Chapter 71: A Lasting Impression
The notification came while he was sitting in an organizational meeting assessing the potential of several of the “high flyers worth watching” aboard this voyage.
Congratulations! Someone affected by your aura has had an Inspiration!
Of course, Spiro was not the only one to have been notified, it was just that his notification was vastly more personal. Within moments, everyone in the room turned to focus on his every move, as one of his spotters soon delivered a more detailed report:
The Inspiration was in the Foundry. A tier 2 swordsmith.
Spiro immediately knew who it must have been, and he wasn’t fully surprised. They’d only just gone over the younger Hammerson’s file, after all. Flipping back to it now, Spiro smiled as he saw his own careful script, “Very capable with the right guidance,” he’d written. It was nice to see his appraiser’s eye was as accurate as ever.
With a simple, smiling nod, he gestured for all the others to resume their previous tasks. He then called over his personal assistant, Tracy, to guarantee that the newly-Inspired crafter be celebrated.
“The usual package?” she asked, awaiting Spiro’s brief nod. “Sure thing, Jack.” Then she hurried off to arrange all of the gifts the younger Hammerson, Tristan, was due.
Spiro read again over the details in Tristan’s file. His proclivity for pushing his boundaries was well documented, as was his history of selecting and then studying intensely under very capable teachers. The boy seemed rather blessed in that regard.
Spiro considered just how much influence being the son of Marrik Hammerson would have in today’s world. The big smith had grown quiet in his progressing years, seemingly content with his current status. Had the man pushed through to tier 5 yet? He’d shown such incredible promise in his youth, much as his son was doing now. What was the last major piece of armor Marrik had made? Could it truly have been the [Unyielding Hauberk] from a decade past?
What about the [Shining Shimmering Breastplate]? he considered, until recalling that it had been made not by Marrik but by the Green Smith of Apple Valley.
Twirling his beard, the old elf looked at his Status once again, and the lingering quest that was getting so very close to completion.
[Path Quest: A Lasting Impression]
Allow your aura to assist in the level-up of 100,000 different people. Anyone leveling via Inspiration will count ten times instead.
Progress: 999,463/1,000,000
Luckily, as he watched, that Progress display incremented again, as someone else gained their first level aboard the Ark.
It was a shame that each person only counted once, regardless of how many levels they might gain. Such was his Path, however, that he should spread his boons far and wide, lifting as many others as he could along the way.
He smiled, realizing that he’d now gotten credit for the equivalent of twenty people just from the two Hammersons. They were truly prodigious crafters in their respective fields, both father and son.
He really hoped that Tristan wouldn’t stagnate, or worse, get snatched up by The Crafter. That was one god that Spiro would warn anyone who’d listen about. Long and myriad were the stories of young, promising crafters who thought they were getting a life-changing opportunity by joining the god’s followers, only to find their Paths cut short by his restrictions and desire for quantity over quality. Mass-production was not something any of the great crafters would ever aspire toward.
Then again, there were some that could happily make their home with the god. There were so many that lacked the true creative spark but otherwise might have the rare moment of brilliance. He’d personally caught a man trying to enter a shield he claimed to have created onboard this voyage, but Spiro could tell the truth. He could always tell. The man had clearly brought it with him. One of the extra perks of his connection to the Ark was that, upon every item truly made here, he and he alone could see the unique property: [Arkmade]. He would never advertise its existence, but it was a wonder, in those sparse moments when he stepped off the Ark, to see how widespread that property had grown. It was a part of the impact of this place on the world.
Spiro’s was a Path of breadth, of encouraging and aiding as many as possible. Yet as long as he had lived, he had also seen that his influence was not wholly positive. He’d seen more than his fair share of young and enthusiastic climbers stumble and fall, perhaps from undue strain, from pushing themselves too hard or too fast, from leadership or guidance that clashed with their Paths, or simply from greed and laziness.
It was a shame that in a place filled with such boons and help, people would still resort to cheating and lies. The man was only halfway through tier 3, with so much life left ahead of him. Granted, none of that was Spiro’s concern any longer. Selendyr had given him the courtesy of a feather vest on the topmost deck before the hundreds assembled said their final goodbyes.
Someone always has to test the boundaries of Rule #3.
Then, less than a day after the darkness of that ousting, an Inspiration had struck!
This was a joyous moment, and he refused to allow his thoughts to dwell on the negatives that might be when something outstandingly positive was.
Checking his accumulated experience, he smiled at the progress that one Inspiration had brought. It now might actually be a fair race for which of the tier-up requirements he would reach first: the experience or the quest completion. Inspirations were a boon in both areas, but they definitely granted a larger boost to his level progress.
To have already garnered an Inspiration by the journey’s midpoint was truly impressive. Spiro wondered what more the young human might have in store, considering the newness of Tristan’s enchanter Secondary. He would need to check in on him again, just in case he might be able to provide more insight to the budding talent.
The conversation among his advisors had shifted to the looming Contests. While he was listening, this was far from any of these people’s first voyage. Conceivably, there would be nothing truly new to discuss. He had no doubt that these men and women would be more than a match for any unforeseen issues that might arise, especially now that all the judging slots were filled. There were the usual complaints about having to utilize tier 3s as judges, but as they would be kept in the low-tier contests, Spiro knew their relatively-lacking experience should be manageable.
Thinking about the contests brought Spiro’s mind circling back to the Hammerson boy. It was certain Tristan would enter into at least the Primary Class Contest, and with still a week to spare, it would shock the old elf if the young swordsmith didn’t also enter the Secondary Contest, too.
No doubt the source of his Inspiration would be judged in at least one of them. That would be a delight to observe.
He took a sip of the delightful tea that Charles in High Dining had prepared for him. It was not an entirely familiar blend, and he thought how nice it was to find the chef branching out and experimenting beyond his stovetop.
Nora, another of his aides, stepped up with a new dossier. He’d tasked her with assisting the young Adrielle girl, the astralist with the absolutely adorable puffball mage. Sophie, was what she’d asked to be called.
“What’s troubling you?” he asked preemptively.
“She’s just used your token again, sir, to commission the entirety of High Dining for the morning of her ‘Farewell Ball.’ She’s commandeered them to cater her event.”
A smile touched Spiro’s lips beneath his long beard. “Our event,” he corrected. “Besides, where else would she have found the requisite food, Nora? Before you spin some yarn about how she might use one of the other kitchens, let me remind you that she is noble born, and neither she nor I would be content to offer inferior fare when the actual best is near at hand. We are on the Crafting Ark, and none here are likely to compromise their standards, regardless of the appearance they may currently wear.”
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He watched as Nora bit her lip, clearly not wanting to say to him what she was thinking, as if he hadn't had enough practice to read it all across her face.
“It will be fine, Nora, and another reason why we truly should recommend that all guests attend our event. In fact, please have Justin--the one in advertising, not finance--contact her within the day. Though Sophie may not realize it yet, she could use the assistance.” He snapped his fingers, just remembering something else. “Has she met with Bobby yet?”
Nora consulted a deceptively diminutive notebook, given all that Spiro knew she kept in there. “That’s scheduled two hours hence.”
“Wonderful,” Spiro said. “Anything else?” When Nora shook her head, Spiro twirled his beard a bit and, prior to dismissing her, suggested, “Do try to let the girl take the reins of her ball, Nora. I gave her my token for a reason. She could very well be the next.”
He didn’t need to elaborate; Nora understood.
Sophira Adrielle was another of those who might potentially push him forward through an Inspiration, though for reasons very different from the Ark’s norm. What she brought aboard was truly novel: an affinity for crafting not of the traditional sense, but of the social.
He needed to find out who was responsible for acquiring their last-minute tickets and give them a sizable bonus.
As Nora had informed him earlier, the astralist had already established the decorations, the timeline of special events, and with Bobby next on-board, no doubt she would also have all the fineries that the Ark could offer such an undertaking. Spiro couldn’t wait to see what it would all entail once she finished.
There he went using hyperbolic language again. It was such a bad habit of the youngest generation. Of course Spiro could wait.
Patience was perhaps his highest unofficial stat, and it had to be... as he watched his Path quest grow by another two.
999,465/1,000,000
- - - - -
With his newest greatsword in the sheath against his back, Tristan stepped up to the entrants’ table with a confidence that practically radiated off him.
“Name?” the kind-looking gnome woman across from him asked, resting a pen on an otherwise empty form.
“Tristan Hammerson.”
“And which contest are you wishing to enter, Mister Hammerson?”
“Both the Tier 2 Primary and Secondary, please. I'm a swordsmith Primary and enchanter Secondary.”
The small woman’s hand flew nimbly across the page, leaving behind a beautiful script that Tristan could scarcely read. “And what will you be entering into these contests?”
Tristan slung his sword off of his back and brought it before him. With the enhancements from his Core having pushed its size, it was nearly as tall as he was, and so much taller than her. “This sword for the Primary,” he said, unsheathing it slightly so that its gorgeous blade might show.
Though the halfling looked up, she did not seem very impressed. Her pen came to a stop, and when he did not speak or move further, she asked, “Are you planning to leave it here now, or will you deliver it within nine days, which is the deadline for entries into all Primary Class Contests?”
Tristan balked, not having really thought about needing to leave the sword at all. His fingers had tightened around the hilt without him even realizing it. It’s not like I’m going to keep working on it though. He exhaled, telling himself it would be alright, and put on his best smile. “I suppose now,” he said gingerly.
The woman extended her hand and accepted the sword, sliding it across the table. By the time it had reached the other side, it was surrounded by a bluish, semi-transparent, glowing dome. “To prevent any tampering,” she said levelly.
“Right...” he managed to say, as if what happened was the most normal thing in the world. His eyes still lingered on his sword, and he had to flatten his fingers against the table to keep himself from reaching back out for it.
The small woman waited quite patiently for at least a handful of seconds before prompting, “And for the Tier 2 Secondary?”
Sheepishly, Tristan pulled his hand away. “Uh, well, a trinket--a pendant probably--defensive in nature, but--"
“Do you have the ‘trinket’ with you, Mister Hammerson?”
“Not currently,” he admitted. “It’s not quite finished yet.”
The pen came to rest on the page lightly. “Submissions for the Secondary contests are due in two days, Mister Hammerson.”
“It’ll totally be done--and here!--by then, I promise. And I’m sure you’ll see just how amazing--”
The halfling cut him off. “Yes, yes. Precisely how amazing it will be is for the official judges to rule, not I.” She made a few more marks with quick flicks of her pen. “Assuming it is submitted in the next two days.”
Tristan felt his smile nearly slip, but he kept it firm as he didn’t roll his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll have it here on time.”
The small woman’s pen stopped moving again, and she looked up expectantly. “Have you any other submissions to make, or questions to ask?”
“No,” Tristan said with a slight, deferential bow. “Thank you for your time.”
“Good luck, young man. You have two days.”
Tristan hurried away, his steps quickening not only from slight embarrassment but also because he only had two days until the deadline, and time wasn’t exactly on his side.
He had no doubt that he should be able to finish the pendant in that timeline, especially with what he’d learned from making his greatsword! But he also knew that crafting took time, and as his father liked to say, Quality can’t be rushed.
He wanted to give himself absolutely as much time as he could, just in case.
He rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and arrived back at his workstation in the Foundry just in time to catch Sophie, looking like she was about to leave.
“And here he is now,” Tempy said, pointing him out over Sophie’s shoulder, causing the younger girl to turn around.
“Hey, Tristan!” Sophie called, practically bouncing with excitement. Sneakers, perched on her shoulder, also perked up at the sound of his name.
“Hey yourself, stranger,” Tristan replied with an easy smile. “I haven’t seen you in days. Have you just stopped sleeping or what?” Of course, the moment he said it, he realized he was guilty of exactly that.
“I’ve just been incredibly busy,” Sophie said with a shrug. Thankfully, the shrug didn’t seem to bother Sneakers at all. “Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Have you seen or heard about the ball I'm planning to hold on the last evening of the voyage? It's been officially sanctioned as part of the big Celebration!”
“A ball?”
“A fancy party with food, music, and dancing as the primary activities.”
Oh, a dance, Tristan translated, though his new understanding brought a nervous flutter to his belly. He'd been to a few dances in Woodsedge. Naturally, everyone went to the annual Harvest Day dance, and there had even been a few tier-up celebrations over the years.
Tristan's eyes darted quickly past Sophie to where Tempy was already back at work. He knew that one of the traditions in Woodsedge was to go with someone to the dances, and he suddenly wondered if his teacher had heard of this event and was planning to go.
Beside him, Sophie cleared her throat. Sneakers even flittered over to his shoulder and tapped his beak, lightly, on the side of Tristan’s head.
Tristan's mind searched madly for an answer to whatever question she'd asked, buying himself some time by moving around to his workbench and pulling out some of his previous pendant attempts. “This is actually the first time I've heard of any dance, but it does sound like fun.”
A slightly forced smile found its way onto Sophie's face. “First, it’s going to be a ball, Tristan. Second, what are those?” She pointed at the failed pendants. “They’re really pretty.”
“Works in progress,” Tristan replied, “but I think the final product will be even more beautiful, once I get it all enchanted correctly.”
A genuine appreciation shone from Sophie’s eyes as they lingered on the pendants. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said before shaking herself out of it. “Anyway, third--ugh!--I was afraid word hadn’t gotten around up here. It’s probably the same on all the main crafting decks, then. Do you have any ideas about how I could promote it or at least get it more visibility among all the crafters like you who go all ‘head down’ when they focus?”
It took a few moments to decide that she hadn’t meant anything by the ‘head down’ comment, because if anything it was a fairly accurate description of what he did so often. Then he thought for a few more moments, brainstorming as best he could ways to actually help his friend out. “Well, the first idea I have is to put flyers all over the Central Market, where we buy materials. Maybe up at High Dining, too.”
“For the few of you who take breaks to eat?” Sophie joked.
“We're not all as bad as him,” Tempy spoke up. “I'm trying to help him get into better habits, too.”
Tristan thought he saw Sophie mouth a Thank you, but he wasn't sure. He kept speaking instead.
“Obviously you should talk about it at the Crafting Contests--oh, and have the entry takers mention it! Everyone who enters has to talk to them. So yeah, those are my ideas. Does that help?”
Sophie was nodding really fast and scribbling something on a notebook she must have pulled from a magical storage. “More than I'd expected! Thanks, Tristan, really!” She was still scribbling madly as she started walking away. “See you later,” she said in a way that only made him feel like a slight afterthought.
“I'm not the only one that goes ‘head down’,” he muttered.
Tempy chuckled at that, making him worry he'd said it too loudly, but Sophie didn't slow her pace at all, already seeming to be lost in some unheard conversation.
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