Bog Standard Isekai

The guards didn’t challenge Galan at the door, or any of the Lance when they followed him in, though one of the guards gave Marksi a hard look before shaking his head, probably deciding that if Galan didn’t care then he didn’t either. Inside, the high level [Blacksmith] in charge just bowed his head and said, “Sir Galan.” It wasn’t Meaty; apparently they had one guy for armor and another for weapons. This was Kartof, a level 50 [Weaponsmith].

Galan nodded to him and indicated that the Lance should line up. Brin couldn’t help joining the rest of the Lance as they goggled at all the weapons in the room. Even the lowest-quality weapons were masterworks according to [Inspect], and some of the weapons were named. “Blood Angel” was a beautiful scimitar in a glass case, a mace in the corner was called “Crusher”, and a shovel leaning casually to the side was named “Legacy of Gaia”.

Value Sense told Brin that armory was almost a misnomer. They should call this place a treasury. The awed expressions of his Lancemates showed that they felt the same. Even Cid and Hedrek were affected, and they’d most likely been in here before.

Marksi focused in on a single weapon immediately. He tapped Brin’s leg with his tail and then pointed a claw at an expensive-looking spear in the corner. Lion’s Bane.

“What? No. Shush!” Brin whispered down at him.

Galan tapped his chin, considering, while Lyssa tapped her foot, looking bored.

“Well, I suppose we can do this in order. Sir Gurthcid, I trust that you’re satisfied with your current weapon?” asked Galan.

“I am,” said Cid, putting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It was a standard arming sword, though Brin realized that he’d never actually seen Cid draw it. If he ever drew a sword at the base it was one of the practice weapons. Brin [Inspected] Cid’s sword.

Legacy of the Trevorrow

“I’m satisfied as well, sir,” said Hedrek. He also carried an arming sword, and his was a regular masterwork, if a masterwork could ever be called regular.

“No. You can keep your current weapon as a sidearm, but I think… yes. This one,” said Galan.

He stepped over to an enormous greatsword, so long and heavy looking that Brin thought it looked more at place as a cosplay prop. Was Hedrek actually supposed to carry that thing?

Hedrek winced. “With my apologies, sir, I can barely control a regular weapon with my current Skills. Something like that…”

“Will be excellent practice for you,” Galan finished.

“Yes sir. Of course sir,” said Hedrek. He looked like he was already warming up to the idea. After all, as the Prinnashians would probably say, what true man didn’t want a big awesome sword?

“I had in mind to give Hedrek our lance,” said Cid.

“Then it will need to pass to someone else. This is out of order, but since you brought it up.”

Galan selected a lance from a row of identical lances making up half the wall. It was eight feet long, and made of a metal that gleamed like silver. He handed it to Meredydd.

It was the best choice; Meredydd’s [Armsman] gave him a certain amount of proficiency with any weapon, and if he didn’t want to help them by maintaining their equipment, he could help them by carrying their lance. ŘåΝȪ𝐁Ěṡ

It must’ve been heavier than it looked, because when Galan let go, Meredydd gasped in surprise and nearly dropped it.

“Now back up to you,” said Galan, looking at Brin. “Kartof, I don’t suppose you have something ready for him?”@@novelbin@@

“I couldn’t make anything better than that spear in the time I had, but I’ve made some pieces as practice. It was interesting to work with a new element; I do stone now and again, but I’ve never tried my hand at glass. I think you’ll be pleased with the result.”

“You can make glass?” Brin asked. If there had been a glassworks in this keep this whole time and he didn’t know, he would scream.

“No,” said Kartof. “I requisitioned the parts and then improved them myself. See here.”

He drew a wooden case and opened it. Inside were three glass javelins, and now that the case was open Brin could feel that they were brimming with glass magic. He could sense what they were for; these things would destroy whatever he threw them at with extreme prejudice. They were single use, but extremely powerful.

“They’re perfect!” said Brin. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to work with glass. Is there something you can do with my Bog Standard spear?”

Apparently [Weaponsmith] meant any weapon, not just metal.

“Leave it here overnight, I’ll see what a little polish and some elbow grease can do.”

Next, Galan turned to Rhun. “I believe Cid has informed you of the standard path for a [Knight] in the Order of the Long Sleep? That we take [Blade Mastery] in place of [Iron Body].”

“He has, sir,” said Rhun.

“I am told that you still wish to pursue the [Knight] Class,” said Galan.

“This is so, sir,” said Rhun.

Galan nodded. “Very well. Then we must find for you a new path. Other Orders have different Skills, other ways of combining and upgrading the [Warrior] base into Rare or Epic Skills. No one has ever gone so far as to divulge their secrets to me, but you can’t help but pick things up when you fight alongside them. The Order of the Broken Stone, for example, always start their [Squires] off… with this.”

Galan hefted a tower shield from a rack. It was only half a foot shorter than Rhun’s full height. Galan demonstrated grasping it, using both hands. “Notice that there are two handles on the back. For now, I want you to give up your sword completely and become a pure defender. The path of a shieldbearer isn’t a glamorous one, and you will rarely deal the killing blow. But you can keep your friends alive, and that is worth more than all the gold in Theranor.”

Rhun accepted the shield, looking confused, but resolute.

Aeron got a mace, and Anwir was given a bow, though both were told not to neglect mastery of their sidearms.

Brych had his sword replaced with a really cool-looking red messer. The back was serrated and it had a hook on the end. The [Weaponsmith], Kartof, seemed almost apologetic about it. “It’s a real sword. Good steel, I promise. Never mind how it looks.”

“It looks amazing!” Brych said, with stars in his eyes.

Cowl was given a warhammer, though he was told that he should mainly keep to his sidearm until he learned how to use it. [Porter] didn’t have [Blade Mastery] or any weapon training Skills.

Govannon was handed a war axe; it had an axe on one side and a spike on the other for piercing armor. While Cowl accepted his weapon with little interest, Govannon was visibly disgusted with his axe, though thankfully he kept his mouth shut.

It seemed that everyone had a weapon. Cid clapped his hands and said, “Sir Galan, Sir Kartof, let me express my humblest gratitude. I–”

There was a sudden hiss. Everyone looked down to see Marksi. He’d coiled up around himself, something he rarely did since his snake days, and glared at Galan.

Lyssa hiccuped and then used her hand to cover a smile. Galan folded his arms, looking in concern between Brin and Kartof. “I don’t know if… if we should arm him.”

Marksi hissed again.

“You,” Galan corrected. “I assumed dragons favored natural weapons.”

Kartof perked up. “No, no, no, he’s right. Let me find him something. Maybe… yes! This should work.”

The [Weaponsmith] dove behind a disk and pulled out an exotic looking weapon that Brin didn’t know the name for. It was a half-circle band of spikes with a handle completing the other side. Kartof flexed and pulled the handle off with a clink. Then by hand, he bent the solid steel strip of spikes around until it was a complete circle.

He bent down and put the ring over Marksi’s head. It slid down his neck and stopped at his shoulders. A spiked collar.

It didn’t look good on the dragonling at all, but Marksi immediately started purring and uncoiled himself to strut around. He even rubbed against Kartof’s leg and snagged his new spikes on the man’s pant leg.

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Brin made a mental note to get rid of that thing as soon as possible. He was not about to let Marksi jump up on his shoulders wearing that.

“Never armed a dragon before!” Kartof said, looking pleased. “I didn’t get a level for it, but I bet it was far better experience than arming you greenies.”

Cid thanked Galan and Kartof again, and then they went back to their bunkroom, clutching their new weapons like Christmas presents.

The Lance took a long time to get to sleep. Everyone was buzzing with excitement as they retread their dinnertime conversation, talking about things they would miss and things they were looking forward to.

Brin thought it was a little silly, since it’s not like they wouldn’t be back here, but he could understand the excitement. He was ready to get out and have an adventure, too.

Marksi sensed change and decided to sleep on Brin’s bed that night, so Brin made him take off the collar first. Then he hid it under the bed, hoping that Marksi would forget it in the morning.

It didn’t work; Marksi was already wearing it when he woke the next day.

The morning felt surprisingly normal. Servants came to help them don their armor. Cowl packed up his huge backpack like he did every day. Brin made a quick trip to the armory to fetch his spear. They prepared their equipment, keeping the habits they’d gained during the exercises, though this time Meredydd refused to sharpen anyone else’s swords. They ate breakfast and then went out to get their horses; all of that could’ve been like any other day.

But then, instead of riding in a circle around the keep, Cid led them north. They rode straight from the keep and across the flat plains and parallel to the mountains, further than they’d ever been, until the keep was just a tiny speck in the distance.

They rode at a quick trot, just under what could be called a gallop, and the horses never made any sign that the pace made them the least bit tired. The sun rose in the sky, they paused for lunch, and the sun started climbing back down.

Brin began to hope that the excitement and shared purpose of being on a patrol might get the men to stop bickering, but at dinnertime he was proved wrong.

Cowl decided to make stew, something warm and hearty for their first day out in the wilderness. He setup the fire himself, added the ingredients, and then slowly stirred, waiting for it to be done.

Soon the succulent smell filled the campsite, and Brin’s stomach growled. He wasn’t the only one. Many anxious glances were cast in Cowl's direction, but he ignored them all and continued to stir.

The stew started to boil in places. Surely it was hot enough now? But still Cowl ignored everyone’s desperate starvation and kept lazily stirring.

Govannon stood and marched over to Cowl’s bag. He grabbed a bowl and went to the pot, aiming to ignore Cowl’s stirring spoon and scoop some stew out with the bowl.

Cowl grabbed Govannon’s hand. “No.”

Govannon smiled greasily. “Come on. I’m just going to–”

“It’s not done.”

“I don’t care how it tastes, I just want to–,” Govannon leaned into it, trying to push his way past Cowl, but Cowl held him in place. The meek [Porter] was a lot stronger than he let on.

Govannon took a step back, and then jumped forward to bash into Cowl, but Cowl stepped forward and pushed Govannon back.

Govannon was off balance, and didn’t even see the right hook coming, which clanged against his helmet and knocked him to the ground.

Honestly, Brin was impressed. He didn’t think Cowl had it in him.

Govannon was on his feet in an instant, but Aeron and Anwir grabbed both of his arms, pulling him back and putting an end to the fight.

Govannon struggled. “Let me–!”

“No!” Cid said sharply. “Stand down. Go cool off.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Cowl.

“You, too. Take a seat. I’ll finish supper.”

“It’s not done!”

“You can let me know when it’s done, but I’m finishing it,” said Cid.

Govannon kept struggling against Aeron and Anwir. “He… he…”

“Stop!” Brin barked, remembering that he was the Second. “You will not ignore your Prime’s orders. You will leave this camp immediately. You will not return until you have calmed down!”

Govannon dropped his arms, turned, and stomped away from camp.

Brin met Cid’s eyes with a wince of apology. Cid shouldn’t have had to step in there, that was Brin’s job. Cid’s eyes stayed stern for a moment, then they turned questioning. Brin pointed at himself, and Cid nodded. One of them should go talk to Govannon, and it should be Brin. This was probably a strict drill master conversation.

He didn’t go right away. Instead, he waited for dinner to be ready, and ate his stew, sharing it liberally with Marksi. Marksi often ate what he hunted or foraged, but the empty fields didn’t have much for him and he didn’t care for rodents.

Govannon didn’t return during dinner, and Cowl set a bowl out for him on a tall stone where no one would accidentally step on it.

After dinner, Brin walked out and found Govannon. He found the [Page] a few dozen yards away, thumbing his axe and staring hard at Cowl.

Brin chose not to believe that Govannon was plotting Cowl’s murder. His illusions were great for spying, but they didn’t have the ability to suss out someone’s inner thoughts.

He said, “What’s wrong with a war axe, anyway?”

Govannon startled at the sound. Brin hadn’t been invisible, but after Hogg’s training he was always in the habit of walking quietly.

“It’s stupid,” said Govannon.

“No. Is good weapon!” said Brin, leaning a little more heavily into his accent.

“It’s a weapon for stupid people. It’s easy to use,” said Govannon.

“Spears are easy to use, too,” said Brin.

“I know,” said Govannon with a sneer.

“Someone told me once: The sword you learn in a year and master in two years. The spear you learn in a week and master in a lifetime. Maybe axes are the same.” Brin couldn’t actually remember where he’d heard that. Was it something he’d heard as Mark? He definitely hadn’t heard it from Hogg. He would probably laugh himself hoarse if he heard Brin say something like that.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll never get ahead. If I wanted to be popular I’d be a mean, angry idiot like Hedrek. Nice guys–”

“Nice guys!” Brin spat. He didn’t have to pretend to be the drill sergeant this time; Govannon was really starting to get on his nerves. “Nice guys? Who is nice guy? You? Tell me, please. Please tell me, Gov, who are you nice to? You think you are nice guy. Pfaw! You are not nice. You are mean, you are angry, and you are idiot. At least Hedrek is strong. Are you strong? You are not. You are four things. Mean, angry, idiot, and weak.”

Brin took a breath. He hadn’t meant to go that far, and if anything he wanted to go further. “Now I will take my Prime's advice and leave until I calm down.” He couldn’t resist one last sarcastic “Nice guy” putting so much derision into the words that they were palpable.

He stomped away and when he got back to camp, face still flushed with anger, he saw Govannon’s bowl of stew, now cold.

The anger drained away from his face, replaced by guilt. He’d handled that horribly.

He watched Govannon with an Invisible Eye. The teenager seemed to be struggling with himself, but eventually he calmed, set his face in determination, and walked back to camp.

When he got back, he saw the bowl that had been left for him, and his features softened. Whatever recriminations he’d been saving up died on his lips and when he spoke his voice was mild. “Hey, listen guys, I–”

Hedrek stood, shaking with fury. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? YOU THINK YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE THAT WAS HUNGRY? WE WERE ALL HUNGRY! AND YOU, YOU THINK–”

“Stand down, Hedrek!” Brin shouted.

“He–!”

“I said stand down!”

Hedrek sat in a huff.

Govannon thankfully didn’t respond. He sat on the ground and grabbed his bowl. Eating angrily and glaring at everyone. Whatever chance at healing they might’ve had was gone.

Brin looked at Cid and mouthed the words, “Talk to him.”

Cid sighed, then stood and said. “We’ll only have two watches tonight. Brin and Govannon take first watch. Hedrek and I will take second watch.

“Yes, sir,” said Brin, and Hedrek and Govannon grunted their agreement.

That night, Brin made several attempts to draw Govannon into a conversation, whispering observations about the weather, comments about weapons, and then even a few jokes.

Govannon ignored all of it, staying completely silent throughout their shift. Brin almost told the [Page] to go to bed early. After all, with his Invisible Eyes and darkvision, there was no chance of anything sneaking up on them. But they didn’t know that, and keeping watch was good experience for when they didn’t have a resident [Illusionist].

He eventually gave up and stayed in his own head, tinkering with his illusions until their shift ended.

On the next shift, Cid and Hedrek walked a space off and then Cid activated the enchantment on his helm to have a private conversation. Brin didn’t bother trying to circumvent it; Hogg said that the best way to pretend to not know something was to actually not know it. He didn’t need to know the exact details of this conversation. Also, he really doubted that anything Cid could say would actually help.

The next morning, they went through their routine. They set up camp, ate hard biscuits for breakfast, and those not on watch donned their armor.

Govannon immediately started in on Hedrek when the big [Knight] tied the straps on his boots. “That’s wrong, you know! You’re such an idiot. You can’t even tie your shoes!”

To everyone’s surprise, Hedrek didn’t take the bait. “If you say so, sir Govannon, then it must be true.”

Later, they were back riding and Cid called back, “We’ll pass Fortmouth tomorrow morning.”

Govannon shouted back, “We know that! We aren’t all dumb as Hedrek.”

Hedrek calmly responded, “Sir Govannon, how can you repeat only this one when I have so many other faults to choose from?”

That line sounded like something straight out of Cid’s mouth. By Solia, he’d talked to Hedrek, and it had actually worked.

Perhaps sensing that Hedrek wouldn’t rise to his provocation, Govannon switched strategies. He rode up next to Aeron, and started talking about how an honorable [Warrior] like him would never be able to fully trust a [Rogue] like Brych.

When Aeron disagreed, Govannon slowed his horse until he was next to Brych and started talking about how a bow was a coward's weapon. Brych complained that the sun glinting off Govannon’s armor was getting in his eyes, and trotted his horse ahead.

Brin knew what Govannon was trying to do. He was desperately trying to get one of the knights to side with him against someone else in a desperate bid to make someone else the most unpopular person in the Lance.

In another life, Brin might’ve figured that sometimes the guys that get bullied the worst were the ones who wanted to be bullies but couldn’t because they just weren’t cool enough. Actually, he had thought that about someone, a kid named Rudolph Hansen, and Mark had goaded him into punching him in the face and getting him expelled. He had deserved it, sure, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t another way.

Govannon needed a friend. As soon as the guys saw someone regularly talking to Govannon and not hating the experience, they’d find it easier to be around him. Brin didn’t want that person to have to be him, though. Maybe Brych? Or maybe Cid could convince Hedrek to do it?

He wasn’t any closer to a solution when they went to bed that night. If they’d pressed, they probably could’ve made it to Llanifer and stayed the night in an inn with their horses in a stable, but Cid didn’t want to reward the Lance with a trip to town right now.

They stayed a few miles away, with the city lantern lights glittering in the distance. Brin wasn’t given the watch that night, but he kept some directed threads running to keep watch.

Those were touch and go. Sometimes they could keep watch the whole night while he slept, but sometimes they returned for no reason, and he didn’t know why.

In the morning, Brin woke to shouts of alarm. He figured that his directed threads had all returned, because there was real worry in the men’s voices. Then he realized that was wrong. His threads were still running; he could still pull up screens to watch through their eyes.

He forced the threads to all return so he could see their memories, and sure enough, they’d followed his orders and not let anything approach the camp. They had no orders for what to do is someone left the camp.

“He’s gone!” he heard someone say.

They were right; being around exactly ten guys for so long gave him an instinct for when one was missing. There were nine.

When he got his hands on Govannon, he’d… but no. Govannon was right there. Someone else was missing.

Meredydd had snuck away during the night.