Officer Sylsatra led Marke to a small military fort at the edge of the forest. Marke declined to enter the wood and stone structure, preferring to lay out in the sunshine on a small hill just outside the fort. His keen hearing picked up raised voices and clanging metal inside the fort.
“Odds they ignore Sylsatra and attack you?” Kente asked.
Marke chewed thoughtfully on a stalk of grass. “I would say… ninety five percent if they are fascist and or racist elves, seventy percent if they are some sort of feudal society, and a solid fifty percent otherwise.” He said. Heavy footsteps drew his attention to the gate of the fort.
A tall elf in plate armor strode out of the gate and drew a sword. Marke identified the sword.
<code>Identify
----
Sword of Heroes #12 (Rare, 10,000 Gold)
- This sword is the last in a set of twelve swords forged to empower and aid in identification of Heroes.
- This sword grants a logarithmic percent bonus to all stats in relation to the amount of mana channeled into it each morning. Stored mana resets after each sunrise
- This sword was awarded to its current bearer for "exceptional deeds of valor in repelling a goblin horde"</code>
Marke grinned at the tall elf and pulled the Sword of the Goblin God out of his bag. He tossed the sword towards the elf. The elf raised their own sword to block a thrown attack, but relaxed when Marke’s sword struck the ground at their feet. Marke lay back again, enjoying the sunshine. He listened as the tall elf picked up the sword, then dropped the sword and ran back into the fort. Ten minutes later, Sylsatra led a little old man elf up the hill to Marke. Marke tossed his chewed grass aside and stood to greed the old elf.
The old elf bowed, saying something Marke hadn’t yet learned. Marke bowed back, repeating the greeting that Sylsatra had taught him. “Greetings. I am Dingo. I am a friend.” When Marke stood back up, Sylsatra handed the Sword of the Goblin God back to him. Marke stuck it in his bag. The old elf held out a pair of dark, glassy stones and mimed placing one over his ear and listening. Marke nodded and gently plucked one of the stones from the old elf’s hands. Marke identified it.
<code>Identify
----
Speaker (Uncommon)
- This item aids in communication between two entities who do not share a common language</code>
Marke held the speaker up to his ear. The old man spoke towards the speaker in his hand. A voice spoke softly from Marke’s stone.
“We great you, great hero. It is an ***** honor to meet one such as yourself. We think you are on a ***** quest and we are eager to help you in any way. What can these humble soldiers do for you?” The voice stopped speaking a second after the old elf had. Some of the words hadn’t translated for whatever reason, but Marke understood just fine.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Marke held the stone in front of his own mouth and the old elf moved his stone next to one of his ears. “I have items I would like to sell and I really want to buy some clothes. I have been stuck somewhere for a very long time and I would like to learn things about the world that I have missed.” Marke spoke slowly and clearly into the stone.
The old elf gave Marke’s bulging muscles and leather shorts a frank appraisal. Marke felt slightly embarrassed about his homemade leather shorts. The did the dance of switching stone positions again so the old elf could speak. “We have nothing that will fit, and we are too small an outpost to have a proper tailor assigned here. We can offer you a large cloak and a bag.” The old man gestured to Marke’s woven basket bag. “That artifact is very ***** and I fear you may cause a panic if you do not keep it concealed.” Sylsatra nodded in agreement with the old man.
Marke looked at his humble bag in surprise. He identified it.
<code>Identify
----
A bag (Artifact, soul-bound)</code>
He knew what identify would say–he had probably identified the bag a thousand times already. Marke spoke into the stone. “I thank you for the cloak and the bag. I will follow your suggestion to conceal this one.”
The old man smiled and nodded at Marke. “One other thing we can do at this time. The hero who greeted you at the gate will accompany you to a larger fort with a diplomatic ***** who will have more resources to serve you.”
Marke sincerely thanked the old elf and lay back down in the sunshine until the hero came out to get him.
<hr>
Zily punched Marke in the shoulder. “Idiot. How can you learn so fast and still be so foolish?” She said. The hero woman shook out her bruised hand and pointed at the words in the book Marke was holding. “You have to count the little tails and keep track of that count on every stanza or you might insult your own mother instead of impressing the ladies.” Zily had gotten over her fright at Marke’s immense strength and level after Marke had tripped over his own feet the first time she smiled at him. She began teaching him the elven language properly, and did a much better job that poor Sylsatra had done.
Marke frowned at the book and tried again. He read from a book of poetry he had found in some mad undead wizard’s library down in the tunnels. It wasn’t written in contemporary elven, but it was close enough that Zily said he would be able to read street signs once he mastered it.
“Light of dawn, feed your ducks-” Marke began.
“Ponds!” Zily interrupted.
“Feed your ponds. Ponds full of ducks. Eat those ducks.” Marke purposefully took his poetry reading off the rails to get Zily to laugh. She did laugh and shoved him. She fell on her backside when Marke didn’t budge. Marke laughed back at her and helped her to her feet. He read the poetry properly the rest of that day. Marke’s memory was nearly perfect, with such a high intelligence stat, so he could have read the book out of his memory, but he liked how relaxed Zily got when he had his nose firmly between the pages.
Zily’s mood changed when they came in sight of their destination on the sixth day of walking. The fort was quite large and Marke could hear sounds of troops marching from a long way off. Zily began to heave heavier and heavier sighs until Marke asked her what was wrong.
“My mother is in charge of this fort.” She said glumly. She didn’t explain further.