B3 – Chapter 9: Gnome smiths and an archivist

Tristan headed back to the market area and was shocked to see dozens of Gnomes going about working on various crafting projects. The sounds of hammering, tinkering, jovial conversation between the Gnomes, Nymphs, and fairy dragons – along with a lot of lobbed insults – permeated the atmosphere. The residents from the Mortal Realm were also working on various tasks; with the Gnomes seemingly having taken on an advisor role.

Of particular note to Tristan was that the Nymphs had acquired some instruments, and their soft, gentle tones filled the air with an ambience that gave him a sense of lightness. A haunting harp being plucked ever so gently, mixed with an aria about a lover who was waiting for their beloved in a mountain retreat was bittersweet. Tristan just stood at the entrance to the Queen’s Wood, listening to the music, the buzz of people working, and individuals living their lives.

This is what I want, Tristan thought as he descended the tree and made his way towards the crafting and market area. A Realm filled with people like this; happy and content. No negativity. He cracked a slight smile as he saw the young teenage boy, the son of that village chief, working with a Nymph and trying his best to learn Elvish. Smart kid, he thought as he walked over to Head Miner Willham, who was overseeing the carving of Gnome figures from stone.

“Ah, Lord Tristan,” he said with a smile as he wiped his brow. “Fine setup you’ve got here. Almost done getting the last few of our fellows into their new bodies.”

A fairy dragon flew down from above, grabbed Felicity’s tail, and yanked her off his head. She woke up very quickly and let out a screech of annoyance. “Deckard, I swear I’ll rip your antlers off!” She pivoted out of the other fairy dragon’s grip and began chasing him whilst other fairy dragons looked on and laughed at the mid-air antics.

“How many do you number?” Tristan asked as he sat down on a nearby stool, only glancing skyward to ensure that Felicity okay. She seemed to be pissed off, but he also saw the slight grin at the edges of her mouth, and knew she was secretly enjoying being the cat in the game of cat and mouse.

“Ninety-nine,” Willham replied, “With Dorni being the hundredth.”

Tristan looked over to the nearby smithing bench, “I need a sword.”

“Not my department,” Willham replied as he turned to the stone, muttering something that Tristan didn’t catch, and began smoothing the stone into the shape of a Gnome. “I get rocks and other valuables from the ground. Ask one of the boys over there making that racket with the hammers.”

Tristan glanced over and saw four Gnomes who were busy taking clippings and shavings from the various metal trees, placing them into stone molds, and then creating ingots by immersing the molds into the burning-hot interior of the tree-forges. “What all can you mine up from the depths?”

“Depends,” Willham replied, not looking back at Tristan as he spoke. “The results of our mining can vary. Rocks of all types, ores, too. Gemstones, of course. But we do not find veins. We find clumps or clusters.” He chuckled, “The Fey Realm is a wild mistress, always giving us…interesting bounties.”

Tristan stood up, “Then I leave you to your work.”

He headed over to the smiths and showed them both his armor, his father’s armor, and the designs in his Omnitome which had been copied over from his grandfather’s notebook. After some conversation the Gnomes began taking measurements of Tristan, gathering various metal ingots together along with the harvested dragon components.

“Ideally,” one of them said as he began sorting through piles of ingots, “We make the whole suit of armor out of Aegisium for its protective properties.”

“But mix it with some of that Wildsteel and make an alloy!” another replied. “Making maintenance easier.”

“Plus,” a third added, “Soulsteel inlay to protect against nasty death spells.”

“That sounds good,” Tristan replied as he recalled the visceral horror and panic at seeing that summoned entity back on Maladonia that slew dozens of guards with a single spell. “I trust you all to make me the best suit of armor possible.”

The first one nodded and saluted, clasping his right fist over his breast and bowing. “Lord Tristan, I do have one request.”

“Hmm?”

The Gnome grinned with delight, “You have this…dragon slaying specific armor, designed for fighting the beasts. And that spell stored within to make it more protective. How would you feel about more protection?”

“It can’t affect my agility,” Tristan replied knowing that he replied just as much on speed as the armor’s defensive qualities.

“We’ll make it scale mail!” one of the other Gnomes replied. “Armored plates for the most important bits – like the chest, thighs, and whatnot – with scales for the flexible bits. More innate protection than chain, but since you have these different metals we can use, it will be light and smooth.”

“That sounds excellent,” Tristan replied. His gaze went over to the pile of dragon parts. Wyrm sized earth dragon scales, bones, and hide which had been cured for use. The same for the Wyrm sized demon dragon’s remaining hide. The claws and teeth from both species were the same size and seemed to have the same properties. There was also a pile of Adult-sized fire dragon scales, bones, and hide. “I also want some of that,” he said as he pointed at the scales. “The earth dragon scales should be good to go around the chest in some way, I’d imagine. Fire dragon scales are good sized for my thighs, shins, and forearms. Not to mention pauldrons.”

The Gnomes dashed to a small huddle and began sharing out ideas. Tristan could barely keep up with their conversation, and when they started using blacksmithing terms he had no clue about, he just tuned out their dialogue until one of them turned to him. “We can do that. It will provide some protection but will primarily be aesthetic.”

“I also need a sword.” Tristan went into detail describing his old sword, including roughly sketching out the design.

“Hmm…” one of the Gnomes tapped a charcoal pencil to his lower lip, leaving a slight black smudge. “We could do a bastard sword – give you the reach you want, plus cutting power, and thrusting; with the option to use two hands.” He looked at his fellow Gnomes, “Thoughts?”

They shared small nods of agreement and then began taking measurements of Tristan’s arm and hands. “Are you going to alloy this one as well?” Tristan asked.

“Yup! Going to mix Wildsteel for the self-sharpening and maintenance qualities, Starmetal for the light weight and flexibility, and Vorferr for the hardness. It will be a thing of beauty.”

Tristan grabbed his maul and set it on the workbench, “Any upgrades you could do to this?”

The Gnomes all gathered around and began pulling out small hammers, tapping on the Starmetal maul and listening to the brief ringing sound. There were small mutters, nods of agreement, and finally they looked to Tristan with one speaking. “We can make it better. We have your measurements, so we can add some notches for ease of use. Plus, more even weight distribution.”

“As much as a heavy hammer like this can!” one chimed in.

Tristan nodded, “The dagger?” he asked as he pulled that out.

One of the Gnomes reached up and grabbed it, letting out a small whistle. “Impressive. As good as our work…almost as good. The improvements would require a total reforging. I’d rather make you one from scratch.” He handed Tristan back the dagger with the dragonslayer quickly sheathed. The Gnome also eyed Tristan’s bow, “Interesting. Too bad we aren’t fletchers and bowyers. Them’s the Spriggan that’ll do that. They can make you a right proper bow.”

Tristan chuckled, “I think I’ve given you lot enough work.”

Felicity came flying in and landed on his head roughly, causing him to stumble forward. She was breathing heavily but dropped a small, chipped-off antler in front of Tristan. “Got it!”

“Did you hurt him?” Tristan asked, feeling genuine concern at seeing a piece of horn.

“Nah. He shed it when I yanked hard enough for him to yell “Matriarch!”” She cackled with delight before flopping on his head, “I’m pooped.” She began batting his ears, whispering, “Bat, bat, batty bat, flop.”

Tristan just kept his mouth shut and let her have her fun, despite the playful bats causing him minor discomfort. “Thank you for taking on these projects. We will have visitors to our market soon enough.” He stood up and headed back to the dirt circle. “Felicity, ready to go back?”

“What time is it?”

Tristan flipped open his Omnitome, “Looks like evening,” he replied.

She giggled with delight and pinched one of his ears just enough to elicit a headshake of reprimand from him. “Let’s head back, then.” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear her. “You’re all mine tonight though.”

Tristan smiled like an idiot as he activated his ring and warped back to the Mortal Realm with Felicity in tow. The bedroom was just as they had left it, and Felicity hopped off of his head and onto the bed, curling up in a tight spiral. “I think I’m going to head to the Archive and check that out,” Tristan said as he began spinning his crucible to activate his pin.

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Felicity yawned and put her head down, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Tristan activated the pin and thought of his destination. Eloise’s desk. The world shifted around him, and he stood in the enormous room that had very few people in it. Must be because it’s near evening, he thought as he stepped down off the slight raised walkway and into Eloise’s office split off by the depression in the ground.

The woman was sitting behind her desk, reading a book, and looked over it with smiling eyes. The red eyes of a full-fledged Demonkin that seemed to stare into the depths of Tristan’s soul. “Ah, one of my two assigned caseload. What can I do for you, Lord Tristan?” She laughed slightly as she put a bookmark into the tome and snapped it shut.

“I wanted to visit the Archives,” Tristan replied as he pulled out his Omnitome. “I want to get as much spell knowledge in here as possible.”

Eloise raised a curious eyebrow, “The Archivist will have to approve that. We limit access for a reason. Knowledge is power, and if every Omnitome carried every bit of knowledge from the Archives, well, that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”

That made sense to Tristan, and he sighed before nodding. “Fair enough.” He stood up as Eloise did, and she grabbed her staff. “Oh, one thing,” Tristan interrupted before she tapped it. He flipped open his Omnitome and snatched a writing utensil from her desk. “What are your off-limits hours?”