Chapter 18: Smoke and Steel
Ezren stepped out of the mercenary hall, his eyes drifting toward the bustling marketplace.
He made his way to the leather merchant’s stall, the same man he’d dealt with before. The merchant, a stocky fellow with sharp eyes and calloused hands, brightened as Ezren approached.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” the merchant greeted him warmly, flashing a grin. “Back again, eh? Though I don’t see any hides on you. Want to head to the room at the back?”
Ezren nodded. The merchant gestured for him to follow, leading him behind the stall and into a small storage room cluttered with various leathers and tools.
Ezren stepped out of the mercenary hall, his eyes drifting toward the bustling marketplace. Before heading west for the hunt, he needed to offload the hides. With the Chimera’s help, they were skinned cleanly—no sense in letting them go to waste.
He made his way to the leather merchant’s stall, the same man he’d dealt with before. The merchant, a stocky fellow with sharp eyes and calloused hands, brightened as Ezren approached.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” the merchant greeted him warmly, flashing a grin. “Back again, eh? Though I don’t see any hides on you. Want to head to the room at the back?”
Ezren nodded. The merchant gestured for him to follow, leading him behind the stall and into a small storage room cluttered with various leathers and tools.
Once the door shut, Ezren placed the hides onto a cleared table—twenty-one goblin hides and one hobgoblin hide. The merchant raised an eyebrow as he inspected them, his fingers running over the rough texture.
“Hmm... Still good quality hides, I’ll give you that,” the merchant admitted, his tone a little hesitant. “But unlike the wolf hides you brought last time, these aren’t exactly in high demand. Goblin leather’s cheap, used mostly for scraps or low-quality gear.”
He glanced at Ezren, gauging his reaction. “I can give you 2 silver per goblin hide and 3 silver for the hobgoblin hide. Not much, but it’s what they’re worth.”
Ezren considered the offer briefly. It wasn’t much, but he hadn’t expected a fortune. “I’ll take it.”
The merchant nodded and counted out the coins, sliding them over. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Ezren pocketed the coins and left, his gaze sweeping the marketplace. His eyes fell upon a small bookstore nestled between two larger shops, its sign creaking gently in the breeze.
Curious, he stepped inside. Shelves of books lined the cramped interior, the scent of paper and ink heavy in the air. A hunched man with spectacles perched on his nose glanced up and nodded in greeting before returning to his reading.
Ezren browsed the shelves, his fingers tracing the spines of the books until two caught his attention:
<ol>
<li>
“The Iron Tyrant: Rise and Fall of Emperor Aric Stormbane” - A detailed historical account of the great human emperor who, eighty years ago, united the human realms under his banner. His greed led him to attempt the enslavement of the elves and dwarves, only to be crushed by their combined forces.
</li>
<li>
“The Black King’s Wrath” - A fictional tale chronicling the destruction brought upon the world by a powerful Demon King, his armies leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. Ezren was intrigued—stories of dark power and conquest resonated with him, even if only as cautionary tales.
</li>
</ol>
He purchased both books, slipping them into his satchel before stepping back outside.
After leaving the bookstore, Ezren wandered through the market, his eyes drifting over various stalls selling fruits, spices, trinkets, and weapons. The noise and liveliness of the place were a stark contrast to the quiet of the wilds he had just returned from.
His curiosity led him to a nearby blacksmith’s shop. The clang of hammer against metal echoed from within, accompanied by the sharp hiss of hot steel meeting water.
Ezren stepped inside, the heat from the forge pressing against his skin. Weapons and armor lined the walls—swords, axes, spears, and shields crafted with care and precision.
A burly man with soot-streaked arms looked up from his work, his beard singed at the edges. “New face,” he grunted, his voice deep and rumbling. “Here to buy or just browsing?”
“Browsing,” Ezren replied, his gaze sweeping over the displayed items.
The blacksmith nodded. “Fair enough. Got all sorts of weapons, from blades to blunt tools. Armor, too, if you’re in need of protection. Though, judging by that tag around your neck, you’re one of those mercenary types.”
Ezren’s fingers brushed the Bronze Tag absently. “What do you have for sale?”
The blacksmith gestured to the racks. “Basic iron weapons are the cheapest—swords, daggers, spears. Nothing fancy, but they’ll get the job done. If you want something better, I’ve got steel blades, but those will cost you.”
He pointed to a section of the shop where armor pieces hung. “Leather armor, chainmail, breastplates. Depends on what you’re looking for. And if you’ve got your own designs or materials, I do custom work. For a price.”
Ezren inspected the weapons, his gaze lingering on a set of daggers with wickedly curved blades. Functional, but not what he was looking for.
“Just looking for now,” Ezren said.
The blacksmith grunted. “Suit yourself. Come back if you change your mind.”
Ezren gave a nod of acknowledgment before stepping back out into the market. He hadn’t planned to buy anything, but it was good to know what the town’s blacksmith had to offer.
Ezren’s gaze lingered on a particular piece of armor hanging near the corner of the shop. A finely crafted chainmail, its rings tightly woven and polished to a dull sheen that wouldn’t easily catch the light. Solid, practical, and clearly made for combat.
“This,” Ezren said, pointing at the chainmail.
The blacksmith nodded approvingly. “Good choice. Sturdy and dependable. That piece’ll cost you 1 gold.”
Ezren handed over the gold coin, feeling the weight of his pouch lighten. He lifted the chainmail, draping it over his arm. It was heavier than his usual attire, but he appreciated the protection it would provide.
“One more thing,” Ezren added. “Do you sell smoke bombs?”
The blacksmith let out a snort. “Smoke bombs? Not here. You’ll want the Alchemist’s shop for that sort of thing. They sell those and even schematics if you’re looking to make them yourself.”
Ezren gave a nod of thanks and made his way through the market once more. The Alchemist’s shop was nestled between a jeweler and a bakery, its sign adorned with a swirling flask.
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He pushed the door open, a bell chiming softly as he stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and chemicals, shelves lined with potions, powders, and strange ingredients.
An elderly woman with sharp eyes and a gentle smile looked up from her counter. “Welcome. What can I help you with today?”
“I’m looking for smoke bombs,” Ezren replied. “And the schematics for making them.”
Her eyes gleamed with interest. “Ah, so you’re one of those inventive types. Lucky for you, I have just what you need.” She reached under the counter and produced three separate scrolls, laying them out before him.
<ol>
<li>
Basic Smoke Bomb: A simple device for creating a thick cloud of smoke, perfect for concealment or escape.
</li>
<li>
Tear Gas Bomb: Releases a stinging, irritating cloud that can disorient and incapacitate enemies.
</li>
<li>
Lethal Smoke Bomb: A more dangerous concoction, releasing a poisonous gas that can kill if inhaled for too long.
</li>
</ol>
“Those are the schematics. I also sell the ingredients and the metal shells required to craft them,” she continued.
“I’ll take all three schematics,” Ezren said. “And enough ingredients and shells to make a few of each.”
The old woman’s smile widened. “Ambitious. That’ll cost you 3 gold total.”
Ezren counted out the coins and placed them on the counter. The alchemist handed over the scrolls, a small bag of ingredients, and a bundle of metal shells.
“Good luck with your crafting,” she said as Ezren made his way out of the shop.
Ezren headed back to the inn, his satchel now heavier with his new purchases. The day had been productive, and his mind was already turning over the possibilities of his newly acquired schematics.
Ezren stepped into the inn, the familiar warmth and chatter greeting him. As he approached the counter, the innkeeper—a broad-shouldered man with a friendly smile—gave him a nod.
“Back again, eh?” the innkeeper said. “You’re looking like you’re settling in here, lad. How about this—I can tell you’re the type to come and go, so why not pay two days in advance? If you check out for good after that, then you can settle the rest of the bill.”
Ezren considered the offer. It made sense. Less hassle when he was heading out on quests.
“Alright. Two days.” He placed the coins on the counter.
The innkeeper’s grin widened. “Good man. Room’s yours, same as before.”
Ezren made his way upstairs, his new purchases weighing down his satchel. Once inside his room, he locked the door and set his things down. He retrieved the three scrolls he’d bought from the alchemist and unfurled the first one, Basic Smoke Bomb, spreading it out over the small table.
The parchment was filled with detailed instructions and diagrams:
Basic Smoke Bomb
Ingredients:
<ul>
<li>
Niter (Saltpeter) - Provides the base for the smoke.
</li>
<li>
Charcoal Dust - Enhances thickness of the smoke.
</li>
<li>
Sulfur Powder - Acts as the ignition agent.
</li>
</ul>
Instructions:
<ol>
<li>
Crush and mix the charcoal dust and sulfur powder thoroughly.
</li>
<li>
Add niter to the mixture and stir until evenly blended.
</li>
<li>
Pack the mixture into a metal shell, sealing it tightly.
</li>
<li>
Attach a fuse to the shell for ignition.
</li>
</ol>
Ezren’s eyes narrowed as he studied the instructions. Straightforward enough. He shifted the scroll aside and opened the next one.
Tear Gas Bomb
Ingredients:
<ul>
<li>
Stinging Spice Extract - Causes intense eye irritation and coughing.
</li>
<li>
Niter and Charcoal Dust - To enhance dispersal.
</li>
<li>
Binding Oil - Holds the mixture together.
</li>
</ul>
The third scroll, the most dangerous of them all:
Lethal Smoke Bomb
Ingredients:
<ul>
<li>
Deadly Nightshade Extract - The main toxic agent.
</li>
<li>
Niter, Charcoal Dust, and Sulfur Powder - For effective dispersal.
</li>
<li>
Bloodroot Paste - Enhances the potency of the poison.
</li>
</ul>
Ezren smirked. The alchemist wasn’t lying when she said these schematics were ambitious. The basic smoke bomb would be the easiest to make, but the tear gas and lethal variants would require precision.
He retrieved the ingredients and shells from his satchel, placing them on the table. Before he started experimenting, he decided to study the scrolls thoroughly. The last thing he needed was an explosion going off in his room by mistake.
Night had already begun to fall outside, but Ezren remained engrossed in the schematics, his mind focused on understanding every detail.
Ezren spent the next few hours hunched over the table, his focus razor-sharp as he worked. He began with the Basic Smoke Bomb, carefully mixing the niter, charcoal dust, and sulfur powder until the blend was smooth and consistent.
He poured the mixture into a metal shell, packed it tightly, and sealed it. Attaching a fuse was simple enough—just a thin cord dipped in flammable resin.
Satisfied, he set the first bomb aside and repeated the process two more times until he had three Basic Smoke Bombs laid neatly before him.
Next, he moved on to the Tear Gas Bombs. This one was trickier. He followed the instructions precisely, mixing the Stinging Spice Extract with the niter and charcoal dust. A touch of Binding Oil held the contents together.
He sealed the mixture into three shells, careful to ensure they were airtight. As he worked, a stray whiff of the concoction stung his nostrils, causing his eyes to water slightly. The stuff was potent.
Finally, he tackled the Lethal Smoke Bombs. Ezren approached this task with even more caution. The Deadly Nightshade Extract and Bloodroot Paste required precise handling. He wore gloves as he mixed the toxic ingredients with the base powders, his movements steady and controlled.
He sealed the last shell with a quiet exhale, setting it beside the others. Now, he had three of each type, nine bombs total.
Satisfied, Ezren cleaned the table and carefully stored the bombs in his satchel. His mind was still humming with the process, but the fatigue was beginning to creep in.
He slid into bed, his body sinking into the mattress. Sleep took him quickly.
<hr>
Earlier that day
Ezren stepped out of the guild hall, the pouch of coins heavy in his pocket, the Bronze Tag securely tucked into his belt. He felt the weight of both his new rank and the eyes of those around him. For the first time, he was truly a mercenary, and it felt strange, a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
Unbeknownst to him, a rat-like man stood hidden in the shadow of the alleyway, watching. His beady eyes tracked Ezren as he left the guild, following him for a few moments before slipping into a nearby tavern.
Inside the tavern, the usual buzz of conversation and clinking mugs filled the room. Four rough-looking swordsmen sat around a table, their eyes sharp, their muscles taut with readiness. Two archers stood near the door, eyeing the crowd warily.
The rat-like man, a sly, thin figure with greasy hair and a constant sneer, approached the table. His voice was low and urgent as he leaned in.
“I’ve got something,” he said, his tone eager. “There’s a new recruit at the guild, just got his reward money today. I saw it with my own eyes. Tons of it.”
One of the swordsmen, a burly man with a thick beard, raised an eyebrow. “A new recruit, huh? Sounds like an easy mark. What’s he got that’s worth our time?”
The rat grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming. “He’s a fresh one, not like the veterans. Didn’t look like he knew how to watch his back. Plus, I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He’s headed to the west village. He’s probably planning to take on that wild bear mission.”
The second swordsman, a wiry fellow with a scar across his cheek, scoffed. “A bear hunt, huh? What’s he really got? A couple of silver?”
The rat shook his head. “Not just silver. This kid’s rolling in it. He’s got the reward money from the goblin camp. And if he’s not smart, he’s carrying plenty more. You know how it is with recruits—they get cocky, don’t watch their coin.”
The third swordsman, a quiet one with an unshaven jaw, leaned forward. “So, you’re saying we should follow him? Wait for him to make a mistake?”
The rat-like man nodded. “Exactly. He’s an easy target. The kind that thinks the world is a lot safer than it is. We’ve got six men—four swordsmen and two archers. We catch him when he’s alone, after he’s done with the village. Take him out quietly. We’ll split his coin and leave him for the bears.”
One of the archers, a tall, lanky man with a bow slung over his shoulder, tapped his fingers on the table. “I like it. No risk, no fuss. We get in, take the money, and get out. It’ll be easy.”
The rat grinned wider, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Alright, then. Tommorow," he said, his voice low but certain. "The archers will wait by the south gate. They''ll keep watch, make sure the recruit doesn''t have any backup. The rest of us will trail him—follow him at a distance. We’ll wait for the right moment."
One of the swordsmen, a tall man with a heavy brow, nodded. "And when we’re in position?"
The rat’s grin widened. "We take him down fast, quiet. He won’t even know what hit him. We''ll hit him just outside the village, when he’s alone. He won’t have anyone watching his back."
The burly swordsman, who had been silent until now, slammed his fist onto the table. "That’s when we move in. We’ll get his gear, his coins—everything. He’ll be lying face down in the dirt before he even realizes we’re there."
"Make sure we’re in position first," the rat added, his voice now sharp with finality. "No mistakes. We’ll get him when it’s right. And when we’re done, we’ll be walking away with his gold and his gear."
The group murmured in agreement, their eyes hardening as they mentally prepared for the ambush. The plan was set, and Ezren—unaware of the danger ahead—continued his journey, unknowingly walking straight into their trap.