Chapter 64 - Equipment (Patreon)

Another long one today, but I had a lot of ground to cover with this chapter!  Hope you all enjoy it!

“Are you feeling up to this?” asked Hawthorne, who seemed much more composed than he had in the basement. The old man sipped something from a chunky, brown mug before adding, “You still seem a bit wobbly to me.”

Zeke insisted, “I’m fine.”

However, his words were betrayed by a sudden bout of vertigo that had him clutching a nearby counter for support. He looked up at the healer, an apologetic expression on his face. “Yeah, maybe I need a few more minutes.”

“Coffee?” asked the healer, lifting his cup.

Zeke nodded, saying, “Sure. Does it taste any different here than it did back on earth?”

“Honestly, I don’t even remember anymore,” said the man, rising from his chair. “I’ve been here for quite some time.”

After that, the man went about pouring a cup of coffee from a pitcher on the counter. It came out steaming, and when Zeke asked how it was kept hot, Hawthorne explained that the pitcher had been enchanted to keep things warm. As he did so, he looked at Zeke like he was an idiot, probably because he needed something that, in the new world, was so basic explained. Zeke ignored the scrutiny. Instead, he asked, “How does that work, anyway? How many people are reborn, and how many are natives to this world? And how long have people been here?”

As he handed Zeke a mug, Hawthorne asked, “Do I need to explain basic reproduction to you, boy? When a man and a woman –”

“I’m good on that part,” Zeke said, interrupting him. “The way I understand how everything works here, everyone who died back on earth was reborn into this world. But there’s no way that’s possible. This is a big place, sure – Abby said it was about the size of Alaska, I think – but it’s not big enough to hold billions and billions of people like that.”

“Ah,” the man said, taking a seat. As he did so, Zeke spooned sugar into his mug. The man went on, “I suppose that’s not a completely stupid question. The answer is that people come in a constant trickle. Some scholars speculate that the population, at least of the reborn, remains perfectly static. When someone dies here, someone else is reborn. It’s been like that for thousands of years. The native population seems entirely unregulated, though I’ve read that fertility isn’t quite as high as it was on Earth. I wouldn’t know.”

Zeke nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. It was scalding hot, but with his high endurance, that didn’t matter much. He sighed, “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff.”

The man gave him a sarcastic smile. “I’m glad you approve.”

Zeke looked into the cup, momentarily lost in thought. “I remember waking up before school every morning,” he said. “My mom and I would drink coffee and watch Matlock reruns. It was one of the only times we had to just…relax.”

“Are you talking about television? I’ve heard of it, but it came well after I died the first time,” the man said, seeming moderately interested.

Zeke nodded before explaining the plot of the television show that focused on a southern lawyer played by Andy Griffith. When he finished the short explanation, he added, “It wasn’t really very good or anything. Really outdated. But it was kind of our thing.”

And it was one of the few consistent times when Zeke was allowed to just relax. The rest of his days were taken up by either school or baseball-related activities, be it practice or conditioning. As such, he’d come to value that single hour’s worth of entertainment with his mother. His life had been littered with those small moments, his mother’s attempts at giving him something more, something to combat his father’s obsession with molding him into an elite athlete.

“Fascinating,” the man said. “There are troupes of actors who put on plays based on Earth movies and television shows, but I must admit that I would’ve loved to have seen them for myself. It’s a shame that electronics don’t work here.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Mana,” he stated. “It’s the same with gunpowder and many of Earth’s most formidable technologies. I’m told there was a scholar in Sanctuary who tried for decades to replicate your weapons of mass destruction, but he failed to make any progress. Most acknowledge that it’s simply not possible, now.”

That made some kind of sense. After all, it wasn’t as if people forgot their old lives; they brought all sorts of knowledge with them when they were reborn. So, after thousands of years, it was understandable that they hadn’t replicated modern technology. The interference of mana was as good of an explanation as any for why the world seemed so technologically deficient.

Over the next hour, Zeke and Hawthorne made small talk as Zeke continued to recover his strength. With every passing minute, he felt a little better until, finally, he said, “I think I feel well enough to go out.”

“Are you sure? There’s no shame in waiting a little longer to recover,” Hawthorne said. “With that amount of poison –”

“I’m feeling much better,” Zeke said. “Thanks for saving my life. I don’t know what’s between you and Abby, but I just want you to know that I appreciate what you did for me. And I won’t forget it.”

With a harumph, the man waved away his concerns, saying, “She was just nervous about the evolution. Even with a properly prepared potion, it can be a moderately dangerous process, remaking your body. Besides, I’ve probably earned worse than her ridicule over the years.”

“She mentioned you used to be a part of the Church of Purity?”

“A long time ago,” the man stated. “I made some mistakes, and because I offended the wrong person, those mistakes weren’t ignored. It’s water under the bridge, though. So long as I don’t make too many waves, the church leaves me be.”

“What did you do?” Zeke asked. As soon as he saw Hawthorne’s expression, he regretted the question.

“None of your damned business, boy,” the healer growled.

A few seconds later, Zeke rose from his seat at the small table, saying, “I should go take care of my business, I guess. Oh, and Abby asked that you check in on her. She said she’d pay.”

The healer grunted, then mumbled, “Where the hell did that girl get all that money?”

Zeke didn’t know if he was supposed to have heard the mumbled words or not, but he chose to ignore them. Instead, he excused himself from the healer’s premises. When he stepped outside, he took a deep breath. Even amidst all the smells of a crowded city, it tasted sweet, probably due to his close brush with death.

Adjusting the enchanted satchel on his shoulder, Zeke consulted his map. When Abby had explained the basic layout of Beacon, he’d compared it to the Mexican pyramids he’d studied in school. However, the reality of the city was something on a far grander scale, more resembling a tiered mountain than anything made by man.

His first impression was still muddled by the poison that had been coursing through his body, so it felt like he was seeing everything for the first time. And he couldn’t help but be impressed. The architecture was reminiscent of a Mediterranean city, with stucco, elaborate arches, and tiled roofs. There was even ivy creeping up many of the walls, giving the city a warm, serene atmosphere.

And it was crowded.

The main streets were wide enough for three wagons to pass abreast, most of that space taken up by colorfully dressed and oft-armored pedestrians. Zeke even saw a few people who looked as if they were cosplaying as learned wizards, complete with star-spangled robes, impressive beards, and pointed hats. It would’ve been easy to discount these people as ridiculous, but when he saw one of them wave her staff at a man in threadbare clothes, sending him crashing against a wall, Zeke was forced to reevaluate his assumptions. He also couldn’t help but wonder how such a skill might affect him.

As he traveled through the city, he gawked like a tourist, often consulting his map so he wouldn’t get lost. Even with the help of Abby’s directions, the city was a bit confusing. Still, he managed to find his way to the area of the city known as Smith’s Row, which predictably housed many of the forges and foundries that supported the city.

Many of the forges were huge, elaborate affairs with garish signs advertising the smiths’ names and specialties. There were weaponsmiths, armorers, farriers, tinkerers, and even goldsmiths. Zeke studied the signs, looking for his first destination, but when he finally arrived, he was a little disappointed; the place was much smaller and far more rundown than almost any of the others. A simple sign declared it to be “Luigi’s” in a blocky font.

Remembering Abby’s warning about the proprietor, Zeke squared his shoulders and entered the building. In the front was a wide counter manned by a stout woman with shoulders at least as wide as Zeke’s. Her hair was closely cropped, and her plain-featured face bore an annoyed scowl. Zeke pegged her age at somewhere between seventeen and twenty-five, though it was difficult to place, given that her face bore the sooty evidence of her profession.

“What do you want?” she demanded, clearly never having learned about customer service.

“Um…I wanted to get some armor made,” Zeke said.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” the woman said. “You found your way to an armorsmith, so you’re not a complete idiot.”

“I was supposed to ask for Luigi,” he stated. “Abby Summers sent me.”

The woman’s face softened a bit, then she smiled, which made all the difference in the world. “Abby, huh? What’s she up to these days? And how’s that big, Russian lug who follows her around?”

“Oh,” Zeke said. Then, he broke the news about Vlad’s demise. It was awkward, considering he’d never met the man, though given how often his name came up, it felt like he’d actually known the Russian. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” she said, shaking her head. “He was a good man.”

“That’s what everyone tells me,” Zeke responded.

After a few awkward seconds, the woman extended her dirty hand, saying, “Sorry. Name’s Kayla.”

“Zeke,” he responded, taking her callused hand in his. Her grip was impressive. Clearly, she’d invested quite a few of her stat points into strength.

“So – armor, huh? I can’t guarantee my dad’s going to want to make anything for you,” she said. “He’s a bit prickly about who he works with. You being a friend of Abby’s helps, but it’ll really depend on if he’s interested. Otherwise, he won’t care if you throw a bag of gold at him.”

Zeke nodded, then reached into the enchanted satchel and retrieved the queen’s rust-red carapace. It defied all logic or physics how something the size of a refrigerator could fit into a normal-sized bag, but after dealing with his spatial storage for as long as he had, Zeke had gotten used to the phenomenon. The bag itself wasn’t nearly as useful or versatile as his own storage, but it definitely beat lugging the huge carapace around on his back.

He plunked it down onto the counter, asking, “Would working with this interest him? Hold on – I have another one. It’s not quite as high of quality, I don’t think, but still…”

He retrieved the smaller carapace he’d gotten from the champion, setting it a little further down the counter. It was almost comical, how thoroughly the two pieces took up the available space, and Zeke found himself having to duck a bit to peer between them. What he saw told him everything he needed to know. Kayla was looking at the sleek, red chunks of chitin with obvious awe.

“These…these are from…these are…”

“Elite monsters,” Zeke said. “Yeah.”

“Where did you get them?” she breathed. Then, she added, “No, wait – never mind. I don’t care. Better that I don’t know.” Then, she, after poking her head through a door right behind her, she yelled, “Dad! Come out here!”

“Busy!” came the gruffly shouted reply.

Kayla sighed. Holding up a finger, she said, “Give me just a second. Don’t go anywhere.”

As the blacksmith retreated through the swinging door, Zeke saw the telltale fires of a forge. A few moments later, a huge figure pushed through. Zeke activated [Inspection]:

Luigi Smith – Level 21

Impressive, Zeke thought. The man was one of the highest leveled individuals he’d seen so far, which spoke highly of his ability. More impressive than his level or his size was the glorious mustache on his upper lip.

“Quit shoving, girl!” the man grumbled as Kayla pushed him through the door. “I don’t know –”

He stopped speaking as soon as he saw the pair of carapaces sitting on his counter. Kayla crossed her meaty arms, a look of victory on her face as she said, “See? Told you.’

“I’ll do it,” Luigi said. “Get them into the back while I talk to our new client.”

“Yes, sir,” Kayla said with a mock salute.

Luigi rolled his eyes as Kayla dragged one of the carapaces into the back. Meanwhile, the big smith locked his eyes onto Zeke. “Nobody’s going to come looking for those, are they?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

Zeke shook his head, answering, “Nope.”

“Good,” Luigi stated. “Then, let’s get you measured and talk about what kind of armor you want. There should be plenty of material for a shield, too.”

“The cost?”

“To be determined by what you want,” Luigi stated. He extended his hand, which Zeke took.  “Luigi Smith, master armorsmith at your service.”

“Zeke,” was Zeke’s only reply.

“Good and simple. I like it,” said Luigi. Then, a smile spread across his weathered face. “Now, let’s talk about armor.”

What followed was the most intrusive interrogation Zeke had ever been through, followed by Luigi taking every conceivable measurement of Zeke’s body. The entire process took almost two hours, and by the time they’d finished, Zeke felt more tired than if he’d just fought a dozen trolls. Part of that was due to the aftermath of the poison and his ongoing recovery, but the majority could be chalked up to the fact that he hadn’t had much social interaction over the previous couple of years. So, even the gruff, brusque smith was a bit of a chore to deal with.

Not like Abby, whose company didn’t feel intrusive at all – which only highlighted his earlier faux pas, which still weighed heavily on his mind. He’d have to make it up to her, if not for their partnership, then for their burgeoning friendship.

By the time Zeke left Luigi, the smith had determined Zeke’s armor needs, his measurements, and his preferences, promising to have the armor finished within the next three days. At over a hundred marks, the price was high, but Zeke had a feeling that few smiths could’ve worked with the materials in the first place. Plus, Luigi had come with Abby’s highest recommendation, which he trusted. So, he’d handed over the down payment without a single complaint.

After leaving the smith’s shop, Zeke wandered the city for a couple of hours, sticking to the second level, which contained the vast majority of Beacon’s craftsmen and merchants. There were alchemy shops, weaponsmiths, tailors, and leatherworkers aplenty, most of whose shops proudly displayed their creations. And Zeke was impressed with what he saw, having exercise the majority of his willpower to stop himself from spending his small fortune. Though he knew he could always make more money, he didn’t want to be frivolous about his purchases.

Eventually, Zeke found his way to a bowyer, a plan already forming in his mind. Once inside, he was greeted by a thin, short man. “May I help you…sir?” he asked, somehow managing to look down his pointy nose at Zeke despite being much shorter. Zeke could hear the disdain in the shopkeeper’s voice.

“Just browsing right now,” he said, looking at the bowyer’s wares. “You the bowyer?”

The man laughed, the sound coming out as a disdainful snort. “As if Master Kellogg would tend the shop!” he exclaimed. “And if you’re just looking, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I have to look if I’m going to buy something,” Zeke argued, not bothering to even look at the man.

“I’m sure you can’t afford our wares,” the shopkeeper stated.

“Is that so?” asked Zeke. He knew he wasn’t dressed very well; the options in Bastion hadn’t been extensive, and what clothes he’d found weren’t high-quality. On top of that, he hadn’t thought to take a shower before venturing out into the city, so he was very well aware that he probably didn’t look – or smell – like someone with the kind of money necessary to afford the masterful creations on display. He glanced back at the shopkeeper, who seemed on the verge of kicking him out. “What’s the best bow you have? I’m looking for something to fit a woman who’s about 5’7” or so, if that matters.”

“You can’t afford the best,” the man said confidently.

“Come on, man – I’m just trying to buy something here,” he said. “I mean, I’m sure you work on commission or something, right? Just show me what you have, and if I can’t afford it, fine. Whatever. You don’t really lose anything. But if I can…”

For a long moment, the shopkeeper’s instincts warred with his greed, but finally, the latter won out. “Very well,” he said, coming out from behind the counter. “Follow me.”

Zeke did, and the shopkeeper led him into another room that contained, to Zeke’s untrained eye, much higher-quality bows. Immediately, the shopkeeper plucked one from the wall, saying, “This is Master Kellogg’s pride and joy. The best bow in the city. It costs one-hundred-and-twenty-five gold marks.”

Zeke reached for it, but the man pulled away, which brought an eyeroll. Instead, Zeke simply inspected it:

Windseeker Bow (G) – A weapon crafted by an accomplished bowyer using the finest available materials. Special Functions: Self-Repair (minor), Collapsible

“Collapsible?” Zeke asked.

The shopkeeper held up a fingerless, black leather glove. “Once bound to the user’s mana, the bow can be summoned via this glove,” he explained.

“Spatial storage?” was Zeke’s next question.

“A minor version of the enchantment,” the shopkeeper stated. “The bow was made by Master Kellogg, while the glove was fashioned as a collaboration between Master Leatherworker Yan Satine and an enchanter based in Salvation.”

“Interesting,” Zeke said. “And you said it was only one-twenty-five?”

“Only?” gasped the shopkeeper, suddenly reevaluating his every life choice.

“I’ll take it,” Zeke said, ignoring the man’s shocked expression when he retrieved the specified number of coins from his satchel and handed them over.