The Dark Lord of Crafting

The troll thought it was smart, it was waiting by the door. I guess it had nothing else to do. The internal lives of trolls probably didn’t involve thoughts much deeper than smash and eat, though, for all I knew, it was writing a thesis on the shortcoming of Immanuel Kant in its head while it crouched to one side of the entrance to the stargate chamber. I was looking down through the small opening I’d made in the ceiling, lying flat because making room for me to stand would have taken too much time.

I’d carved out a crawl space above the chamber, and now that I knew where it was, I turned on my back and harvested as many blocks as I thought it would take to give someone room to fire a bow. I had mine with me, along with a few arrows Gastard had given me, so I thought I would take the first shot.

For all I knew, I was great at archery.

All the tools I had ever crafted with my ability had been super effective. Weapons, however, were a slightly different beast. My swords were fantastic, but I wasn’t fantastic at wielding them. In a similar vein, just knocking the first arrow gave me some trouble. It felt odd, and as Gastard had noted, drawing the string of my [Tained Bow] involved a significant investment from my shoulder and wrist.

As I pulled it back, my arm began to shake, and I struggled to keep the arrowhead straight as I sighted the shot. I loosed and was gratified to see that the missile went about where I had intended it to go. It struck the troll in the back of its neck and hung there loosely, as if it had only managed to penetrate about halfway through its skin.

The monster acted as if it had been tapped on the shoulder. It grunted and looked around before turning its attention upward. I didn’t have a torch with me, so I knew that I was in complete darkness, while it was bathed in the pale bluish light of the glowing blocks on the corners of the dais. Nevertheless, I felt as if its eyes met mine.

It jumped. Though its legs were smaller than its arms, they packed a lot of strength. It launched itself high enough for one oversized hand to graze the bottom of the gap I had made in the ceiling. It landed without difficulty, like a discouraged frog, and beat its chest in frustration.

I went to fetch Gastard.

He and Esmelda were sitting in the hall, watching a torch burn down between them. They had come up to check on me a few times while I dug out the crawlspace, and I’d had to craft more torches as the first set burnt out, but they had otherwise reconciled themselves to being background characters until the work was finished.

“We heard something,” Esmelda said. “What did you do?”

“Annoyed it,” I answered, then looked at Gastard. “I was hoping you could do better.”

“Gladly,” he said, rising with his bow. He followed me up into the crawlspace and gazed down at our target from the tiny shooting range. The troll was shuffling around below us, occasionally smashing its fists into the floor to relieve some of its frustration before glancing up into the darkness.

“There may not be much I can do from here,” he said. He had no trouble hitting the troll, but his shots were no more effective than mine had been. The first scraped off the skin of its back, and the second stuck in its chest. The troll seemed to think of us as more of a nuisance than a threat, and it continued to try leaping to reach our blind, grunting and howling as it went. I couldn’t see much of Gastard, but it wasn’t hard to imagine his look of concentration as he took his time lining up the next shot.

The troll did us the favor of glaring up at where it knew we were, and his next arrow plunged into its eye. This was sufficient to piss it off. The monster charged around the chamber, hooting as it struck the walls and the portal, and coming to rest far enough to one side that we could no longer target it.

“Give me a minute,” I said. I wormed my way forward through the crawlspace, mining out windows as I went to get a bead on where the troll was huddling, and after a few minutes, found myself directly overtop of the monster. It gazed up at me, bearing its teeth, but didn’t move.

Rather than clearing enough space to stand and fire an arrow, I crawled back and slapped a granite coin into my palm. I couldn’t hold the block in my hand, but summoning it that way ensured it wouldn’t be sealed to the stone it appeared on. Getting up on my knees, I grabbed the block by both edges and pushed.

It scraped along the floor and then got stuck in the window as it tipped forward. I couldn’t see the troll anymore, so I picked up my pick and mined out another block to allow the stone to fall the rest of the way through.

The result was a loud thump, followed by a clatter, and a very satisfying grunt. I looked down. The falling block had struck the troll and bounced off. It wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t happy either, and it had retreated to another section of the stargate chamber. It was favoring one of its arms.

The next hour involved a lot of digging, and many falling blocks, throughout which, the troll wised up to my strategy and began religiously avoiding allowing itself to come directly under any of my windows. It was no longer in good shape. Aside from the arrow to its eye, the blocks had torn skin from its back and shoulders, and it was limping.

It was close enough to the shooting range for Gastard to get a bead on it, and he carefully lined up another arrow. Its skin may have been thick enough to resist penetration, but it now had a collection of open wounds. Dark blood seeped overhanging flaps of hide, and Gastard’s next missile sank deeply into a section of exposed muscle on its back.

The troll made a guttural noise and retreated into the tunnel that led into the library.

“What now?” He asked, his tone carrying neither pride nor disappointment in the result.

As much as I hated to admit it, my strategy of harassment had taken us as far as it could. Unless I planned on digging to the surface and exposing this chamber to sunlight, we were going to have to fight this thing head-on.

“You get your wish,” I said. “We’re going to go down and stab it.”

Gastard released a long-held sigh.

“Finally.”

During mining out the attic, I’d come across a vein of iron ore. Mining by the light of my status screen, I hadn’t initially realized what I’d found. It turned out a stone pick was sufficient to harvest the material, but it took more than twice as long to do so as it would have a block of simple basalt. Raw iron ore, however, couldn’t be crafted on its own. It required smelting in a furnace. Thankfully, I had enough stone to craft as many furnaces as I liked, and I made one after dropping yet another work table outside of the stargate room.

Logs went into the lower shelf of the furnace, and a fire sprang up. The heat was enough to cause my companions to back away, and I did the same thing after inserting a few ore coins into the top slot.

“You don’t have to do anything else?” Esmelda asked. “Shape the metal? Drain it into a crucible?”

“Details,” I said. “This will probably be fine.”

It took two full minutes to convert an ore coin into an iron ingot, and after I’d run through a few logs worth of fuel, I had more than enough to do some crafting. I took the iron over to the worktable and quickly generated myself a new sword and spear. After giving it some thought, I made a second shield. I still had the one I’d crafted back at base in medallion form, but I’d never bothered using it. Gastard’s training had focused on using a sword in a two-hand grip, but if there was ever a situation where putting a barrier between ourselves and an opponent was necessary, it was this one.

The shields were wooden, circular, and around the size of one of the troll’s fists. Gastard eyed his dubiously but didn’t turn it down. There wasn’t enough iron left for a full suit of armor, but I could make myself a cuirass.

The recipe was the same as it had been for leather. Eight coins, filling up every slot except for the top center space. The result was a gleaming steel chestplate, complete with leather straps connecting the back and front pieces. The System had never bothered to pretend that the materials I put into a recipe would be exactly the same as what I got out of it.

Journal Quests Notifications Materials Crafting

[Iron Chestplate]

Armor Rating: 5

A true staple in the wardrobes of budding adventurers and seasoned mine crawlers alike! With its polished, sturdy build, it offers solid protection against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Raiders as well. Throw in an enchantment or two, and you'll be ready to face whatever the world throws at you, as long as it doesn’t throw it at your head.

Gastard helped me put it on, and we readied ourselves to meet the troll, but Esmelda grabbed my wrist before we reached the door.

“You have what you came for,” she said. “You can make Lord Godwod his sword, and come back here when you’re better prepared.”

I hesitated. As weakened as the troll was, I still wasn’t completely sold on trying to poke it with a stick.

“These things spawn around me now,” I said. “We don’t know how often or how many. I don’t know if we’ll ever have a situation as advantageous as this to learn how to fight them again. Besides, there are things down here I’m going to need if I’m ever going to have a chance of dealing with Kevin. You think he’s coming, don’t you?”

Torchlight danced across her pale face, and the freckles over her nose, causing her pale gray eyes to shine. “I do believe that, but he is immortal. We may have years to prepare before he comes.”

I shrugged. “Or we could have days.”

Gastard rapped his sword against his shield. “I have dreamed all my life of facing the minions of the Dark Lord, of slaying a koloss with my own hands. I will not turn back.”

Esmelda heard the resolve in his voice and relented. Even if she could convince me to be cautious, Gastard had his mind set.

“I will hold the door,” she said.