Countless items were laid out on Gehman’s workbench, from small daggers to massive metal clubs. The gamer in me started to drool over all the loot, even the things I knew I couldn’t use. There were studded leather suits, chainmail, plate mail, and a variety of shields.

Gehman ran his fingers across a few studded leather pieces, musing to himself. “So, D, you wear studded leather, right? You’ll want something not too heavy, strong against slashing for when the swordsmen roll up on you… ah hah!”

He lifted a dark brown breastplate set with many steel studs and a few longer bars across the chest. Compared to the junk D was wearing, it looked phenomenal.

“Is your strength above 55?” Gehman asked.

“It’s at 67,” D replied.

“Perfect.” He smiled, handing it over. “Try it on.”

D took the breastplate from him and inspected it. To my surprise, his eyes opened wide and he looked genuinely impressed.

“Wow. 80 armor level. Nice.”

Gehman nodded and flashed him a goofy thumbs-up. “What was the one you were using?”

“30,” D replied.

Gehman just smiled and turned to me. “And some plate for you, right?”

“If you’ve got any,” I replied. Cavey and Gehman were doing us a huge favor and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not having anything to give them in exchange. But Gehman seemed more than pleased to help as he examined the various plate pieces on his bench.

“Hmmm…” he mused, stroking his chin. “What’s your strength?”

“It’s 140,” I replied. Gehman turned around and stared at me with a look I couldn’t quite read.

“One hundred and forty strength?” he replied slowly. I sighed as I watched him inspect me. “Holy crap! You’re Jack, aren’t you?”

“Yup, he is,” D replied for me. “The one The Ripper wants dead and all that jazz. Can we not make a big deal about it?”

“Oh, come on,” Gehman protested. “I’ve never met anyone famous before.”

“I’m not like a celebrity or anything,” I replied.

“Pssh! In Carrethen you are!” Gehman said, stepping up and grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously. “Let me just say—it’s an honor.”

“Gah, can you be any more corny!?” D scoffed, leaning back against one of the building posts.

“Hey, gimme a break, huh?” Gehman replied. “I don’t get out much, and now Jack’s standing in my workshop? That’s pretty cool, okay?”

“It’s all right, Gehman,” I told him. “I’m just a guy though. Nothing special.”

“Okay,” Gehman replied sarcastically, turning back to his bench. “But 140 strength is special around here. One of the guys got a rare drop off a Giant Reedrat on the other side of the lake. An Arithrian Steel bar. I made something out of it, but none of the guys around here have had enough strength to actually wear it!”

“Arithrian?” I asked.

“Rare metal. Really good stuff,” D replied, sounding impressed. He even came over from the post he was leaning against to get a closer look as Gehman bent down to a large chest sitting beneath the workbench.

“Oh, it’s good all right,” Gehman replied. The gamer in me had a mini-freak-out when he pulled out one of the coolest looking breastplates I’d ever seen.

It was shining silver, with fluted green inlays that twisted around the seams like vines. I guessed that was the Arithrian Steel. The green metal met in the center of the chest to form an image of a tree. Smiling, Gehman handed it to me.

“Try that on.”

I took it eagerly and inspected it.

Superior Arithrian Reinforced Breastplate. Armor level 280.

“Wow!” I blurted out. I could hardly believe my eyes. This was a total game changer. The Worn Steel Breastplate I’d been wearing had an armor level of 170. I was going to be an absolute beast.

In Call of Carrethen, there was a spot at the bottom of every item’s stat page for an inscription that the owner of the item could change. On this breastplate, Gehman had written: For my friends only. May this steel keep you safe in the darkest of times—Gehman.

“This—is—awesome!” I told him.

“I’m not done yet.” He grinned, turning back to the chest. By the time he was finished handing things out, D and I were both standing in brand new suits of armor—his, studded leather, and mine, a shining suit of Arithrian reinforced plate mail.

“I feel bad—ass,” I said firmly as I slid my new helm onto my head. It was one solid piece that fit snug with a cross cutout for the eyes and mouth. With all the combined pieces Gehman had given me, my total armor level had skyrocketed from 405 to 975.

“Yeah, well you’re still a total newb,” D joked as he tightened the straps on his breastplate. His suit wasn’t as impressive as mine—nothing really beat the aesthetic qualities of plate mail, but it was a lot better looking than the stuff he’d been wearing.

“The great thing about player made armor, is it can be upgraded,” Gehman explained. “D, if you find some Rubicire Ore, I can upgrade your suit for you. If you find any Peerless Arithrian, Jack, I can make your set even more badass.”

“Where do you find that stuff?” I asked.

“Dungeons mostly,” D replied. “There’s a great farming spot for Rubicire down South in the Marian Oasis, but that’s a long way from here.”

“What I wouldn’t give for some Rubicire…” Gehman muttered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve only had one bar and the guy I made it for quit the guild and ran off. We haven’t seen him since.”

“And you’re still going to give us this?” D asked. “We could do the exact same thing.”

“Eh.” Gehman shrugged. “Can’t go around distrusting everyone you meet, right? How are you ever going to make friends that way?”

For once, D didn’t have a reply to that. Gehman was right, and he knew it.

“Let’s go sell and buy some arrows,” D said, changing the subject. He turned and headed out the door. Gehman and I followed.

I must have gotten used to the smoke filled air of Gehman’s shop, because as I stepped outside into the fresh air, I felt like a load had been taken off my chest. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“The bowyer’s over there.” Gehman pointed to a small hut next door. “Just an NPC, but he sells all kinds of arrows. Elementals if your bow skill’s high enough.”

“A couple more levels,” D replied. His low level was killing him, and I could see he was itching to get back to leveling.

“Let’s hit the merchant first and sell,” I told him. We headed back to the main building at the center of town and were greeted by an overly friendly NPC.

“Greetings, travelers! Name’s Boddry,” he called out as we approached. “Interest you in some of my wares?”

“Not today,” I replied. “Just here to sell.”

“Happy to oblige,” he replied as D opened up a trade window and began selling off some of his junk. “Say, none of you have come upon a Sparkling Arlan Stone in your travels, have you?”

“I haven’t,” I replied. Gehman groaned behind us.

“None of us have. We’re pretty sure it’s the start to some kind of quest, but he won’t give us any more details than that.”

“Probably some pointless low-level junk,” D replied, closing the trade window. “Always is.”

“Probably right.”

“If you find one,” Boddry continued. “Bring it to me and I’ll hook you up with something real nice!”

I opened a trade window and sold off my junk loot. It was barely worth it, but it was nice to clear up some space in my inventory. I wasn’t one of those people that was so anal that they spent hours organizing things by type, rarity or cost, I just didn’t want a bunch of visual clutter every time I checked my pack.

I walked with D over to the Bowyer, who had a window with a counter to make it easier to buy and sell without having to go inside. D stocked up on armor-piercing arrows while I reclined against the wall and gazed out across the town.

“So, do you think you guys might stick around?” Gehman asked. “I’m sure Cavey told you about the raids.”

“Sinful and Bleed.” I nodded. “He mentioned it. I still can’t believe people like that exist.”

“Sinful are the worst,” he said bitterly. “For a while, they were warring with another guild, The Mercenaries, and their battles would spill over into Stoneburg. They both found some insane leveling spot and are crazy high levels, but I haven’t seen The Mercenaries in a while.”

“How high level?” D asked. “Like, Jack’s level?”

“I don’t know about that,” Gehman replied. “But last time I saw Bonecrusher and Chaucey, Sinful’s top two members, they were 18 and 19 I think.”

“Doesn’t seem possible,” I mused.

“I hope you two decide to stick around,” Gehman said. “We could really use you—”

But before he could finish, something awful happened.

Gehman’s eyes went wide as a fire arrow streaked through the sky and embedded itself in his back. I watched as his HP plummeted to zero and he collapsed at my feet, dead