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It took Josiah almost a year to figure out the terminology used by those native to the Monsters, Maces and Magic world. “Striking,” with respect to magical weapons, means “to hit” in game terms and “wounding” means “damage.” And “exceptional” equals “+5.”
Warriors often equate increased “damage” enchantments to “enhanced wounding.” A “+5” adds the battle strength of a long sword’s strike, with “+3” counting for a short sword strike’s worth of additional wounding, and “+2” meaning a dagger strike’s additional injury inflicted.
Josiah’s dagger held only a “minor” enchantment to both strike and wound, meaning it was “+1” to hit and damage, but it had an accessory enchantment as well. He didn’t know why the game world’s inhabitants didn’t just say “plus one” or “plus five.” Probably the same reason he verbally referred to his party members by their characters’ names and not their real, or given names, even though he thought of them by their real names—when they were alive. There were other similar quirks that he’d noted over the years, but wasn’t able to fathom the reason for their existence.
Stool in hand, he hurried across the office, the ugly thought rearing up in his head that, as the years progressed, he thought of himself more and more as Josiah, and not Tom, his given name.
Utter a lie enough times, he thought, and you begin to believe it’s the truth.
Everyone around the table was seated again. Sill Rochelle went on to explain that in the hands of someone not human, any race, its enchantment would function as exceptional, although there was a weak trace of Black. That explained the uneasy feeling Marigold, an elf, and the gnome healer—Jax, Gurk reminded her—felt when holding the drawn weapon.
She continued, as Josiah placed his stool back near the desk, where he’d previously sat. “That explains why the human warrior, Kalgore, became ill, much like me. Lysine has some elf heritage, while Gurk has some goblin, mixed with their human, so the adverse effect is not as strong.”
She paused, and looked to see if everyone followed. “Wielded by someone with blood mixed with human, the enchantment to wound will remain exceptional. However, the strike is diminished to that of a lesser enchantment.”
Josiah thought, +2 to hit, +5 to damage.
“You have all seen the weapon,” Sill Rochelle continued. “Although forged and enchanted to exceptional quality, it appears unremarkable, which is to the owner’s advantage.”
“Mean’s it’s worth more,” Gurk interpreted.
The enchantress shrugged. “A simple Detect Enchantment Spell will reveal its magical nature.”
“Were you able to ascertain the origin of the weapon’s forging?” Lysine asked.
Her eyebrows rose and her narrow eyes widened a bit. The surprise in her voice matched her visage. “A goblin master smith forged it. A shaman petitioned his god.” She paused. “I only got an image and a feeling. The closest that I can come to is a name which translates as ‘Moon Shadower.’”
Gurk spoke up. “God of deceit and vengeance.”
No one disputed him.
“What if it were used by a goblin on someone like me?” Gurk asked. “How strong would its enchantment be? And what if I used it on another half-goblin?”
“A reasonable question that I am not able to fully answer.” Hesitation and a hint of regret was evident in the enchantress’s voice. “I was unable to ascertain how the enchantment would respond when exposed to such...variables.”
Higslaff interrupted, saying, “A battle axe, created by a dwarven smith, had a similar enchantment, although not as powerful. The greater enchantment worked against goblins, similar to the dagger’s against humans. But against a half-goblin? If the father was the goblin, the enchantment strength in combat was only minor. If the mother of the stricken was goblin, then it was lesser.”
Josiah interpreted that as +3 against full goblins, with +1 against a half-goblin whose father was goblin, and +2 against one whose mother gave the goblin heritage.
“It required many spell efforts to determine the vagaries of the weapon’s enchantment.” Higslaff held his hands out and shrugged. “Parentage may or may not carry influence with your dagger.”
“I may be able to visit an herbalist,” Sill Rochelle said. “Obtain something to weaken my stomach’s reaction to the magic. Thus, tomorrow, my ability to better ascertain the dagger’s magical properties may be improved.”
Josiah hadn’t thought of that, and how much the enchantress accomplished while dealing with the weapon’s innate effect against those with human heritage. He had some knowledge of herbal medicine, but his expertise—or semi-expertise—was in creating salves and ointments to deal with inflammations, rashes, burns and minor infections.
Gurk shook his head. “Nah. Thanks, though.”
He leaned forward to better see around Marigold’s protruding chest and said to Higslaff, “No mystery that you have a ton better connections than me. You’ll get better coin for my dagger than I ever could.”
Josiah raised an eyebrow. Not the best way to initiate negotiations—maybe. Nevertheless, what the young thief said was obvious.
Higslaff asked, “Are you interested in selling it?”
“Well, I’ve been told you’re pretty honest. So I believe you when you say the duke’s dad has a serious problem with human-slaying weapons on the streets of his city, since he is human. I imagine goblin chieftains wouldn’t be too happy with that axe you mentioned being nearby.”
Gurk held up a hand to forestall what the pawn shop owner was about to say. Probably an initial offer. “What kind of magic would you be interested in trading for my dagger?”
Higslaff clasped his hands and rested them on the table. His eyes looked up as he thought.
“I do have an enchanted dagger.”
Gurk shook his head. “No daggers, unless it’s all you got.” The young thief glanced up at his companions. “I’m not trained to use a dagger. Nobody else in my party is.”
Party. That reminded Josiah that these adventurers were probably Player Characters. And a GM was probably running Higslaff. Putting words in the pawn shop owner’s mouth, deciding which direction the negotiations would take.
Josiah sat still as a stone, suddenly worried that the GM might somehow manipulate or influence him, if he got involved. He didn’t know if that could happen, if it was even possible. The notion seemed so farfetched, and yet, because of the game world and his experiences within it, the notion felt so imminently possible. There were mysteries the Monsters, Maces and Magic world held that he might never figure out. Some he didn’t care to explore...
“I bet you got some good quality stuff,” Gurk said. “Max quality deal.” He grinned at his friends on his left and right. “Whatever we trade for doesn’t have to be for me, personally.”
Sill Rochelle placed her hands on the table and made as if to stand. “It seems my spellcraft is no longer needed...” While her statement was directed at the pawn shop owner, it didn’t exclude the three party members.
Higslaff lifted a hand to stop her. “We can settle up after the business between Gurk and myself is completed.” He smiled. “If you would, upstairs there is a long sword, hanging on a peg to the right of the door. The only enchanted sword I have, tag number W419.”
“I have seen it,” Sill Rochell said. She got up and left through the office’s back door with a purpose.
“Josiah?” Higslaff said. “Would you collect the coins and amethysts and place them in the cedar box on the shelf behind my desk?” He glanced at Gurk. “And bring three silver coins.”
Initially, Josiah bristled. He’d already fetched a stool. Now he was gathering coins and making change? Then he let it go, not wanting to make waves. “I can do that.”
While Sill Rochelle retrieved the enchanted sword and Josiah boxed the payment for the enchantress’s services, Higslaff made small talk.
“It is my understanding that you are staying at the Glade House.”
All three nodded. Lysine said, “It is an efficiently run establishment. Pleasant and affordable, and meets our current needs.”
The druid looked around. “How long have you owned this establishment?”
“Owned?” Higslaff grinned. “Nearing fourteen years. Before that I was a partner with the owner before me. Bought her half of the business so that she could retire.”
“Cool,” Gurk said. “You picked a long sword because you know Kalgore fights with one?”
“I did.” He met the young thief’s gaze. “I had forewarning of your arrival and sought to learn who my customers were. Good business practice, learned from Denise, the shop’s previous owner and my former partner.”
“Does this place have a name?” Marigold asked. “I mean, there was some sort of yellow decoration outside, but no sign.”
Higslaff suppressed a laugh. “Some people call my business Higslaff’s Place, but most just call it The Pawn Shop.” He shrugged. “There are other shops like mine, but none nearby. Mine’s the only one north of the Round Tower.”
Before the conversation continued, Sill Rochelle returned with the scabbarded long sword. Using both hands she handed it to Higslaff, and stepped away to stand next to the stool where Josiah sat.
Higslaff drew the sword from its sturdy yet unremarkable scabbard. He set the weapon on the table in front of Gurk.
The straight, double-edged steel blade was nearly forty inches long. It appeared unblemished and crisply reflected the light. The cross guard was plain, as was the leather-wrapped grip. The pommel resembled an acorn, with its cupule, or cap.
“I am unfamiliar with the origin of this weapon,” Higslaff said, “other than it was forged by a human smith beyond the borders of what comprises the Morrin Confederacy.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Likely the Agrippa Empire.”
Apparently unimpressed, Lysine asked, “What are the sword’s properties?”
“It bears a minor enchantment for both strikes and wounding.”
Lysine began to ask another question, but Higslaff continued. “It wounds, when an ogre is struck, with the strength of a lesser enchantment.”
Marigold’s eyes lit up, but the words didn’t appear to impress either the druid or the young thief.
Higslaff said, “It is possible the sword’s enchantment was intended to be more impressive.” He stared down at the weapon. “It could be the quality of the steel, or the forge. The skill of the swordsmith or the enchanter. Not all enchanted weapons are destined for greatness.”
“Yeah”, Gurk said. “But going from...a minor to a lesser enchantment in damaging an ogre? That ain’t much.”
“Something’s better than nothing,” Marigold said. “Remember what happened to Byeol?”
Higslaff said, “In itself, an enchanted weapon offers the ability to combat lesser summonings.”
“Summonings?” Marigold asked.
“Wimpy demons,” Gurk said. “Some undead like husk mummies.”
Marigold nodded understanding, especially after the mention of husk mummies.
“May I examine the sword?” Lysine asked Higslaff.
“Of course.” Higslaff walked around the table and presented the weapon to him, extending the blade resting on two hands, just as the enchantress had done.
Lysine lifted it by the grip and ran a practiced eye along the blade. He extended the weapon in front of him and held it steady, looking for any bends or warping. Then he slipped on his leather gauntlets so that he could grip the blade before tugging the cross guard and pulling at the grip, making sure the hilt was snug with the tang. Satisfied, he similarly checked the pommel.
Holding the grip lightly with his thumb and forefinger, he used his other hand to rap a knuckle against the blade. It rang, clear and melodic, like a struck wind chime.
The druid offered the weapon to Gurk. The half-goblin thief took the sword and ran a practiced eye along it. He stepped away from the table, checked it for point of balance, and then swung it a few times, one handed and then two-handed.
The young thief then offered it to Marigold, who held it and practiced a few thrusting attacks, much like she would with her rapier. Smiling and nodding approval, she set it back on the table.
“Is it your policy to guarantee in writing the attributes identified by the enchanter or enchantress with which you contracted?” Lysine asked. “Subject to independent corroboration by a similarly skilled individual?”
“My word is my bond,” Higslaff said, earning him Lysine’s frown.
The pawn shop owner said, his gaze meeting Gurk’s, “If I were to gain a reputation for cheating, especially when dealing with enchanted items, I would soon find myself out of business.”
“Right,” Marigold said, again skeptical. “We’re trading a weapon you can’t admit to having, to someone who either is going to be someplace where having it is legal, or thinks they’ll never get caught. Who would we complain too?”
“You know the enchantress that cast the Ascertain Enchantment on that weapon,” Higslaff said. “The owner of the Glade House, Keri Lovelace. If you show it to her, I am confident she will recall its attributes.”
The left side of Gurk’s mouth quirked upward. “I know a sword’s more impressive than a dagger. And my dagger comes with some baggage. But it ain’t a fair trade. Not even close.”
Higslaff pursed his lips in thought before asking, “Would you be interested in gold, plus the sword?”
“Nah,” Gurk said. “Kalgore would really kick ass with this sword, but it ain’t worth it.”
“I concur,” Lysine said. “Our frequent travels take us far from the city and the duke’s influence. We can do better.”
Marigold said, “Kalgore will be pissed.” The satisfaction on her face suggested the warrior’s reaction might be welcome. “Nothing says we have to stay in this stupid city anyway.”
Gurk reached for the dagger and its scabbard.
“A moment more of your time.” Higslaff walked over to his desk. Confident the three couldn’t see, he winked at Josiah. He pulled a small skeleton key from a vest pocket and unlocked the top desk drawer. From within he withdrew two steel rings.
He walked back to his stool, sat down and placed them on the table. The steel forming the round rings was about an eighth of an inch thick. “These were to be my buy-in for an upper floor poker game at the Blue Bugle tomorrow night.”
The manner in which Higslaff stated the fact sounded like he meant to impress the three. Instead, Lysine held a straight face while Gurk showed a mischievous grin and glanced up at Marigold. For her part, the elf looked away and blushed.
Once Marigold noticed Gurk’s grin, she rolled her eyes before mouthing, “Not a word.”
It was all Josiah could do to suppress a smile.
Higslaff removed his hat and set it on the table. “These rings are not part of a suit of armor,” he said. “They make the suit of armor.”
“What do you mean?” Gurk asked. “You, like, rub them together, and they become a suit of chainmail or something?”
Josiah noted that they were not the size normally associated with chainmail. But magical items were known to conform to the size and shape of the wearer.
“I should be more clear.” He gestured toward Lysine. “That is a fine suit of ringmail, and I imagine it serves you well.”
“It both is and does,” Lysine replied.
“No offense intended, but it does not appear to have any forms of enchantment.”
The druid shifted on his stool. “That is correct.”
“And the rings incorporated into your armor are bronze, so that the armor doesn’t add to the iron content you carry.”
“Again, you are correct.”
“Come on, dude,” Gurk interrupted. “Everybody here knows a lot of iron, even that in forged steel, can cause problems for anyone trying to cast spells—except for clerics.”
Josiah refrained from nodding in agreement with Gurk. Druids, being a subclass of clerics, had less restriction in the concern of iron versus spell casting. Meaning, they could have more on their body than a straight magic user, or any of the magic user subclasses.
“My apologies, my young man.” Higslaff took a breath. “While not powerful in their enchanted properties, they are somewhat unique.” He fingered the two rings on the table. “If incorporated into a set of chainmail, one on the front and one on the back, and the latent magic is activated, the armor as a whole serves the wearer with a minor enchantment.”
He picked up the two rings and handed them to Gurk. “There is insufficient iron in those to do much that might inhibit your druid friend’s spell-casting ability. By replacing one of his bronze rings on each side, his armor would offer increased protection from attacks.”
“Could they work on my leather armor?” Gurk asked.
Higslaff shook his head. “Their magic requires metallic protection to be effective.”
Gurk frowned, then turned to Lysine. “What do ya think, dude?”
Lysine asked the pawn shop owner, “Your verbal offer for verification remains in force?”
“Always.”
“You’re not getting anything out of this,” Marigold said to Gurk, “even though it’s your dagger.”
“Jax took out the shaman,” Gurk reminded her.
“But you’ve carried it the whole time, and it’s illegal. You could’ve been arrested.”
Gurk laughed. “We didn’t know that until like fifteen minutes ago, so I wasn’t being heroic or anything.” He elbowed her in the side. “Well not because of the dagger, but...”
Marigold slapped the young thief lightly across the back of his head. “Whatever.”
Lysine cleared his throat.
Gurk sat up straight, a sheepish look on his face.
Josiah figured there must be some sort of event or inside joke that Gurk used to tease Marigold. They were an adventuring party, after all. One with at least some history together.
Higslaff turned to Sill Rochelle. “Would you be able to incorporate the rings into Lysine’s armor and activate the enchantment?”
“Tomorrow morning I would be able to accomplish that.”
“We’ll take the deal, dude. The sword and rings for the dagger.” He held up his right hand. “But Kalgore has to examine the sword first. See if it’s something he even wants.”
Josiah was pretty sure how that decision would go.
“Splendid,” Higslaff said, then turned to Josiah. “I believe the warrior Kalgore remained outside my shop, nearby. Would you retrieve him so that the deal may be completed?”
“Sure thing,” Josiah said. Errand boy appeared to be his job, at the moment. He’d be sure to remind Higslaff and get something out of it. Maybe an invite to one of the Bugle’s upper floor poker games—one he could afford.
Josiah made it to the office door when Marigold commented, “Kalgore’s across the street, talking to...what Lysine would call a trollop.” Just before he closed the door, she added, “I think Jax’s watching that he doesn’t get pickpocketed.”
Since there weren’t any windows in the office facing the street, Josiah figured Marigold was using a familiar to keep track of her party members outside. That made her a magic user of some type. Maybe multi-classed, but definitely a magic user.
Josiah reached the storage room where Vernie stood at a work table, polishing a rose-colored blown-glass vase. He nodded to the youth while unbolting the heavy door.
He’d pulled it open mere inches when a burst of flaming heat, hot as a coal furnace and mixed with screams of pain hit him.
On instinct he shouldered the door closed.