65: Perfidious Strangers
The settlement of Geilig's Hook was a quaint, run-down hamlet where all the houses were cobbled stone and clay. The most impressive thing about the place was actually its size. It probably would've been considered a village if it had an inn and a temple, but neither were present. They did have a small tavern, although that was just a large and roughly constructed room attached to a house by a covered path. There was also a small store, although it appeared to be rather understocked currently.
It was a cute place honestly, and also the kind of small almost-village that had as much history as any great nation, just on a much smaller scale. My thoughts quickly turned to Paisley. She'd love this place. She would talk to everyone—listen to all the crazy old stories with that achingly beautiful smile of hers. I sighed, and the warm, fond feeling in my stomach flared like a forge receiving a burst of oxygen.
I was so distracted thinking about her, that I almost walked into a group of players who were milling around the entrance to the hamlet. They weren’t your average players, either. The elven tank was wearing a legendary cuirass from a difficult raid in Tatonia, which was a human kingdom bordering Porin. The rest of his gear had been retooled and tailored to match the cuirass too, which meant that he was very sure that his gear wasn’t going to be upgraded anytime soon.
Beside the black and red, dark paladin looking tank, there was an equally red and black inquisitor looking dude, a fancily dressed man with a red shoulder cape and a bow, and an angry looking cleric. All were elven men, all had high end gear tailored to match the same aesthetic, and all of them noticed me at the same time.
“Huh,” the very fancy ranger said, looking me up and down with vague interest. “Cute. Cool class.”
“Um… thanks,” I said, and tried to walk around them.
“What're you doing out here?” He said, and basic politeness pulled me up short.
I was getting bad vibes from these dudes, but they weren't leering at me like horny assholes, so I indulged the question. “Just looking for resource nodes.”
“Crafting? Weird, this glen doesn't have shit for good materials,” the cleric said, looking around in distaste. “I hope the expansion zone has nice cities because I'm sure as hell not going to keep roughing it like this.”
“Yeah,” the ranger guy agreed, then focused on me with a little more interest. “Hey, you've got a new race, class combo. Any hints about the new zone? Word is, nobody's made it over there yet, not even those fucking pricks in the airship. Mountains are too rough.”
I snorted a derisive laugh. “Good to know Silver Ridge are having issues with their namesake. Nah, the best I can tell you is that I'm getting some pretty dark vibes over there. I get the feeling there's going to be only a few settlements and a lot of ruins.”
“Crap,” the cleric said, practically sneering up at the mountains.
“What do you know about Silver Ridge?” The tank asked curiously, his voice deceptively soft given his tall, broad-shouldered stature.
“Um… I know I don't like them?” I offered, trying to gauge what felt so off about these guys. They weren't being assholes, or even impolite.
“Good,” the cleric muttered.
The ranger waved them down with a hand, and they all shut up. “Okay, looks like we gotta make more preparations. I'll send a message back to Ward, let them know what the tiny faerie said. Thanks for the heads-up.”
With a nod to me, all four of them left the hamlet, going back down towards the main road. What an off-putting encounter. Also, where had I heard the name ‘Ward’ before? It was ringing a bell…
The question lingered in my mind until I found the smith’s house. Unsure what to do, I knocked timidly on the front door. I waited for a minute, then two, but nobody answered.
“Hello young lady, if you're looking for Byrnfolfe you gotta go down the side there,” an older lady called as she walked past, nodding to the side path around the fieldstone and clay hovel.
Smiling and waving thanks, I watched her continue on her walk. Feeling self conscious, I peered down the side path and saw the smithy shed. It was a small, sad looking thing, but the anvil out under the extended roof looked serviceable enough.
With a shrug, I followed the path out behind the hovel. The backyard was long, stretching out into a small orchard of apple trees beyond the smithing shed. I could see inside the shed now, where an older man with pointed ears and a thick leather apron was working with some wire in a crude vice.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “Sir?”
He glanced up from his work for a brief moment, then down again. The wide eyed doubletake he did was honestly a little funny, but I kept my amusement out of my expression. I didn't want to seem rude.
“Phew, gave me a fright there, wayfarer,” he said after taking a second to get a proper look at me. “The fae ‘ave been known to come over the mountains sometimes, stealing away whatever folks they get their hands on. You seem like one of the smiling ones, which would ‘course still be a mighty cause for concern, if not for the wayfarer thing— ah, but I'm babbling. What can I do for you?”
“Actually… Now I'm curious what you meant by the smiling ones?” I asked, trying not to smile.
He nodded, then turned to twist a wire into a hook shape. “Oh, there's two general types, you know? There's the creepy, ghostly ones—they’ll treat you like a bored cat treats a mouse before it eats it. They hunt us every dozen or so years. Just come riding over the hills to kill and abduct any they see, and as near as we can tell, it's all for fun. They're the immediate worry.”
“The Elysians,” I agreed.
“I got no idea what that means,” he said with a disinterested shrug. “Anyway, then there's the ones that look like you—the smiling ones. They act friendly enough, but you gotta be on your guard, cause they're a bloody tricky lot. Never ever give them your full name, or they'll use it to spell you with all manner of misfortune. They're wicked smart, so that misfortune will be all kinds of creative. Even if you don't give ‘em a name though, they're still liable to cause mischief. Same as the first ones, it's all for their own sick amusement.”
“That's… a rather bleak picture you paint of your neighbours,” I said after a second. “Not that I doubt you…”
“Oh, don't get me wrong, some of them will be downright helpful if you’re not the target of their amusement,” he said with a smile of dark mirth. “It’s like they can’t help but toy with us, kill us, all that. I’ve spoken to a dozen or so in my lifetime—both kinds—and only four of them have tried to kill or confuse me. The rest either treated me like I was an interesting wild animal, or in two different cases, they helped me with my troubles at the time. I guess my point is they’re bloody unpredictable, and so you gotta be on your guard.”
“That sounds… stressful,” I said with a wince.
“Aye, it is that,” he nodded sagely, before getting back to making his hooks. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t come ‘ere for tales of nastiness. What’s your business?”
“I was actually hoping you knew where I could find a copper node,” I said hopefully. “I’m going to need a lot of it…”
“A copper node?” He blinked, then nodded understanding. “Ah, you mean a site blessed by Rasmerim the Earthfather?”
Ah, right. The NPCs said the nodes were places blessed by the appropriate deity. In this case, the god of stone, ore, and springwater. “Yeah, blessed sites. For copper.”
“Copper…” he said, scratching at his stubble in thought. “Yeah. There's a green-tears deposit that grows up in a ravine near the top of the glen. Foot access is from the other side of the ridge though, so you gotta cross over.”
From my inventory, my map stone updated with a search zone, indicating the area that the smith was describing.
“Thank you, sir.” I said with a curt, but genuine smile of gratitude.
He grunted, already focusing his full attention back on his work. “Just be careful. There's been strange happenings up that way for the last couple of days.”
I considered asking what he meant, but in the end I couldn't be bothered. I'd find out sooner or later, and since my home was in the Galloping Willow, the worst that could happen was a swift return home.
