Remnants of a Ghost

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"Oh, ho! what endues thee to mine own f'rge?" A roughly built man in dirty overalls and sporting a thick leather apron looked up from the white hot piece of metal he was working on. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he lifted the dark goggles from his eyes before clasping Bast's outstretched hand in greeting. "I haven't seen thee in ages!"

"Ah, well, as much as I'd like to say I'm here to shoot the shit, I'm here on business." Bast didn't seem bothered by the man's odd diction.

Bast stressed that to get his help, Meliadol would have to play along.

The man seemed to finally notice Meliadol off to the side, tilting his head slightly as he approached, "Is this the business thee has't with me?"

"Yep. He's a newbie I'm helping out. He wants to be a Ghost, so I figured I'd take him to the best for his Legacy gear." Bast gave Meliadol a look that said don't fuck this up.

The man only stopped when he was squarely in front of Meliadol, holding out a large grubby hand, "I'm known as Grimsaw. Who art thee?"

Meliadol bit back the retort on his lips. Introductions weren't necessary in the game when one could find out someone's name by simply pulling up the HUD and checking out the status screen over a character's head. But he was here for help, so he'd play nice. His smaller hand was swallowed up as they shook. "I'm Meliadol. Pleased to meet you."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, the burly man did his best to shake Meliadol's arm from the socket, "So wherefore'd thee chooseth a apparition?" The question was phrased simply enough, in that same overly cheery manner, but Grimsaw's gaze was sharp enough to split hairs lengthwise.

"I…uhh…" Meliadol stalled at the question. What was he supposed to say? I saw a Ghost demolish a PvP group and in misguided admiration I wanted to try it out? It sounded pathetic even in his own head.

Bast saved him. "He ran into Heoh." The berserker said simply, with a shrug as if that was to be expected.

"Ah, thou art truly chasing a apparition in ev'ry sense of ye word." Grimsaw gave a crooked smile, "But p'rhaps one might not but chaseth to feeleth alive?"

Meliadol looked back and forth between the two. They seemed to have a tacit understanding. There was things being said between the silence of words. Exactly who was Heoh? The more he heard about her, the more questions came to light. He made a mental note to look her up on the web.

With a long sigh, the forgemaster rolled his shoulders before turning back to the piece he had been working on. Picking up the discarded hammer and righting the goggles on his face, he began pounding away at the metal once again, sending showers of sparks cascading around him.

Bast didn't say anything, so Meliadol didn't either. The pair just waited for some signal. With a grunt, the man picked up the metal in his tongs, turning it over as he considered the make. With a grim smile, Grimsaw drenched it in a nearby cask of oil, flames shooting high up into the air as he did so. The fire hissed and spat, reaching up to lick the high ceiling of the stonework.

The heat washed over the three, yet Grimsaw gave no indication that it bothered him. Meliadol refused to be outdone, so he grit his teeth against the sweltering fire. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and he could have sworn the edges of his hair began to sizzle. As quickly as it began, the flames simmered down, and Grimsaw set the smoking metal on the anvil. It was then, and only then, that he once again looked to his two guests.

"Aye, we will take thy measure, little apprentice of Bast." Grimsaw walked past them, not bothering to see if they followed. Casually discarding his gloves and goggles, the rest of Grimsaw's gear flickered as he equipped more traditional armor. Blackened angry plate mail with rivulets of orange fire running along them appeared on his form as a large hammer coalesced in his hand.

Bast gave no indication that nothing was amiss, so Meliadol followed suit, the pair falling into place behind the blacksmith as he led them to a large set of double-doors on the other end of the room. The doors opened automatically with an ominous creak, as if laughing.

Meliadol blinked once. Twice. The inside was nothing like he expected. It was a simple wide open sand pit within a depression, with a large circle drawn in the middle. Racks, adorned with a myriad of weapons and armors, lined the sides, but beyond that, the inside was exceedingly plain.

It was obviously an arena meant for fighting.

If the blacksmith had led the two of them here…

Meliadol looked to Bast, who had paused at the entrance, their eyes meeting, yet the berserker only tapped the end of his own nose playfully. The message was clear, "just play along". With a growing sense of trepidation, Meliadol followed Grimsaw to the middle of the arena.

The large man dropped his hammer with a heavy thud and leaned against it for support as he considered Meliadol. "Truly is valorous yond thou art only leveleth nine, because yond means thee can useth any weapon since thee haven't pick'd a class. Picketh up a weapon from the rack and attacketh me."

It took a moment for Meliadol to decipher what the blacksmith meant, but when he did, he looked back at Bast, disbelief plain on his face. The man couldn't be serious, right? What chance did he have against a max level character?

Bast hadn't left his spot near the wall, leaning back. "It's okay, little Mel. PvP is enabled here. Do as the man says."

There had to be some trick to this. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Meliadol walked over to a rack. Every weapon was plain, so he picked the first one to catch his eye. A curved cutlass. He did a few practice swings with it, feeling the weight distribution. This weapon bore no enchants, no magical enhancements. It was exactly the same as it would have been in real life.

Meliadol turned, warily eyeing the obviously magical armor and hammer of Grimsaw. The HUD revealed that the blacksmith was still level 60.

A level 9 with a plain weapon vs a level 60 with fully enchanted gear?

He had no chance.

With a heavy heart he swung the sword.

Klnnnnnnnng!

It was like hitting a steel wall. The sword reverberated, almost shaking out of his grasp. Grimsaw hadn't budged in the slightest. The mountain of a man just stood there, looking down on him.

"If 't be true thee striketh not with conviction, thy weapon shall nev'r pi'rce me."

What the hell did that mean? To attack with conviction? What would be the point? There was no way he could win. This world might look like real life, but the rules it followed were far different. In the end, numbers were what mattered, and his simply could not match up to a max-level character.

Grimsaw's eyes softened, "Cometh at me concluded, be it with intent to harmeth!"

The blacksmith's condescension infuriated Meliadol, and against all logic, he did exactly what the man asked. The sword came screaming in…

…It bounced harmlessly off the armor, yet Meliadol didn't stop, attacking again and again, a whirlwind of steel. Faster and faster, sparks flying. He kept attacking until he saw red.

"Enough!" Grimsaw barked, catching the edge of the weapon between his thick fingertips as casually as one might a ball, "Tis not thine weapon for yond hands. Picketh up thy next choice!"

Still confused, Meliadol followed the man's instructions, putting away the saber and now choosing a shortsword. This time he attacked without hesitation. After a few swings Grimsaw waved away the attacks, indicating yet another switch.

Around and around it went, sometimes taking a hot minute, sometimes no more than a couple swings, but inevitably Grimsaw would tell him to choose another. Meliadol lost track of the time, but eventually he reached the end of the melee weapons.

"Tis is a problem. None of yond blades suiteth thee." Grimsaw frowned, running his fingers thoughtfully through his beard. He looked at Meliadol with sharp eyes. "Perhaps…" the eyes flickered to the other weapon racks, "Tis would be most queer indeed, yet perhaps thee is more unique than thy believeth."

Meliadol sighed, his arms heavy with use, "I've done everything you asked." he said, fighting to keep the frustration from his voice, "Can't we just choose one that was pretty close or something?"

"Nay, thy weapon will carve ye path. Tis important to choose a worthy partner." The blacksmith shook his head adamantly, "Now try from yond rack."

He groaned, but since he promised Bast that he'd play along, Meliadol went anyway. This rack held weapons that were unlike any he had ever seen before in game, from oddly shaped claw-like weapons, to whips on the end of a long bow staff. But something stole his attention: a very familiar pair of daggers attached on a chain…

"Hey," Meliadol walked up to the daggers that had caught his eyes, "Is this…?" He let the question hang as he picked up the chained weapons. They were exquisitely made, with minute details that he had missed in the chaos of watching Heoh fight. Were these actually the same weapons? He spun them in his hands. They were so well balanced.

Grimsaw joined him, shouldering his large hammer casually. "Aye, tis the original weapons of ye specter thee chaseth." Again the sharp eyes, ones used to seeing the smallest flaws and strengths of forged metal, watched Meliadol toy with the daggers, "Give it a try." he said after a long moment.

With the blacksmith's permission, emboldened, Meliadol gripped the weapons tightly in both hands, pulling the chain tightly, as if testing it.

It felt good.

Without a word, he lunged at the unmoving blacksmith. The daggers, unenchanted, wielded by a low-level adventurer, skidded easily off the plate armor, yet Meliadol continued, loving the song of the weapons in his hands. It felt so…right. Shifting his grip, he now used it as a whip, a spinning whirlwind blade of deadly intent.

Grimsaw was a mountain, taking the brunt of Meliadol's attacks with silent judgement.

"Alright, tis enough." Grimsaw stopped him mid-strike. "Thee display be enough for mine hands to work with."

Confused, Meliadol lowered the chain and daggers to his sides, "Close enough? These feel perfect. Can you just work with these?"

Grimsaw's head shook, "Thee see true, yet mine eyes are sharper still. Trust in me and mine." The blacksmith turned to Bast, "Returneth back within the seven day with yond payment and materials and ye will have thine legacy."

With that, the blacksmith seemed to suddenly be in a hurry, ushering them out of his forge and shop before shutting the door almost literally in their faces. The pair could hear the bolt being slid into place. It was borderline rude.

"Did we do something wrong?" Meliadol looked to Bast, feeling a bit surprised about how they were thrown out.

The berserker could only laugh, "Naw, he's always like this when inspiration strikes him. He wants to be left alone to work now. Probably heating up the metal and beginning to forge your legacy weapons as we speak!"

Sure enough, the words were no sooner out of Bast's mouth when the billowing smoke could be seen trickling out of the smoke stack from the forge. Meliadol's stomach churned. All he could see was the retreating form of Heoh. For some reason, the Ghost's image had left such an impression of him. She was the peak of a mountain he wished to climb.

"Come, little Mel. We're going to use up your daily dungeon runs on the event dungeon. Let's see how well you've been working on the potion training!"

Side by side, the pair left.

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