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SOM - Chapter 13 - Loot Lust
🕑 Added 2024-03-23 20:04:34 +0000 UTCAfter completing another couple of rounds of soul surgery, Luke had plenty of anger and pain to take out on the local wildlife. He was determined to remove [Undeath] from his soul, and willing to push through the pain, but subsequent rounds had diminishing returns. Much like an inflamed wound, his soul needed time to settle down.
Luke was eager to go back into the city. His [Forerunner] domain wasn’t content to stand still, and his inner [Murderhobo] wanted to loot the old city for all it was worth. The situation reminded him of an old zombie survival game he used to play with his brother. Much like within that game, Luke’s basic strategy was to go house to house, clearing them of loot and monsters.
The heat of the forge quickly faded, as Luke left it behind and walked to the nearest building. It was an old storage warehouse of some sorts, but anything valuable had clearly been looted in the first iterations of the dreamspace.
Apparently, the deep aether only replenished things that had psionic echoes or resonance with the aethersea at large. This process reinforced archetypes, so the dwarven areas became increasingly ‘dwarven’. More mundane areas faded into the background, and were replaced. The gothic cathedral, for example, wasn’t native to the city, nor was the train Luke arrived on.
Over the years, travelling dungeons became caricatures of themselves, with bits of alien culture sprinkled in. This included the inhabitants trapped inside and often led to conflict between dungeon denizens.
The next building Luke scouted out was a foul smelling tannery. Pungent odours assaulted his nostrils the moment he stepped inside. The windows were edged with runes that seemed to trap the stench inside. Luke was overwhelmed by the smell and wondered if having no sense of smell had been a job requirement. As he was bent over, retching, Luke came close to losing his head when a skinless dwarf swung a giant cleaver towards his neck.
In the corner of his vision he caught the movement just in time, but not fast enough to materialise his shield. Instead, he caught the blow on his forearm. With his enhanced [Endurance], Luke’s skin was as tough as tree bark so the blade only penetrated a couple of inches. Roaring, Luke shoved the flayed dwarf and drew his hammer.
The dwarf was quick, quicker than Luke, and ducked beneath his blow for another slash. Fortunately, Luke’s shield materialised, and a bash to the abomination’s face kept the blow from landing.
For a minute Luke remained on the defensive as he got a feel for his opponent. However, time was not on his side.
He could feel the flayed dwarf’s aura pressing in on him. Initially he hadn’t been able to work out what it was doing, but as he got light-headed he finally figured it out. It was thinning his blood. The cut on Luke’s arm was small and easy to ignore. Yet as the fight drew on, the wound ran red like a leaky faucet. He had to change things up before he passed out.
On the offensive, Luke pushed forwards with his shield and drove the skinless dwarf into the wall. When the cleaver flashed forwards, he hooked it with the claw of his hammer and yanked it out of the way. Then, he leaned over the top of his shield and gave the dwarf a good head-butt. His head had gotten a lot harder since over the last couple of days. As a result, he split the monster’s skull with the attack. This wasn’t quite enough to stop it moving, but the followup hammer blow pulped its head good and proper.
[You have killed a level 11 Flayed Butcher. Loot Generated.]
[You have gained enough experience to reach level 7. It is suggested that you have your chosen concepts prepared for class selection. Visit the tutorial for tips.]
Reading the first notification made a big grin spread on Luke’s face, though that smile shrunk a little when he read the second. He didn’t let it get him down though; he had loot!
[Sanguine Cleaver - Uncommon (Mortal) - A bladed weapon imbued with the Blood domain.]
Instead of forming from pure aether this time, the butcher’s cleaver flashed white mist as Luke touched the dwarf, much like his own hammer had when he first took it off Mr Fenn.
Even though it wasn’t suited for his own domains, Luke recognised the potential of the cleaver in the right hands. He could feel the weapon exerting its domain; hell, he could see it. A red mist danced along the blade, painting the air bloody in its wake.
Instead of placing his shield back in storage, Luke threw the cleaver in there and put it up for sale. He priced it competitively, based on a quick scan of the current offerings. If it didn’t sell by the time he had more loot, he would drop the price even further. His goal was to earn enough to buy while getting stronger, not spend all of his time playing the market.
Besides the magical cleaver, the tannery contained loot of a more mundane variety. Several racks inside were filled with giant pink hides. Exactly what animal they came from was impossible to guess, but it had been a big one. The leather was tough, but surprisingly soft.
Luke was no seamstress, but he wondered if he could make a poncho from the hides. Considering he was walking around topless, it would still be an upgrade. Rurik was going to help him make some proper armour, but he didn’t know how long that would take.
The next two buildings were pretty barren, except for a small nest of plague rats in the second. It spoke of Luke’s rapid growth that such opponents presented him with little difficulty. When he came across the nest, they were resting. One swing after another, he dispatched them without fanfare.
As he spread out, Luke encountered a greater variety of undead. Though the majority were rats, he encountered his fair share of shamblers, and a few other varieties. Most of these fights weren’t noteworthy until he saw a trio of zombies sitting in an inn.
From the window, Luke could see the zombies sitting by a serving area. They wore ragged clothes, marked black with what looked like soot. When the system identified them all as level three he felt confident enough to walk through the door.
Like a cowboy busting into a salon, Luke made sure his entrance was dramatic for his first ever bar fight. He slammed open the door. Before the undead even reacted, he took a few steps forward and grabbed a fungal wood table.
His aim wasn’t great, but the table clipped at least one zombie, and knocked them over. Luke ran forwards, and he waded in with shield and hammer. Much like the woman on the train, the zombies were the fast variety, so Luke didn’t mess around. He killed the still standing zombies in rapid succession with sledgehammer blows.
[You have killed a level 3 Zombie.]
[You have killed a level 3 Zombie. Loot generated.]
When he saw the loot generated Luke wanted to grab it immediately, however he used the last zombie as a training dummy first. The zombie took a few seconds to stumble back to its feet. It wasn’t smart, but it was durable.
For a couple of minutes, Luke bashed the zombie around the bar. He was trying to develop a level of technique beyond brute force. This was difficult, because the war hammer wasn’t a weapon known for its finesse.
Nonetheless, he got a feel for the momentum of the heavy weapon. Feeding the momentum from one attack into the next swing allowed him to land some devastating blows.
Even a zombie can only take so much punishment, even if Luke was careful not to destroy the brain. With broken kneecaps, and shattered arms it got to the point it just stopped moving. When Luke finished it, he was slightly disappointed that it dropped no loot, but reminded himself that it was only a low level zombie. He went back to the entrance of the inn and touched the zombie shimmering with the shiny loot.
[Miner’s Mead - Basic (Mortal) - A drink favoured by those who dig, aids in Earth cultivation.]
A stone mug formed on the bar in front of Luke. Inside the mug was a sweet and earthy smelling brew that begged to be drunk. After recent events, Luke found it tempting. However, he was more interested in selling it. With another workout and at least one more round of soul surgery planned, he didn’t have time to mess about. Luke had never been a big drinker anyway.
Most of the miscellaneous loot Luke collected had been stowed back at the forge, but carrying everything had been cumbersome. Instead, he popped it into his soul storage alongside the [Sanguine Cleaver] and a [Fungal Spore Pouch].
Who needs a tutorial now? Luke thought. With a bit of advice from Rurik, growing his storage space hadn’t been difficult. Forming soulspaces was a common technique used by psions everywhere. The process was similar to soul surgery, but without the deep burning agony.
Within his market interface, Luke threw the mead onto the marketplace. Earth was probably a popular concept, so hopefully it would sell. With the addition of the beverage, he had a grand total of five items listed for sale. His arch-nemesis, Jonas, had twenty, which ignited his competitive streak. The guy was clearly cheating, as far as Luke was concerned.
Next stop, Luke found a cellar beneath the inn full of booze. It was a significant find, but only some of the top shelf stuff had the feel of an aetheric domain. Most of the drinks had the feel of [Undeath] about them, though not all.
He didn’t know how well they would sell, but he imagined some humans would willingly cultivate [Undeath]. It was a disconcerting notion. If they were willing to pay, he was willing to sell. After clearing the inn, Luke had hit every building on his street. Between that and the accumulated resources, he felt happy to take a break.
Back at the forge Rurik was delighted with the delivery, and quickly claimed a bottle of Rare [Firewhiskey] for himself. Luke had been hoping to sell the whiskey at a premium, but he wasn’t going to say no to the only friend he had. A bit of goodwill was worth a lot. Overall, the haul was probably enough to pay for a few good meals, once stuff sold.
Luke sat in front of the burning furnace with Rurik, and sipped on an [Ironroot Brew], a drink that was supposed to help cultivate [Endurance]. He was going to hit the iron after bonding a bit more with Rurik. The ale had a metallic tint, which was odd, but not unpleasant.
Luke took the opportunity to ask Rurik more about the broader omniverse, but got little out of him. The aspect downed the whiskey in one go, and the alcohol put him in a rather melancholy mood. Rather than talking about the wider world, the forgemaster spoke about Lundheim that was, and his centuries trapped in the dungeon with only undead for company.
The aethersea was a lonely place, and anchoring on new worlds was often a painful affair. As an anchor himself, Rurik was a potent source of [Fire] aspected aether. Most people who the forgemaster met immediately tried to kill him. Luke didn’t think it would be helpful to mention the quest he had, or that killing Rurik was literally his ticket out of the dungeon. There were other anchors he could kill for that.
It caught Luke a little off guard that the conversation became so dark so quickly. Truthfully, he had been quite preoccupied with his own struggles, and the fate of humanity at large. What had been intended as a quick break from work, devolved into a two hour long drinking session.
As someone who preferred to keep a level head, Luke made a fortunate discovery. Much like many things regarding aether, his [Recovery] attribute worked partially on intent. After watching his uncle drink himself to an early grave, Luke’s thought of alcohol as basically a poison, albeit a socially acceptable one. As he resisted the effects of the booze, he felt the aether respond. Luke latched onto the feeling and focused his mind.
[+1 Recovery Cultivated.]
The fog lifted from Luke’s mind as the aether purged the alcohol from his veins, but Rurik clearly didn’t share his point of view. After finishing the rest of the spirits, the forgemaster passed out with his face in the furnace. The flames grew and shrank in time with the dwarf’s snores.
Though he had gotten a little off track, the point in [Recovery] made Luke feel somewhat productive. It helped his mood that over the afternoon, several of his items sold, and he was sitting at almost three thousand credits. He was only a hundred credits off the [Mammoth Steak], so placed a [Duskfall Ale] on the market for exactly that.
Other resources aspected with [Shadow] domains were being listed for significantly more, so he expected it to sell fast. Luke wasn’t too concerned about profit margins. He wanted to fit in another round of weight training before heading back out, but needed to eat first.
Whilst he waited for the ale to sell, Luke reluctantly carved off another piece of the [Undeath] essence from his soul. He hoped that his increasing aptitude manipulating aether would make it less painful. It didn’t.
Panting with exertion, Luke walked over to the quenching pool, and dunked his head into the icy water. With the cold came clarity, and he began thinking how best to cultivate a point in [Endurance] with his makeshift gym.
With this clarity, Luke clearly heard the door to the forge flying open.
[Level 10 Dwarven Ghoul - A psion that walks the path of the Death Guard. Core Domains: Steel and Bone.]
A pair of heavily armoured ghouls rushed in through the entrance, giving Luke only just enough time to draw his hammer. “Wake up Rurik!” Luke shouted towards the furnace. The dwarf didn’t stir.
What kind of bloody dwarf can’t hold his beer.
