Tronjheim got much more crowded the lower you went. Something I was a little surprised about considering the upper levels seemed just as cared for and that it was a little weird to put that much effort into building such a large city and then just leave most of it abandoned, but then I remembered one of those useless history facts that you never seemed to be able to completely forget.

Before the invention of the elevator, living near the top in highrise buildings was reserved for the poor.

Why?

Simple. Stairs were a pain and rich people didn’t want to constantly walk ten flights every day if they didn’t need to. So while the view was nice, usually no one lived that far from everyone else unless they had no other option.

Tronjheim was the exact same way. Most people, humans and dwarves, lived on the lower levels while the occasional outcast or hermit lived further up. Of course craftsmen tended to live and work in the outskirts of most cities anyway. It was easier to expand, there was less risk of burning everyone’s house down, and certain smells that came from the crafting process could be...tolerated... when they were further away.

Why was I thinking about the societal reasons craft areas were out on the fringes and the population density of a dwarven fortress city? I was bored. The worst kind of bored where you can’t leave because you’re waiting for someone to finish something but can’t find something else to do in the meantime, so it’s just a cycle of stewing in your own thoughts and peeking over to see if the other person finished yet.

I was sitting outside the forge of Halldor, a dwarven smith recommended by the tavern owner I met earlier and I was stuck waiting for him to finish work on a blade while I had nothing else to do. I couldn’t even look for a different smith because I had dropped in on five others on the way here, but apparently everyone was at an important stage of some project or another and had no time to talk to the annoying girl asking questions. Hell, only Sandra’s referral had gotten me this far otherwise I’d have been kicked out of this forge too.

The tavern owner undersold Halldor’s personality in my opinion. She said he was ‘a bit prickly’ when in reality he was about as approachable as a cactus. The first thing he said to me was ‘get out’ and when I tried to keep talking he threw a hammer at me. When I name dropped Sandra, he just told me to sit down, shut up, and wait for him to finish.

There was a hiss of steam as Halldor shoved a glowing rod of metal into an oil bath. After a few corrections, he placed it on a rack to finish cooling and finally made his way over.

“Well, you’re still here. Whaddya want?” he said bluntly.

I pushed down my annoyance and pulled out the tiny sliver of the reactor alloy I had managed to recover that wasn’t either altered or corroded when the thing melted and showed it to him.

“I need a good amount of this alloy made and you were highly recommended by everyone I asked” by virtue of being the only person recommended but still, everyone likes flattery. “Do you think you would be able to make more of it? I can get you more materials if needed.”

Holldor took the shard and looked it over while muttering to himself as if I wasn’t there.

“Hmm, harder than steel...doesn’t bend much...not natural shape either...could it have? Ah, yes it was...the shine though...is it?...”

I think he actually forgot I was standing in front of him after a while.

“Look, can I get a guess here at least? Can you do it, yes or no?”

Halldor startled for some reason and looked at me in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable.

“Do you actually know what this is or are ya just looking for a fancy trinket to wave around?” the smith asked in a very intense tone.

I shrugged. “I know what it’s called where I’m from but I have no idea what it would be called in this language.” I really doubted anyone would understand if I started listing the different metals in the alloy by name. They didn’t exactly have a periodic table of elements to reference.

Holldor grunted. “Aye, no clue who taught you dwarfish, but not even a deep dweller would be crazy enough to teach you the words since you aren’t of the stone.”

Wait, taught me dwarfish? I hadn’t been speaking any differently than normal.

“So can you do it?” I asked again, this time paying close attention to how he spoke rather than just the words.

“Sorry, Lass. No one in the city is going to be able to help you. This is a shard of what the elves call Brightsteel. They used it to make Rider’s swords back in the day, but after the Fall hardly anyone sees them anymore. Most are probably rotting in some treasury somewhere or buried in the muck where the Rider died. That is if the Black King didn’t loot it for himself.” Halldor shook his head. “I won’t say there’s none in Tronjheim, but if there is you ain’t getting it.”

Huh, the words I was hearing and the sounds he was making didn’t line up at all.

“Hvorfor ikke? Jeg kunne…” I coughed as I suddenly felt my throat moving in a way I certainly wasn’t expecting but still seemed natural. “Sorry, why not? I’d be more than happy to pay.”

The instant I stopped paying attention to how I was talking the weird feeling went away and I could hear myself speak normally, even though I knew I was still speaking in another language.

Was this normal for beings like me? Or was this some unexplored aspect of one of my soul fragments I never knew about? I had written off understanding Japanese since both the Archive fragments spoke it, but that might not have been the case.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it and focus on Halldor. Ultimately I wasn’t going to figure it out now and suddenly becoming an omniglot didn’t really change anything for me in the short term.

“Soft-headed fool, Brightsteel is one of the most revered metals to anyone of faith and finding it is considered a blessing by Urûr. You could offer three times its weight in gold and even then no one would think of taking that deal.”

Fuck. Of course the alloy I needed was a naturally occurring meteorite that was either completely monopolised by an insane king or, from what I could remember, buried underneath a sacred tree in the elves’ homeland. And from the sound of it, the locals hadn’t gotten around to managing to recreate it themselves.

The only other source I could think of would be to steal Eragon’s sword, but that wouldn’t even be enough metal to cover everything I needed so there wasn’t much of a point. I would need two or three Rider’s swords just to have enough metal and that was just hoping that none of the material was wasted.

Dammit I was going to have to either get ridiculously lucky and find a new node of Brightsteel, revolutionize the metallurgy industry so someone else had the equipment to forge the alloy I needed, or raid the Empire’s treasury at some point if I wanted to get off this planet. And only one of those options was realistic.

As fun as it would be to try and shove metallurgy years forward, the entire point of trying to find a local smith to help me was to save time by getting someone else to do it for me. Not make things easier for everyone else while I was forced to manually do everything.

At least today was informative, even if I didn’t like it.

I also learned I had a new power! Or, I learned I possessed a power in the first place. In fact now that I focused on the fact I knew I could speak languages I had never heard of, I felt a small part of my fractured soulscape click into place like a puzzle piece.

A small change considering the massive damage I was still recovering from, but progress was progress.

I had no real reason to hang around once my business with Halldor was finished so I left shortly after to his apparent delight. I also didn’t really have a reason to hang around the area either so I made my way back to Sandra’s tavern to consider my next move.

Sandra was more than happy to repeat her little scheme from earlier in exchange for another meal and a room for the night provided I helped out a bit after dinner. We had a nice chat about recent events and I subtly probed for any hints that the Varden was openly searching for me. That kind of gossip usually made its way to bars and taverns eventually, but Sandra hadn’t hinted at anything like that yet.

I took a bite of a good, if rather bland, vegetable stew as the day was winding down. The tavern was mostly empty outside some stragglers, Sandra was starting to clean up, and I was free to turn in for the night anytime.

Since it looked like I wasn’t going to be able to get what I needed any time soon there was one major choice I needed to make; was I going to get involved with the Varden and their war?

I didn’t exactly have a reason to help out beyond quickening how soon I had a chance at finding more Rider’s swords. But at the same time, was I selfish enough to ignore a war against a tyrant just because it didn’t affect me?

A large part of me was saying yes, and I wasn’t really okay with that.

I knew my first priority would always be trying to get myself fixed up, but I didn’t want to be the kind of person that just let everyone else hang because it didn’t directly affect me. Eventually I was going to find something that would get rid of my issues and I would lose my major driving force. When that happened I didn’t want to look back and realise I had become the kind of person who sacrificed others just because I didn’t know them.

I finished the last of the stew as my thoughts continued to spiral. At this rate I wasn’t going to have a solid plan any time soon, but I should be able to at least set guidelines for myself. I could always revisit the issue again later. I gathered up my bowl and utensils before dropping into a back room to help Sandra with the last bit of washing before heading up to my room.

Now to figure out exactly how involved I actually wanted to be here.