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LLOTF - Chapter 26: A few items and getting rid of the goods
🕑 Added 2024-12-12 04:28:14 +0000 UTCTristan grabbed a cloak as he left the house, throwing it around his shoulders and pulling the hood up. Felicity wriggled her way inside and draped herself around his neck. To any Elf-blooded passerby – even if that heritage was far down their line of generations – they would just see some fancy animal-pelt scarf.
The plan Tristan had in his head was straightforward: head to the market and buy some high-quality items that he could practice artifice on. At the moment, investigating the assassins was not feasible. If it was his father, chasing the man down during a dragon hunt would be risky and time consuming.
Plus, the king wanted him to remain around the capital. Using this time to practice spells, learn more from the primers, and then put those spells into some items with artifice was, to his mind, the best way to use that extra allotment.
Crossmark Square was one of the premier ‘upper-middle-class’ markets. As Tristan’s family was low nobility, they only occasionally visited the firmly ‘upper-class’ Gilded District where the richest of the rich spent their dynastic wealth. As he strolled into the space, he did catch the attention of a few people who hurriedly and pointedly ignored his presence.
Tristan was used to it. Half-breeds were shunned, and despite him bearing the king’s favor – he was still going to be shunned. At this point, he’d been victim to that for long enough that he did not truly care about what others thought regarding his heritage.
He made his way to a shop he had always wanted to frequent as a child, but his mother detested. The welded-together, crossed swords denoting the type of establishment hung from the second-story balcony. And beneath it, a sign, reading Crossmark Smiths was hung. The bright, black lettering stood out boldly from the crimson background. Tristan opened the door and stepped inside.
Almost instantly his improved Elven senses were hit by the familiar smell of polish. All around him; armor displays and weapon racks were bristling with a variety of weapons and protective pieces. The sheer breadth of options was something to take in, and Tristan just stood there in the center of the doorway until one of his two escorts behind him coughed slightly, and Tristan realized he had been standing there dumbly. Walking inside, he spotted an attendant behind the desk.
Walking up to the attendant, he cleared his throat slightly and the man turned. “‘Ah can I ‘elp you?”
Tristan looked around once more, “I want a high-quality dagger.”
The man nodded and pointed behind Tristan as he came out from behind the countertop. “Over ‘here we ‘ave a fine selec’ion.” He led Tristan to a rack that had all manner of daggers; push daggers, anelace, stiletto, baselard, dirk, misericorde, and ones that Tristan had no clue what the proper name was because they were curved in such a strange fashion.
But Tristan’s eyes were drawn to a locked cabinet with a series of four, short blades. Black, cord-wrapped hilts with a bronze pommel and angular cross guard, with a slim, curved, steel blade. Each of them looked identical, save for the style of the cross guard and the length of curve along the edge. “How much are these?” Tristan asked.
“Fif’y gold.”
Tristan nodded, “Could you open it so I can see how it feels?”
The man gave him a curious, sideways glance filled with distrust. But, Tristan just tapped the amulet around his neck and smiled in the most relaxed way he could muster. “Please, I wouldn’t steal things with the king’s best right behind me.”
The attendant nodded, withdrew a key from around his neck, and opened the display case. “Which one do you wan’ ‘o ‘old?”
Tristan pointed to the one with the least bend to it. “That one, please.”
The man pulled it out of the case and handed it to Tristan. He held it and flipped it around a few times between upright and point-down, manipulating it with grace and ease. It felt very good to hold, and he could tell the craftsmanship was phenomenal. If this doesn’t count as excellent craftsmanship, I don’t know what would. He looked up at the attendant, “Do you have some rope to test it on? Or spare chainmail?”
The man nodded and held his hand out. Tristan handed him the blade and followed him back to the counter. The man reached under the counter and pulled out a folded-over pad of leather, placed some chainmail on top of it, and then handed the blade back to Tristan. “Give I’ a ‘ry.”
Tristan gripped the dagger point-down and stabbed it with all of his might into the chainmail. Not surprisingly, the chainmail did not break – was meant to stop slashing and piercing damage, after all. But, he inspected the material after pulling the blade back and he could see that the rings were heavily damaged, and inspecting the edge and tip saw that the blade had suffered no wear and tear or damage.
Going to the rope next, he took off several slices with ease. “Wood?” he asked.
The shopkeep sighed and pulled out a block of wood. The dreaded ‘chop’ test that would really evaluate the quality of the weapon. Tristan took several hacking slices at the length of wood, seeing chunks of it splinter and fly off. Then, he went back to the rope and found to his satisfaction that it still cut true. “Perfect! I’ll take it.” He reached into his pocket, and Felicity opened the extradimensional storage space. Leaves me with eighty-two gold pieces, he thought as he withdrew the funds.
The man stepped away for a moment going to a small supply closet behind the counter and he returned with an excellent quality sheath. He handed it to Tristan and then scooped up the coins. “Pleasure doin business.”
Tristan nodded and sheathed the dagger before affixing that to his belt. “Likewise.” He turned and left – the guards stopping their browsing as they fell in line behind him. I would bet that if the sheath is high quality as well to match, it could also be an artificed item. The idea of making more objects that could perform spells just by having mana focused into them filled Tristan with a giddy sense of excitement.
He had always wondered how some people could use magic mid-combat. It seemed very complicated having to say a spell phrase, perform a spell gesture, while being attacked. He was sure it could be done – someone memorizing it well enough and practicing that spell enough to do the gesture and phrase very quickly…but it made more sense to have the spells on-demand and just requiring a surge of mana to activate.
Continuing his shopping, he next went to an herbalist and apothecary shop. For another twenty gold he got a fully stocked alchemist’s kit: a leather-bound, wooden case with a handle on top. Inside were dozens of dried-out herbs in well-labeled jars, with extra jars – the herbs having been most of the expense to get in their dried and travel-ready form. Ten electrum coins bought a manual on advanced potions. He already knew many from his grandfather’s practical, hands-on training at their countryside manor. But, with his ability to use imbuement spells, he could make elixirs.
And this manual had the recipe for mana-restorative potions. If he made those into elixirs, then he would have a valuable backup. Plus, there were recipes for curative potions that could fix all manner of ills. But, in elixir form, they could do so much more. If I can help it, he thought, I’m going to make sure that I’m prepared for any situation I come across.
The memory of having to cut off that woman’s foot to keep her from dying, and the sorrow on the daughter’s face, confirmed Tristan’s choice in his mind. I don’t want to do that again if I can help it. If I had these herbs, and knew how to imbue elixirs like I do now…she wouldn’t have had to be maimed to survive.
With his mood thoroughly soured from that experience, and his mind resolved, he had one more location to visit. But, he did not know where it would be. Turning to Faith, he softly asked, “Where could I find someone to sell valuables to?”
She looked at him with a curious expression. “Depends on what you’re trying to sell.”
“Jewelry,” Tristan honestly replied.
Persim frowned, “Stolen goods? From your family?”
Tristan shook his head and chose to obfuscate the truth, “No. Just valuables I’ve come across in my travels.”
Both guards gave each other a quick glance, but Persim nodded and gestured with the tip of his halberd. “You could try one of the goldsmiths in the Gilded District – they might take it.”
I don’t want to risk that, Tristan thought. They might recognize a piece if they worked on it for the king’s treasury. Think, Tristan…He shook his head and looked at Persim, “No, that won’t work. I’ve got an idea.” Tristan turned and began walking to a more industrialized area of the capital. A place called The Choke because of the heavy smoke that would waft up from the smithies and forges.
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Getting to the district Tristan had to wrap his mouth and nose with his cloak to help mask the stench that assailed his nostrils. He had never been to this district, but he was adamant that the best course of action for taking his ill-gotten goods for monetary conversion was to get it all melted down. They can probably pick out the gemstones beforehand, he thought. And as long as I watch them while they do it, then I can keep them honest.
Finding a smelter was easy enough, as was getting the attention of an older man whose arms and exposed torso were stained with soot. After a bit of haggling, Tristan got a pretty good deal, all things considered. The next few hours he sat as he watched – refreshing his Disguise Form as needed to keep his ruse up. By the end of the whole process, he was handed six gold ingots and a small, leather pouch full of gemstones.
Felicity had flown off during the wait, and when she came back to land on his head – still invisible, she whispered in his ear. “You won’t believe what I just did!”
“What?” he asked softly as the loud hiss of the smelters drowned out his voice to all except Felicity.
“I saw a guy go into an outhouse. Well, I locked the door from the outside, and then found the vent up top and put a bunch of scrap cloth I found over the hole!”
“Seems kind of cruel,” Tristan muttered.
Felicity was giggling, “That’s not the best part! He was trapped for…I don’t know, an hour? So someone else came to use the outhouse, and when they got the door unjammed – the guy inside had fallen asleep!” She cackled madly, “And then! Then they pulled him out with his pants still down around his waist! He just fell on the floor. Thud! Then…then he rolled over and looked completely drunk. He staggered out of the back yard and into a tavern like nothing happened!”
Tristan glanced up at her as she looked down at him, as if she was anticipating his reaction of laughter. “Sounds like you were really mean for a laugh.”
Felicity frowned, “So what if I was? It was a prank.”
“A very mean one,” Tristan replied. “Do me a favor – if you’re going to be my companion here in the Mortal Realm…don’t do harmful pranks, okay? Nothing that will hurt people.”
She groaned in dismay, “Fiiiine. Gah, you are no fun! A little pain in a prank is perfectly okay.” She tapped the side of his head with her paw-claw, “It made you chasing me really funny. Remember that time that you slipped and hit your elbow, dropping your sword?”
Tristan put his head in his hands, “Don’t remind me.”
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Heading back across the capital, the sun began to set over Blackspire. He made it to the Gilded District and found a reputable jeweler who gave him a disgusted look; but with his king’s favor, he was able to sell the gold bars and gems for a goodly sum of two-hundred gold. He did, however, keep one gold bar and five sapphires.
Going back home, he was pleased to find that the shift change had not yet happened. Bidding his two companions a temporary goodbye, he went inside and headed to his room. He spotted Marlowe who eyed Tristan with disgust. “Marlowe, bring water to my tub, please. We are having guests for dinner tonight.”
The man practically bristled but offered a stilted bow. “Of course.”
