Darkness and Lightning: Part 2
Smokes' first stop was a small barn barely largely than a villa, housing a small herd of mountain goats. He paid the farmer five Cols to stable Soldier and keep him curried and fed with a healthy supply of oats for two days. He unsaddled Soldier, much to the gelding's delight, transferring a great deal of supplies from the saddlebags onto a leather pack—books, his helmet, eating knife, spare clothes. When he was done, the pack weighed almost twenty-five kilos and there were still things left in the saddlebags, which he reckoned he could leave behind for now.
There was no inn in Corsea. Given its remote location, it wasn't hard to imagine why they wouldn't expect much travellers. Smokes managed to negotiate a straw bed in the farmer's house for the price of fifty Cols per night. It was double the price of a good inn in a city, but the farmer was savvy to know that Smokes had little option aside of braving the night out in the cold; who knew NPCs could be so ruthless.
After fifteen minutes of exploring, Smokes had noted down where the blacksmith, leatherworker, village healer, and hunter were. Experience taught him to seek them out first whenever in a new settlement. There wasn't much else to the village. He sketched a small map onto his journal which was expertly bound with a velvet cover inlaid with silver letterings and the papers were thick but smooth.
A bell from the village parish sounded four times, indicating that the time was four o'clock in the afternoon. In cold climate such as this, however, that meant the sun was nearly gone from the sky, and the shadows of huts were nearly double their height. Men and women hurried about lighting the torches planted in the snow outside their homes, illuminating the meagre street that ran down the centre of the village.
Best be getting to work, Smokes thought.
He made his way towards the biggest building he saw, a long hut that was raised six feet off the ground by stilts. A giant brute sat on the steps to the front door, smoking a pipe made of clay from the looks of it. The musty scent wafting through the air told Smokes that it must be some local blend of tobacco, and he hoped it tasted better than it smelled.
"What do you want?" asked the brute as he approached. He had a shaven head that seemed to be cut with a rusty razor, crisscrossed with so many scars that it seemed to form a circular pattern.
"I'm here to see the village elder," said Smokes.
"What for?"
"To talk. Maybe I could do him a favour."
The brute spat some phlegm out, more so to clear his throat than to insult. "Alright, in you go then. Craw's a bit busy, but probably will take the time to hear you out."
Inside, a fire burn strongly in the hearth on the far wall. The chimney must have not been cleaned in a long time as there was little ventilation, and as such smoke drifted along the ceiling of the long room—not so much that it was difficult to breath, but enough to be noticeable. The moisture contained within wooden planks forming the walls made the place feel like a sauna. Smokes didn't mind, however, given the coldness outside. Rugs of bear fur covered the floor from one end to the other. Tapestries made from goat leather hung on pegs, their painting primitive and in limited dyes of blue, red and yellow. Cushions were laid out in vertical rows, except for in the middle where it was clearly a walkway.
Craw sat at the end of the walkway, behind a low desk, with his legs tugged within a plush cushion. He was an elderly man, and what little hair he had left were long, frayed, white, and hanging by his temples. The smile he gave was crooked and almost toothless.
"Oh, a visitor! We don't get many visitors to Corsea."
"I'm an adventurer seeking fame and knowledge," Smokes said.
"An adventurer! The Lord bless you." Craw stood and bowed. "Welcome to our humble village. I am Curn Craw, the village elder. How may I help you, son?"
"I track rare monsters for a living, so if you could point me to one that would be great."
The elderly NPC gave a confused look. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand."
Always try the easy approach first, Smokes thought. Too bad it never actually works.
"Never mind. Let's see…what can you tell me about the surrounding land?" Smokes asked. "The people, wildlife, geography, history. Everything you know, I want to know."
"My my, what a curious young man. Everything I know, huh?" Craw rubbed his chin. "That will take a while."
"Time's not a problem for me." Smokes grabbed a cushion and made himself comfortable. He took out his journal and sharpened a pencil with his pocketknife.
Craw sat back down as well, his knees cracking. "Very well, I shall make the time for you. Hmmm, where do I start?" he said. "Let's start with how my people first settled in these mountains…"
An hour went by and still the elderly man gave his speech. Craw spoke about everything; from how the villagers were descended from giants once living in the mountains, to the weather during summer—when the snow melted, and flowers blossomed. The pelts trade was the chief source of income for Corsea, sabretooth's pelts being the most valuable and sort after commodity in the neighbouring cities. Craw even brought out his own cloak made of the material and let Smokes run his hand through it; it was deceptively smooth, mesmerising dark orange in colour. Smokes wondered if he should purchase some for when he heads back; they would fetch a very good price in the main town of this floor.
Smokes jotted down notes for everything he heard. Most players did not bother with the majority of the flavour dialogue NPCs had and could not understand why the Cardinal System had bother to add lines and lines of background information. Smokes did not mind, however. To him, it made Aincrad all the more alive. Exciting. It wasn't a game that he was a stuck in, but rather an entire new world. That gave him purpose to go out each day than to stay within a safe zone.
The topic turned to folk tales and myths the villagers had passed down through the generations. Smokes flipped to a brand-new page. It was here usually that he would hear something useful that might give him a lead to a rare beast. Legends of giant predators and dragons hardly came out of thin air; there couldn't be smoke without fire.
"My people calls the mountain: Mt. Morea, and those who still believe in the old gods thinks that it is the throne of Kirin, the Goddess of Thunder." The words rolled off Craw's tongue dryly, spoken by someone unbelieving. "But many have climbed Morea's peaks, and many have not returned. Those who did, however, reported no signs of the White Mare."
Smokes raised an eyebrow. "The White Mare?"
"It is said that Kirin presents herself in the form of a white horse cloaked in brilliant lightning. Untameable. She goes where she pleases. But alas, no one I know of has actually seen her." Craw's face turned darker. "Once though, we heard deafening thunder striking the peaks of Morea, almost as if a gong was being repeatedly struck for hours. People cowered in their homes. Our livestock scattered and hid in recesses in the mountain. It seemed like the end of the world. That was the only time I believed that there may be a god living in Morea." Craw made a sign as though what he had said was blasphemous.
"That is…interesting, to say the least," Smokes said. "Did anyone climb up to see what happened?"
Craw shook his head. "Every child knows that to climb Morea during a thunderstorm is suicide. You won't find anyone here who has, not even the bravest of us."
"Were you not curious at all?"
"My concern extends only as far as Corsea's furthest hut. What goes on Morea's peaks, with all those sabretooths, frost primates, icy reptiles, are not what I think about when I go to sleep."
Smokes pursed his lips, knowing that Craw would not have any more information on the subject. He stood up. "Well, thank you for your time, Craw. I best be going now."
"I wish you well in your journey, adventurer." Craw touched his forehead in what seemed to be a 'go in peace' gesture.
Outside, the big scarred brute was still on the steps, stuffing fresh tobacco down his pipe. Smokes noticed a massive broadsword that was a hand width wide resting against one of townhall's stilts. How did he miss seeing that earlier?
The brute eyed him but did not say a word.
It was a tight squeeze around the dinner table for the four of them. The farmer Smokes was staying with was a beefy man with hairy arms and legs, and a growing pot belly. His wife, in contrast, was petite and mousy, with lines on her face speaking of the joys of early motherhood. Their child was barely walking and made a frightful noise every time Smokes gave her a smile. The meal consisted of fish stock porridge, hard bread, and goat cheese. A simple meal, but the farmer's wife kept his bowl filled. And when he was done, they served him a delightful tea, that was surprisingly light with a hint of nutmeg. The exceptional hospitality almost made Smokes forgot that he had gotten ripped off for the price of a bed.
"How are you enjoying our village so far, Mr. Adventurer?" asked the farmer, sipping his own cup of tea.
"Dreadfully dull," said Smokes.
The farmer burst out laughing, spooking his one-year-old who began crying. His wife promptly picked her up. "Sorry, my love!" he cooed before returning his attention back to Smokes. "That's Corsea alright. Anyone who lived here has thought about leaving, once or twice, mostly more. But this is home to our people. Can't just get up and leave, yeah? Though, sometimes I envy you adventurers. Able to go wherever you want. No woman to tie you down." That drew an irate look from his wife.
"It has its perks and drawbacks," said Smokes. "The grass is always greener on the other side."
"I can imagine. Now that I think about it, I would miss home after just a few dozen steps out."
"Adventures are not for everyone, dear," said the wife, still carrying their daughter who had calmed down by now.
"Do you go back to your home often, sir?" The farmer looked at him earnestly. "Ever get homesick?"
Smokes frowned. Was that a sneer he saw? A cruel joke from Kayaba? He sipped his tea, which tasted bitter now.
Seconds passed in what seemed to be minutes. Smokes played with his Hunter Dragon medallion, running his thumb over the horns of the dragon, feeling it prick his skin. "Some days, I forget about home," he finally admitted, bringing about the confused look NPCs had whenever they do not understand—he did not care.
"Lovely home, you have," he said, suddenly changing subject.
The farmer smiled. "Thank you, sir. May I ask how long you will be staying here for?"
"As long as I need to. Maybe a week?" Smokes shrugged. "Hard to tell from what I found today."
"Stay as long as you like," said the farmer with a smile that carried the unspoken line: 'as long as you are paying.'
"You must be a great warrior, sir," said the wife, eyeing Smokes' scabbarded blade which he had hung by the kitchen door.
Smokes shook his head. "Not a warrior. I don't even consider myself to be a fighter. Although, my job role does require me to engage in the…occasional violence. But I think of myself as a researcher. Someone who reads, studies, and looks for evidence."
"Ah, a man who can read! You're highborn!"
The farmer was suddenly off his seat and bowing, his wife curtsying, while their child stared confusedly at her parents. Smokes felt his cheeks flush. What simple lives they lead, to think that every man with a sword is a warrior and any man who reads a noble.
"No, I'm not," he said, unsure of what else to say.
"A priest?" the farmer questioned.
"No priest carries a weapon," said the wife.
"Just a scholar, nothing more," Smokes said. "Please seat."
The farmer did as told. "My mistake, sir. We don't get many well-learned people around these parts."
"I'm here because I've heard stories about Mt. Morea. Particularly, about Kirin," he tested to see their reactions.
"Old women's tales," said the farmer. "There is as much a god up there as there is goats who shits gold."
"Forgive my husband of his blasphemy," Smokes heard the wife whisper. "Please do not strike him down."
"I would like to investigate anyway," said Smokes. "I might find something interesting."
The farmer shrugged as if to indicate it was no concern of his what other people choose to do. "Go speak with Whirrun then. Used to climb up those peaks regularly. He's seen his fair share of…things."
Smokes raised an eyebrow. "Whirrun?"
"He usually hangs out outside the town hall, smoking his pipe all day. Doesn't do much work."
The big brute with the giant sword came to mind. Should have known that those scars on his head had stories to tell. "Thanks, I'll talk to him."
Smokes finished his tea in one big gulp, refused further servings, and got up, heading for the storage room where they had prepared his bed. He covered the straws with a large linen cloth before jumping on it as if it were a bean bag. Lumpy but better than hard cold ground.
He pulled out his journal, lit a candle, and flipped through the latest entries, reviewing all that he had written today. Besides Craw, he had spoken to several villagers and they all confirmed what the village elder had said; a few weeks ago, there had been thunder on top Mt. Morea's peaks like never before. But this was no new information. He had heard all of this from the town prior coming here; it was what led him to come to Corsea in the first place.
He let out an exhausted breath.
Kirin.
It was only a name, but it was a lead, nevertheless.
Legendary monsters were mobs that are not part of any quest, dungeon, or event. But they were always a part of this world, dwelling in Aincrad's most secretive corners. One will only hear about them in passing, in off-handed remarks made by NPCs or comments written in scrolls or books. You would have to be actively looking to find them. Never will you accidentally run across one. Tracking them required full-time dedication, and the amount of false leads Smokes had encountered was too many to count, but that was the work necessary to be done.
He closed his journal and closed his eyes.
Sleep came quickly enough.
Author's Notes: This chapter is a bit late so I apologise. Thank you to all who have reviewed, favourited and followed so far! Hope you guys will continue to stick with me.
The review by Alarick07 actually hit on the nail in that this story will be episodic in nature. The first few chapter is like an introductory arc to Smokes, which I plan to be 15k words long. The arcs that follow will be the next episodes.
