Class Consultant - Book 1 Chapter 5 (Patreon)

Chapter 5

Grum Battlebear

Bathral didn’t suffer from a lack of food. Vendors stretched far into the market district, selling everything from prepared meals to raw ingredients. The market district in the northern side of the city was one thing, but the high-end eateries of the southern section of the city were something to behold. Dran and Grog spent more than they should on a lavish breakfast, intent on celebrating their recent win. The Ogre still refused to let his friend go off on his own. Until Dran had a way to defend himself quickly, it was out of the question.

An Ogre struck a powerful image in Bathral. He could easily crush the skull of anyone without a class, and gave those that did a mountainous task. A single glare from the Ogre Mage sent most pickpockets scattering for cover. Those braver than that were charged with furious growls and a mean, tusked face. Grog wanted to get rid of their magical items as soon as possible, so an appraiser was their first stop. They found an enchanter, who provided additional services such as appraisal, in the rich section of town. The squat stone building was nestled between two other high-end artisans, all of whom were Classed.

“Mostly junk, but there are some gems in here,” the enchanter said. “I can give you a hundred Marks for the lot, or we can pick some to keep. Whatever works for you, sirs.”

“I’ll have a look, thank you,” Dran said, bowing slightly.

The Spellscribe was educated in the formalities of polite people, drilled into him at the Scholar’s Academy and Legion alike. The enchanter set his tablet on the countertop, allowing him to inspect the results. There were a few decent pieces here. As expected, they were geared to stealth-type classes. A single, magical ring caught Dran’s attention. It was solid silver, inlaid with gems he couldn’t identify.

[Ring of Endurance]

Rare Ring

Description:

Allows the user to experience less fatigue while traveling.

There was a maximum amount of magical gear a person could wear, although Dran didn’t understand the specifics. That amount would increase as they leveled, but he only had a few items on him. A constant issue he had was getting tired as they traveled. His pegleg made walking difficult, even over good terrain. The Spellscribe slipped the ring over his finger and smiled.

“I’ll keep this. Nothing else,” Dran said.

“Very good,” the enchanter said.

The pair haggled back and forth for a while, coming to an agreement at 60 Marks. When they were finishing up, the man questioned Dran’s motives for keeping the ring. It wasn’t exceptionally useful to adventurers, let alone spellcasters. He explained the reasoning, gaining an interesting reaction to the shopkeeper.

“You’ll want to see Zoll,” the enchanter said, leaning in. “Strange fellow, but he works with weird wood. Might give you a new leg.”

Dran raised a brow. He’d heard of Living Wood before, but those that got the class were from an insectoid species that rarely interacted with the polite races of the world. He kept the thoughts to himself, thanking the enchanter for his time and leaving the building. Grog joined him to find Zoll, wherever he might be. To their surprise, the creature had set up a shop simply called Living Wood. The air inside was musty, like a forest after a rain, and there were examples of the creature’s work everywhere. Dolls that moved on their own, tables that retracted at a touch.

“Greetings,” a hissing voice came from behind the counter. A towering mantid-creature rose its head, compound eyes catching the light and refracting it strangely. “How can I help you?”

Dran was surprised again. Despite the constant hissing, his diction was good. Most people thought the Hosith language was hard to master, but Zoll’s Hosithian was passable. He approached the counter and smiled.

“I need a leg,” Dran said.

Zoll leaned over the counter, revealing more of his carapaced body. It was mottled black, a hard shell on the outside and wings tucked under his back. Instead of hands, he had two great blades and four scuttling legs beneath its massive body. Dran couldn’t determine how he worked with anything, let alone wood.

“You have legs,” Zoll said.

“Just the one,” Dran said, pulling up his robes.

“May I see?” Zoll asked, gesturing his bladed limbs to a Living Wood chair.

Dran sat down, unclasping his belt and harness and removing the peg leg. The place where it held to his stump was already itching furiously, the fresh air stinging as he removed it. Zoll made a few clicking noises, came around the counter and bent low to inspect. Grog was nearby, glowering.

“Unfortunate,” Zoll said. “If you lost it below the knee, this would be easier. Then, there’s the curse.”

“Yeah, the curse,” Dran said, laughing. “Always comes back to the curse.”

“You need a Living Wood limb,” Zoll said, nodding. His antennae bobbled as he moved. “Some can’t stand the pain, but… Well, you’re all too used to it, aren’t you?”

“How does it work?” Dran asked, avoiding the creature’s candor.

“Living Wood takes root,” Zoll said, gesturing with his bladed arms. “Embeds itself in your nervous system. Becomes like a limb. You’ll form a bond. Only moderately intelligent, nothing to fear.”

This wasn’t the first time someone tried to sell Dran on a new limb. A Dwarven Artificer wanted to create a steam contraption to act as his limb. The only problem was that he would need to control it with a remote device, occupying a hand at all times. The Dwarf also wanted to charge him a fortune, something he was sure Zoll would do as well.

“So, price?” Dran asked. There was no need to beat around the bush on this one.

Zoll hummed for a moment, scuttling behind the counter again. “A thousand Marks down, then, perhaps, four to five thousand on completion.”

“Do you take payments?” Grog asked, laughing.

“I do not,” Zoll said. “This is interesting—very interesting. I’ve never set a limb on a… I don’t know what you are. Bring me the thousand Marks and I’ll start the process. We need to bed the seed first, then grow it. Perhaps that could come with payments, as you say.”

“Do you think it would work?” Dran asked, not trying to let himself hope.

“Yes,” Zoll said. “It will fuse with your flesh, creating a living leg. Unlike your bones and muscles, it will grow with you. If it is damaged, it will regrow. It may also help with the curse.”

“How?” Dran blurted out.

He felt like a child, jumping at a parent’s bait.

“Living Wood is… Living,” Zoll said, shrugging. “It has healing properties.”

“We’ll get the money,” Grog said. “We’ll have it by the end of the week, get that seed bed ready.”

Zoll tilted his head, clicking his mandibles. “Normally… No, I wouldn’t do this normally, but this is interesting. I make toys for rich merchants and their children. Novelty items, but this is interesting. Fine, I’ll do as you ask in good faith. Return when you have the payment.”

Grog helped Dran get his leg back on, hoisting him up to hobble outside. They shared excited, if not reserved, expressions.

“What do you think? Dran asked. “What if it works?”

“Then I won’t have to hoist you up so often,” Grog said, scratching his chin. “We need to check out some contracts.”

Dran and Grog returned to the hill in the center of town, comparing contracts between the Adventurer’s Guild and the Scholar’s Academy. There were so many people who needed help with their classes, and even more that needed help with monsters. The difference between the two types of contracts was that adventuring required them to travel. Every consulting job for the Scholars was within the town, and they paid more. At their current rank with the Adventurer’s guild, they could expect anywhere from 25 to 100 Marks per job. The consulting jobs offered a more tempting payout, starting at 100 Marks and working their way up to the thousands.

“How about this?” Grog asked, holding up a contract.

It was for a Dwarf interested in becoming a Runesmith. Dran was reluctant to accept that one, but the reward on offer was 500 Marks. The problem with Dwarves was their lineage. It was a snaking path that went back hundreds of generations, splitting and joining at random points to create an impossible webwork. If the Spellscribe learned anything about class evolutions, it was the importance of heritage. The only reason he accepted it was the library in town.

“We’re taking this contract,” Dran said, placing it on the front counter. The functionary looked surprised, even if he’d seen them yesterday.

“Been a while since anyone took a contract,” he said, scanning Dran’s badge and smiling. “Ah… Grum Battlebear. He’s a bit of a bastard.”

“Is he good for the money?” Dran asked.

“The full payment is already with the academy,” he said, stamping the contract with magic ink. Dran felt his tablet buzz. “Your contract is completed once he evolves into his desired class.”

The pair left the academy by midday, checking out a few books on Dwarven lore and following the address on the contract. There was an enclave of Dwarves within Bathral, predictably on the southern side of town. The small people were about Dran’s height, which gave him some comfort. It made Grog stick out more than ever, but the Dwarves didn’t seem to mind. Grum Battlebear’s home was near a smelter, pumping out endless waves of heat. It was part of a larger plot of land owned by the Battlebear family, apparently a prestigious group.

Guards, clad in heavy plate armor, met them by the gate. Dran could sense that each of them was Classed, and powerful. A servant met them at the front door, surprised that anyone would come to meet with Grum about his problem. They were led into a spacious sitting room, the entire building made of well-hewn stone and adorned with weapons and armor. A single tapestry hung above a fireplace. It had the image of a bear, two hammers crossed behind it. After being served lunch, some hearty stew and mugs of strong ale, Grum appeared.

Grum Battlebear looked like most Dwarves to Dran. He was heavy set and low to the ground with a large beard and an angry expression. Like the other Dwarves he’d seen in the compound, this one bore strikingly white hair.

Grum opened with a series of Dwarvish words, the origin of which Dran couldn’t understand. He quickly switched to the common tongue of the empire. “I didn’t expect anyone to make good on the contract. Grum Battlebear, nice to meet you.”

The group exchanged pleasantries, Grog falling back into his false-stupidity routine. After another mug of soothing ale, they got down to business.

“So,” Dran said, spreading a book out on his lap. It was the ‘complete’ history of the Dwarves, something he doubted tremendously. “Runesmith is common enough for Dwarves, so what issues are you having?”

Dran was trying to be as professional as possible, even if he didn’t feel like one. He didn’t want the man to catch on that this was only his second job in the field.

“I have everything the old tomes say to have,” Grum said, slumping in his chair. “Bloodlines going back to the old mountain homes, a mage class, smelter class, and blacksmith class. I just can’t get it to evolve, no matter what I do.”

“Right,” Dran said, pulling his tablet out to make a note. One book he checked out claimed to have all combinations of the Runesmith class, breaking them out into houses. Battlebear wasn’t listed within, and the Spellscribe had an idea as to why. “Do you know the full lineage of your mother and father?”

“Of course,” Grum said, stiffening. “Why?”

“Well, Runesmith is broken into houses,” Dran said, regurgitating what the book said. “The requirements are similar for each flavor of Runesmith, but there’s some specifics we need to know.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have the right lineage?” Grum asked.

Dran held up his hands defensively, trying to smile through it. “As you know, the problem with evolving a class is that there are infinite variations. One step to the right, and now you don’t need the [Smelter] class. To the left, and now you need a [Warrior]. I’m just trying to narrow it down.”

Grum still bristled, but Dran ignored him. He could see the cogs turning in the Dwarf's head. The Dwarf produced a tablet, fiddled with it for a moment, then handed it over.

Calling the Dwarf’s lineage a tree was generous. It was a thousand generations of jumbled, web-like breedings that sent Dran’s stomach turning. He used his [Copy] skill to move the information to his own tablet, handing the Dwarf’s back to him. After an hour of silent rearranging, he had something he could work with. There was a clear shift, ten generations back, that made things less confusing. The Battlebears were a relatively new Dwarven family. They drew most of their paternal lineage from the Stonecrushers, and others from the Gemgorgers.

Grum and Grog had gone through most of a keg by the time Dran spoke again.

“Has there ever been a Battlebear Runesmith?” Dran asked.

“None,” Grum said, hiccuping. “And it’s a damn shame! When we set roots here in—”

“Right,” Dran interrupted. The picture was finally becoming clear. He referenced his tome, finding the familiar recipe for creating a Runesmith from the Stonecrusher and Gemgorgers clan. They required a few things, a mage class as the lowest class, a smelter in the middle, and blacksmith as the highest. But Grum didn’t belong to either of those clans. The Battlebears were well ensconced as their own entity. “Come over here.”

Grum obeyed the order, coming to stand in front of Dran. The Spellscribe took the man’s calloused hands in his own, closing his eyes. He focused on his [Evolution Path] skill. It was a hungry skill, wanting more than just the Dwarf’s presence. Dran fed it information about the dwarf, what he was trying to do and with what classes. His tablet buzzed after a moment, and he inspected a message.

[Evolution Potential] detected!

Input Parameters:

[Smelter] class: accepted.

[Blacksmith] class: accepted.

[Battlebear Family] lineage: detected.

[Mage] class: rejected.

Hint: Vata.

The skill provided a hint, rejecting the [Mage] class as a way forward. It also detected Grum’s specific family, confirming Dran’s suspicions. A new class could be formed for the family, likely [Battlebear Runesmith]. Excitement welled in the Spellscribe’s heart as he considered the reality of evolving someone into a unique class. But there was still a problem. What did the hint mean? He didn’t recognize the word Vata, and it was out of context. He couldn’t determine origin without context.

Dran sat there for some time with his eyes closed, rolling over the word in his mind. After a while, he thumbed through his Dwarven books and found nothing.

“Vata,” Dran muttered, flipping through the pages a second time. Grum drew closer.

“Did you say Vata,” Grum asked, accenting the word properly.

“Yes,” Dran said, looking up. His eyes were getting sore from scanning through so many words. “What is it?”

Grum simply pointed up at the bear on house Battlebear’s crest. “The bear,” he said. “Our patron. Keeper of hearths—a relatively new minor god.”

Dran snapped his fingers, laughing.

Both Grum and Grog cast him concerned looks.

“You’ve been trying to evolve your classes based on the older houses,” Dran said. “But that’s not the way forward. I understand the importance of parentage in Dwarven culture, but you have something special here.”

“What?” Grum asked, frowning. “I can’t be a Runesmith?”

“Oh, you can be a Runesmith,” Dran said. “Just not a Gemgorger or Stonecrusher Runesmith. You’re going to be a [Battlebear Runesmith].”

Grum brightened up at that.

“If Vata is your deity, you need to become a [Priest of Vata],” Dran said. “I think if you pray to the bear at least once, you should get the evolution.”

“Just like that?” Grum asked, raising a brow. “Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” Dran said.

“That easy?”

“Indeed.”

Grum grabbed another mug of ale and shrugged, gesturing for the pair to follow. They made their way through the Battlebear manor, passing more Dwarves than Dran had ever seen in his life. In a small shrine, near the rear of the compound and in a verdant garden, there was a statue of Vata. The Dwarf stared at it for along time without acting.

“Do you know how many times I’ve got a system message,” Grum said, letting out a heavy sigh. “To become a [Priest of Vata]?”

Dran was feeling confident about bluffing. “Often it’s the small things we miss.”

Grum nodded, kneeling by the statue. Dran shared a look with Grog, who shrugged. Long moments passed with nothing happening. The air grew stiflingly hot. Something moved inside the statue of the bear. A spectral creature burst forth, a massive armored bear that rumbled the ground as it landed. Vata’s image lowered its head toward Grum, the air growing even hotter by the moment. A sense of comfort, as though sitting before a hearth on a chilly day, washed over the group.

Ribbons of light flowed from Grum, flames joining the show. Grog let out a whistle, taking a few steps back. Dran couldn’t tell how long the god was communicating to his new disciple, but it felt like an eternity. When the entity finally disappeared, the dwarf stood and turned around with a wide smile on his face. The Spellscribe felt his tablet vibrate in his robe, so he checked it.

[Importance of Heritage]

Achievement

You’ve brought a new heritage-based class into existence while having [Class Scholar] as an active class.

Effects:

Increase the effectiveness of your [Evolution Path] ability.

+2 Wisdom, Intelligence.

Grum was beside himself. He shared the new class with Dran.

[Battlebear Runesmith]

Rarity:

Unique

Rank:

Initiate (1)

Evolved From:

[Smelter] (Adept (3))

[Blacksmith] (Middling (4))

[Priest of Vata] (Initiate (1))

Evolution Trigger:

Realization of bloodline (House Battlebear).

[Blacksmith] as highest class.

[Smelter] as middle class.

[Priest of Vata] as lowest class.

Description:

Vata is the god of hearth. The clan of Battlebear has long since hoped for a Runesmith to join their ranks. [Battlebear Runesmiths] focus on creating stat-enhancement, and healing-oriented runes to support their allies.

“No sense wasting time,” Grum said with a resolute nod. “We’re breaking out the good ale for this one!”