Path of Dragons

Book 2: Chapter 8: A Warm Welcome

The next morning dawned crisp and cool, but Elijah was hesitant to extract himself from his warm, rabbit-fur blankets. Still, he was a creature of habit, and he had many tasks to accomplish before heading to Ironshore. So, he groaned as he threw the comfortable bedding aside and pushed himself to his feet.

Soon enough, he began his morning routine. Starting with a leftover fish stew breakfast and ending with an abbreviated version of his training regimen, it wasn’t long before Elijah was donning his best outfit. It was a toga, just like the one he’d worn for the first meeting, but the stitching was a little tighter, and the fit a little better. Still, he knew he was never going to be much of a tailor, which highlighted one of his goals for the day.

If he did nothing else, he intended to purchase some proper clothing. To that end, Elijah found the little basket where he kept his pilfered etherium and dumped it all in one of his homemade satchels. Then, he gathered the looted weapons in an awkward bundle before heading to the beach where the invaders’ incursion had begun.

The rowboats were all exactly where he’d left them, so he selected the sturdiest one and shoved it into the surf. The water was frigid, but Elijah had grown used to it during his daily swims, so it was only mildly uncomfortable. Likely, that had as much to do with his Constitution as it did his routine. In any case, he pushed the small vessel out to sea, then hopped inside and started rowing across the strait.

As he went, Elijah was reminded of the last time he’d crossed over to the mainland. Back then, he’d been on a mission to rescue a dragon from people intent on draining her for their own cultivation. That had ended with Elijah killing quite a few gnomish ritualists, saving the dragon, and obtaining a Dragon Core. That Core cultivation had, in turn, given him the strength to kill the invaders.

He sighed as he continued to row.

So much had happened, and in so little time. Once, he’d struggled to even place on the power ladder, but now? He’d progressed into the top twenty-five, and given the advanced state of his cultivation – which Nerthus claimed should have been impossible on such a young world – Elijah felt comfortable in saying that he was one of the most powerful people on Earth.

Which was insane.

Almost as if to reassure himself, he opened the ladder and found himself in the thirty-second position:

Oscar Ramirez, whoever he was, still maintained the top spot, and most of the other names were unchanged. However, Elijah noticed that one of the Songs had dropped off the list entirely. It didn’t take a genius to intuit that they were now dead. Given what he’d been through so far, Elijah expected that to happen more often, too.

He kept reading the names until he got to his, and initially, intended to close the window. But then a new name jumped out at him. Carmen Rodriguez. His sister-in-law. The oars came to a stop, and as he stared at that line, the boat just drifted back and forth in the gentle current.

Carmen was alive. But what did that mean? Surely, she wouldn’t have let anything happen to his sister. Definitely not to Miguel. In fact, if something had gone wrong with Elijah’s nephew, he felt confident that Carmen would have descended into apathy or, in a worst-case scenario, suicidal thoughts. No – if Carmen was alive, then the rest of her family and by extension, Elijah’s – had to have made it as well.

A broad grin spread across his face as he realized just how much he’d dreaded finding out his family’s fate. Now, he knew. He just knew that Alyssa and Miguel were okay, and that made everything so much easier. So, with that buoying his mood, he resumed his rowing, propelling the little rowboat across the strait.

Still, it took quite some time to cover the distance, so he had plenty of opportunity to think. Mostly, his thoughts centered on Alyssa, Carmen, and Miguel, and he found himself wondering how they had survived. Had they formed a community with other survivors outside of Seattle? Or had they gone into the city itself? More, what classes had they gotten? Miguel was only ten years old – by Elijah’s calculation, at least – but had he gotten an archetype when the world had transformed?

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Elijah had no answers to any of his questions, but he couldn’t help but ask them in his own mind. And like that, he eventually found himself completing his journey and approaching the Ironshore docks.

They weren’t terribly impressive, at least compared to what Elijah had seen in the old world. However, they were functional enough, and the long docks seemed capable of berthing at least a half-dozen of the whaling ships he’d seen sailing from the small city.

Elijah navigated to one of the shorter docks, keenly aware of all the people – mostly gnomes, dwarves, and goblins – watching his every move. Someone called out to him, but he ignored whoever had shouted. Instead, he pulled up to the dock, then used a rope attached to the rowboat to tie off. Then, he reached down and heaved the bundle of weapons onto the wooden planks. They landed with a thud, but Elijah paid the sound little attention. Instead, he was prepared to shift to his Guardian form at a moment’s notice.

His caution proved unnecessary, because only a few moments after he’d landed, a small figure – even for a gnome, he was miniscule – scurried in his direction. When he got close, he nervously smoothed his long mustaches and said, “Welcome, Protector of the Grove, to our humble town!” He bowed deeply. “I have sent for Overseer Ramik. I am Uban, the dockmaster.”

“Good to meet you, Uban,” Elijah said, climbing out of the boat. His bare feet slapped against the dock, reminding him that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. The lack certainly hadn’t been a problem back on his island, but now, with every passing second, he grew distinctly more aware of his state of dress. By comparison, Uban wore what Elijah would have classified as Victorian garb. The cut was a bit wrong, and his wide-brimmed hat reminded him of a bolero, but it somehow fit the aesthetic. In any case, Elijah’s homemade toga was, in a word, shabby to the point of being classified as rags.

Which it kind of was, considering that he’d made the garment from repurposed Ritualist’s robes.

Whatever the case, that was an issue that had contributed to his decision to visit Ironshore in the first place. Hopefully, he could find replacement clothing – and much more – while he was in town.

“You don’t have to use that whole Protector of the Grove stuff,” he said. “Just call me Elijah.”

“Oh…okay,” said the nervous gnome. “Elijah.”

After that, the little gnome tried to make nervous small talk, but he was obviously too anxious to succeed. So, Elijah tried his best to seem welcoming and kind, but with his lack of social interaction over the past couple of years, he was certainly out of practice. He was nearly certain that the smile he meant to be reassuring came across as a little demented.

As a result, it was with some degree of relief that he saw a familiar face when Ramik approached. Elijah nodded to him and said, “I brought your weapons. What’ll you give me for them?”

“Ah…there are some…um…these are all unranked grade,” Ramik stated. “The best we can do is five silver etherium per weapon.”

Elijah had no idea if that was an appropriate price, so he took a moment to think it over. He must’ve looked a bit hostile, because Ramik quickly cleared his throat and amended his previous offer to seven silver. Elijah accepted that, then watched as someone else – a dwarf – sorted through the weapons and gave the goblin overseer a count. Ramik accepted that, then counted out seventy-seven silver coins, which he handed to Elijah. Once those had been deposited in his homemade satchel, he told the goblin what he wanted.

“First things first, I need to go to the Branch,” Elijah said. “Then, I want to get some new clothes. Something durable. Maybe a good pack, too. Seeds, if you have them. And some spices. After that, if I have money left over, I want to buy a woodworking kit. Knives and files and such. Can you provide all of that?”

Ramik tapped his lip. “The clothes, certainly. And we’re lucky enough to have a high-level Leatherworker in town, so the pack won’t be a problem either. As for the seeds…maybe. We have some Farmers, but I don’t know if they’ll be willing to part with any of their seeds. Spices, I’m afraid, won’t be possible. Not unless you want to go through the Branch Market.”

“I might just do that,” Elijah stated. He’d been living without proper spices for so long that the idea of even basic seasoning seemed positively decadent. But he wasn’t going to go broke just for a little paprika. “And the tools?”

Ramik said that he could accommodate that, too. So, without further delay, the little goblin – and his couple of dwarven guards – led Elijah through Ironshore and to the large building that seemed like the small town’s hub.

He didn’t know what to expect, but as they progressed through the building, Elijah was a little surprised to find that it was largely normal. Sure, some of the architectural choices seemed a little odd, and it certainly wasn’t sized for someone of his height, but it definitely wasn’t so abnormal that it seemed alien.

The same, however, could not be said for the crystalline tree that was the Branch.

“It’s beautiful,” he muttered to himself, wide-eyed as he took it in.

Ramik asked, “Is this the first time you’ve seen one?”

“It is.”

“This one is a little more advanced than what you would see in a native settlement,” the goblin stated. “It is an import from my home world.”

“I see,” Elijah lied. He didn’t want to show the depth of his ignorance, so he kept his questions to himself. But he did ask one that couldn’t be avoided, “How do I access it?”

“Just touch it.”

Elijah approached, trying to ignore the stern-looking dwarf that stood watch. He expected that the robed individual was one of the Envoys of the Cult of the World Tree Nerthus had mentioned. As such, he wanted to avoid offending her. So, he nodded and asked, “May I?”

“You may,” she replied in a gruff voice. “Don’t be expectin’ special treatment from now on, though. You come back ‘ere, and you wait just like everybody else, ya hear?”

Elijah nodded. He’d had no idea that he was skipping to the front of a line, but he wasn’t going to refuse now that it had been arranged. So, he stepped forward and laid one gentle hand on the crystal tree’s trunk.

Immediately, he became aware of a series of notifications waiting to be opened. He cycled through them, and as he did, he recognized them as menus meant to help him navigate the Branch’s various functions. There were almost a dozen headings, but most were inaccessible to him. Instead, only five were available: the Market, the Bank, the Knowledge Base, the Regional Map, and the Communication’s Hub.

The first destination was the Bank. From Nerthus, he knew that each time he’d killed something, the system had marked him for reward. And the Bank was where he could access those rewards.

“Can I deposit the coins I already have into the Bank?” Elijah asked, glancing in the Envoy’s direction.

“You may. Simply think it, and the Branch will transfer any coins you have on your person to the Bank.”

Elijah followed the dwarven woman’s directions, and with a stir of Ethera, the coins he had in his pack disappeared. When he looked at the readout for his balance, he was unsurprised to see that it had changed slightly:

Satisfied, Elijah moved to the next order of business: accessing the Knowledge Base. To his surprise, there were hundreds of topics ranging from crafting methods to faction information, with some of the Guides carrying hefty price tags. So, he satisfied himself with subjects pertaining to the system itself. Still, he spent three gold on almost two dozen guides before he finally settled on one called “A Practical Guide to Progression.” It was touted as a sort of progression-for-idiots instruction manual, and Elijah eagerly paid the fifteen silver to gain access.

When he’d finished, twenty-two crystalline leaves grew from the tree’s branches, but Elijah wasn’t finished. He still wanted to check out the Market, the Regional Map, and the Communications Hub. The last, he hoped might give him some insight into where his sister might have ended up.

As it turned out, all three topics were largely useless for him. The Regional Map only showed one other settlement, and it was almost two-hundred miles away. It was also the only accessible target for communications. The Market was a little better, but Elijah held off on buying any of the few items available to him. He still had more practical concerns, and he didn’t want to spend all his money on frivolity.

So, with that done, he collected the leaves, tossing them into his satchel, and let Ramik lead him away from the Branch and to what he dubbed the Crafting District.