agree. But this animal had emotion in its eyes, true emotion.
That sent danger signals flashing through my head.
In the Bible, I've read of animals acting vaguely human at times; there's even a donkey that talks for a few verses. I never though much of talking animals, such a thing doesn't exist in my era. Sure, there are talking parrots, or even a cat that can sound like it's saying something. But that's all vague mimicry, and none of them had anything going on in their eyes; they just stared at the camera. Boc is no animal, it… he is not a human either. He is something else, and my mind could think of bad examples.
I plop down on the three wooden steps that connect the storefront to the main street, shifting about so my scabbard and partisan find gaps in the planks to fit into. My heart still rampages in my chest, shivers still wrack my body. I find that one of my legs won't stop jumping; I feel anxious.
Lance?
I can't hear Melina's quiet din in the cacophony of the passing crowds; I almost feel relieved when her voice brushes up against my mind.
…Sorry you had to see that.
Melina's light rests on the top of my head; I know I'm not imagining the small weight there that mats out a small crater in my hair.
Didn't think I could get so mad.
Mad is the wrong word, but I can't think of a better replacement.
Distraught?
Disgusted?
Threatened?
None fit particularly well.
It felt like my own sense of humanity was in danger. I knew things such as Boc existed in games like these, but maybe I was expecting them to be emotionless, like the animals I'm used to on Earth. Emotion and complex thought was always a human trait to me, and I had plenty of examples to back that up. Boc felt otherworldly; it shook me up more than I'd like to admit.
Melina listens to my thoughts silently, her light never leaving the top of my head. She speaks after a while; I'm glad she doesn't admonish me.
I assume that demihumans do not exist in your world. I can see how they would be strange to encounter.
I sit back, raising my head.
That Boc. Is he safe?
I sense no hostility from him. He appears to be a docile thing.
Yeah. He didn't look bad to me.
I take a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh.
He just surprised me, is all.
Lance, I would not call that surprise.
I go silent, Melina doesn't say anything else. We both agree that I overreacted, that's the vibe I'm getting. I did overreact. I can say that Boc scared me, but I have no excuse for how I acted as a result.
I feel guilty, more than anything else.
When Kalé finally exits the building, I'm still sitting on the front steps.
"Scared ya, did he?"
I cast him a sideways glance; Melina floats off my head, hovering next to me.
"Did I look scared to you?"
Kalé dodges my question.
"Don't dwell on it, mate. Boc is used to reactions like yours."
Doesn't exactly fill me with confidence.
"Why's that?"
Kalé casts me a questioning glance.
"Should be obvious. Others of his kind ain't exactly welcomed 'round here." He jabs a thumb back at the door behind him. "He may be the only demihuman in all of Limgrave that can speak the human tongue. That, and his mother; at least according to him."
I can't imagine such a thing, though I'm starting to see the obvious fact that the laws of my old world no longer apply here. Magic exists, giants and dragons exist. Not much of a stretch for talking monkeys to exist too.
I stand.
"I should go apologize."
"No need, he's used to it."
It's more for my sake.
I want to say that, but I cut myself short. I don't know if I even want to see Boc again, seeing emotion in the eyes of an animal is too much for me.
"Not here anyways." Kalé continues, the cloth over his face puffing out a little with every word he utters. "He's busy loading my steed at the moment. He's an assistant here, Newel's little helping hand."
He switches gears, peering out into the crowds.
"Supplies are taken care of, so it's best we be on our way." He walks up next to me, ready to plunge back into the human current. "Tallying too long around here attracts attention."
I can easily guess what he means.
"Before we go," I say, halting Kalé in his tracks. "I would like to make a stop."
Kalé waits; the weight of the partisan on my back feels all the more present. I have a few questions I need answering.
"Is there a blacksmith around here?"
I follow the sly merchant back into the crowd, as we merely cross the street. A rather short trip, though it takes us almost a minute.
Kalé takes me to a rather large building, where a big chimney sticks out of the center of it's roof. I've never been to a blacksmith's shop before, the practice isn't exactly popular in the 21st century.
But, even with no prior knowledge, I can tell this building is a smithy right as we walk in the front door.
It's hot, like a sauna with stagnated heat. There's weapons of all sorts decorating the walls, ranging from swords to axes and hammers, spears and flails. Farming equipment, armor, silverware, even nails. They are the wares, and most rest on the customer side of the building. Similarly to Newel's and Boc's store, a large divider separates the store from the shop, and the shop practically screams medieval.
Tools and varying hammers latched onto the walls, anvils and barrels and a great center forge pepper the layout. Multiple assistants hustle about, carrying what looks like large pliers, pinching red hot metal that sheds what looks like flaky skin. More glowing metal rods rest in the forge itself, where a small mountain of searing embers can be seen. A small corner has been sectioned off in the shop, where two woodworkers fashion handles and shafts, ranging from gold-plated ornamental handles to plain and smooth ones. Alongside them is a small and short fellow that works on a metal chest-plate, fastening rivets into a leather hide underneath. More simple machines and even a large bellows dot the area, all of which show their age through wear and tear.
To top it all off, the sounds of hammers onto metal ring out, all following a simple beat.
That beat is led by one man, who's hunched over near the divide. He's stockily built, with muscles that make his arms look more like logs than any defined curve. Ash grey and wrinkly skin, with eyes that glow like the embers behind him. He's completely bald, with an expression tensed and focused. He strikes onto what looks to be a nearly white-hot sword in the making, crashing a hefty looking hammer down at a quick and consistent speed. Every so often, he taps the anvil his glowing blade rests on; the noise gives off a sharper pinging noise. It's like he's a human metronome, making every first beat sound different from the rest.
His assistants follow suit; it sounds like the battery in a marching band. Something tells me this is what a smithy should look like; I almost smile.
So cool.
Kalé almost immediately pipes up when we enter, taking no regard for the delicate beat the lead blacksmith has set.
"Dals! How's business?"
The lead blacksmith looks up, not cracking so much as a smile. He taps his anvil twice, and his assistants all disperse, placing their cooling blades back into the forge. The blacksmith named Dals does the same, resting his hammer on his anvil.
"Kalé."
The man sounds gruff, like he's an avid drinker. He has a voice similar to the soldiers, though he's much wider. He looks pissed, but his eyes tell a completely different story.
Joyous, hinting with nostalgia. It's like he's seeing an old friend again.
"I heard you were in town."
Kalé eyes me.
"Guess that's what I was fearing."
Dals nods to that. He grabs a soot-stained towel off an old chair, wiping his hands off.
"Still worried about highwaymen then? Thought you have a guard these days."
His eyes land on me for a fleeting moment, before scanning the rest of the store. He either doesn't see Melina, or doesn't care.
"By the by, where's Blaidd?"
…I've heard that name before.
Melina seems too as well.
Blaidd?
"Guess is as good as mine." Kalé remarks. "Lance here's the stand-in for saving my arse."
Dals gives me a second glance.
A kid?
That's what he's probably thinking, he looks disappointed, to say the least. That is, until he spots what I have peeking out behind my shoulder. Dals eyes, which are rather small on his head, go wide.
"Is that…"
He eyes Kalé; the merchant nods.
"The one and only."
Dals walks off, before appearing from a door off to the left. He makes a beeline for me, stopping a few steps away. He eyes the partisan, then me.
"…May I?"
I slip Roard's partisan out of the knots on my back; the thing's heavy. Dals seems like a trustworthy guy, he practically wears his thoughts on his chest.
"By all means."
Dals inspects the spear, walking over to the center of the store. He places it on a bare table, pulling up a chair. I follow, with Kalé tagging along. Melina stays near the entrance, but eventually wanders over after giving the place a curious eye.
Dals stays silent for a long time, moving his pudgy hands expertly along the shaft, across the spearhead, and even the endcap.
"Remarkable... Metal straight from Leyndell's mines."
He says after a long while.
"Even more, this design. Expert hands made this."
What I see is a spear that looks like two opposing Nike logos stuck together. Some of the edge is rolled, and what looks like rust has taken hold at the tip. It looks old. Then again, I'm not an expert.
Dals eyes me.
"How did you get your hands on it?"
I feel my soul die a little.
"I killed Roard, and took it as a trophy."
That's a terrible way to put it. But it fits.
Dals nods in acknowledgment.
"Heard about that. Rumors say an unknown army stormed the garrison."
Kalé cackles.
"Well, I'll be. Seems the world thinks you're an army, Lance."
Dals looks at me like I just grew horns.
"You? Stormed the garrison. Alone?"
I shrug.
"More or less."
Dals sends home just how reckless I was: a single kid, attacking an entire camp. Doesn't matter if it was under the cover of night or not, such a thing… it's suicidal, to put it mildly.
Dals scoffs.
"Kalé. You find the most mad individuals I ever get the pleasure of meeting."
That sounds like a good thing; I'm fine being called insane if it means I'm not weak.
"I know how to pick 'em." Kalé jokes.
I speak up.
"I have a question for you, Dals. It regards this spear."
Dals leans back in his chair.
"Ask away."
His eyes are no longer disappointed; it's closer to respectful now, albeit shallow. Makes me feel a little warm inside.
Don't let it get to your head.
"When I was fighting Roard, I narrowly dodged being impaled." I gesture to the partisan. "Roard sent that spearhead into the ground, and it parted the stone floor like it was nothing."
I can't get that scene out of my head.
"Last I checked, not even a pickaxe can do that."
I plant my hands on the table.
"What's more, It cut me too many times to count, sometimes without even touching me."
It was only after my victory that I realized how close to death I got. I was cut all over, even in places that spear never touched. It made no sense; I didn't even feel most of those mysterious gashes.
"What's with this thing?"
Dals gives the partisan a second look, nodding his head like he understand my question.
"Ah. So that be the case. I wouldn't put it past Roard."
He checks something on the partisan's edge, picking at it with his nail. Recognition flashes over his eyes.
"This partisan is ascended."
That's a new word; doesn't ring any bells.
Kalé starts. He seems to know the word.
"Come again?"
My sly merchant looks at the spear like it just turned to gold.
Dals nods.
"I'd say the 5th level, maybe higher."
Dals seems to notice my lost expression. He retreats into his shop, bringing back two objects. A sizeable block of wood, and a small stone.
"I take it you don't understand?"
I nod.
He places his two objects on the table, tapping the small stone.
"This here is a smithing stone. It is worth more than its weight in gold. They can come from certain regions on a dragon's scales, or mined out of the land. They are rare, and they can vary in quality."
He gestures to the partisan.
"Young lad. The partisan you have acquired has been ascended, using smithing stones like this one. I myself cannot ascend armaments past the 3rd level, which means Roard had access to a master blacksmith, and a fortune to boot."
He picks up the partisan, just behind the spearhead.
"May I?"
For a big guy, he's awfully polite. I don't know he's going to do, but I nod.
Spear in one hand, that block of wood in the other. He wields the partisan's weight like it was made of plastic.
"Ascending an armament does not mean just sharpening it. It means imbuing magic into the metal."
He brings the spearhead close to the block of wood in a fluid motion; the wood parts cleanly in two.
What the…
It didn't just part the wood, it parted it without even touching it. An inch, maybe two, away from the spearhead; the wood just started to split open. It's as if there's an invisible edge to the spear.
Like he was chopping a tomato with a top-class knife, there was almost no resistance.
Dals tosses me one of the pieces. The cut side is smooth, like it were sliced with a circular saw and sanded down to a glassy finish. It's otherworldly.
"What you have, lad, is a treasure. Ascended weapons and armor are scarce, and any above the 8th level are unheard of on this side of Stormhill. Only Blaidd's sword comes close."
He snatches the smithing stone off the table.
"Not even this smithing stone can ascend weapons or armor to that level. Your partisan is something special."
Dals looks satisfied, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know why he told me this, when he easily could have bought it off of me for cheap. He's way too trustworthy, almost to a fault.
Melina is quiet; Kalé stuffs his hands in his pockets. He looks at me with a dumbfounded expression and a couple quick blinks, clicking his tongue.
"So, how much for the spear?"