Trigger-Happy Potioneer

Fire Resistance for a Blacksmith?

"Winter, I can't lift this. It's too heavy!" I gasped as I continued to strain and pull on the massive pot.

"Oh? Do you have any strength-enhancing potions on you? They're like bread and water fer most herbal practitioners."

"Not at all. Never got any herbs with such effects. Strength-enhancing is a long ways off-" I just remembered something. Enhancements. Didn't I have a trait like that or something?

Current Traits (+10)

[Alchemy 23] [Throw 15] [Eagle Eye 28] [Enchant 1] [Archery 20] [Crafting 13] [Mixing 16] [Mana Control 35] [Discovery 24] [Combining 8] [Wood Element Inheritor 19]

Congratulations! You are now able to choose one additional trait! One new trait can be learned starting at +10. After this trait, the plus count requirement increases by 2 points for each new trait.
Search traits: [_ ]

Ooh, more traits. If they added [Cooking], I'll take it. But not now; my focus is on my [Enchant] trait!

[Enchant]: You are able to increase your stats by an amount that reflects the level of this trait. The amount added increases by 1 every 2 levels. You cannot cancel this enchant; the stat increase lasts for 1 minute per 3 levels in this trait. You can enhance one additional stat for every 5 levels in this trait. One trait can be buffed multiple times; the maximum number of stacked enchants is 5. The number of stacks is not affected by level, and also represents the maximum number of traits that can be buffed at once. Natural range: 1 meter

Wow, so many technicalities. 2 levels per increase, 3 levels per minute, 5 levels per additional stat, 5 stacks... This stat is a late bloomer, for a lack of a better term. I'll have to practice this a bit before I can pick up that cauldron. "Hey, WInter, can you keep that pot on hold for a bit. I'll come back when I get a little stronger.

"Alright, boy. Just don't make me wait too long. I might sell it to someone else if that happens!" He laughed raucously at his joke. I stifled a chuckle as well. As if there is someone else that would buy something like that. I began to walk towards the exit, muttering [Enchant Strength, Self] quietly in order to increase my trait levels. "Oh, boy, before yeh go. Can you do me a quick favor?"

I looked back. He tossed a small pouch at me, which I caught and opened slightly. It contained bright-red flasks of liquid that I recognized as fire-resistance buff potions. "What's this?"

"Ellie down the road needs her weekly shipment. That there's the bit she's asked me fer, but I can't leave this shop unattended. Could you take it to her fer ol' Winter?"

Ellie's Shipment Run

Ellie is expecting a batch of fire-resistance potions from Winter, but neither owner can leave their respective stores. As Winter knows you well, he hopes you could do this favor for him.

Requirements: Deliver pouch of potions to Ellie.

Reward: Winter's favor, Ellie's favor

Accept?

I accepted, of course. I always like helping out others. "Sure. I'll be on my way."

"Her shop's two doors down from here. Ya can't miss it!" He called as I left the room and returned to the still-bright main road of Illios.

The road was still bustling with people. A quick glance up the street affirmed the crowd's full recovery from the repellent accident and streamlined drafting for the boss raid group. A look down the street revealed the ever-so-present banter of players and NPCs alike. I began walking down the road, counting store doors and ever constantly repeating enchants whenever possible. I soon found myself standing in front of the smithy, where loud banging and yelling mixed into the already lively atmosphere.

Okay, now correct me if I'm wrong, but most smithies are full of fire and heat, thus making fire resistance a tool of trade for the blacksmith manning the forge. Thus, I make a very legitimate question as to why a blacksmith would require fire resistance in the first place. Maybe I'm just being prejudiced and rude, but the blacksmith should already be used to extreme heat. I retraced my steps and recounted the numbers of doors from Winter's shop. Still just the smithy. I looked around for any clues to this Ellie person being someone outside the forge. No NPCs or players held the name. All other options disproved, I began my walk towards the door. However, the moment I reached the door, a gruff man opened the door and looked at me.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, "No customers today. Chief's feeling unwell."

"What's wrong?" I inquired. No point in arguing my gender identity at this moment; it'll only waste time.

"As I said, unwell. We sent a message to the apothecary for her weekly tonic, but it hasn't come in yet."

Well, I've now confirmed that the person I'm delivering the potions to is the chief blacksmith as well as inside. "I'm Nio. Winter sent me some potions to give to someone named Ellie."

"Hm? The old man sent you?" The man looked at me doubtfully. He's your stereotypical blacksmith: ripped forearms, greasy and torn shirt with the sleeves ripped off, tool belt and hammer hanging from an overly broad waist. Despite his figure, he's isn't the chief smith. Who, then, is? "Let me see some proof. You have her tonics?"

"Yes." I pulled the bag out of my inventory and held it out to the man. He took it, looked inside, then disappeared behind the door, slamming it closed in the process. I waited awkwardly outside, feeling slightly shunted by his crude gesture, until the door opened again.

"Come inside; the chief wants to see you." His voice came from behind the door, sounding a bit more subdued. The door swung open, allowing me to walk inside.

The moment I stepped into the forge, a solid wall of heat and humidity nearly pushed me right back outside. The sheer heat emanating from the furnaces nearly knocked me out in my cloak. I quickly de-quipped it, exposing my basic archer armor, a blessing I picked off a dead player a while back, to the light. (No, it wasn't stealing; the guy wasn't even wearing it, so I doubt he missed it.) Despite its light cover of only the chest, shins and forearms, I was still sweating buckets. I could have sworn my HP was decreasing just by heat. The forge was dark and only lighted by a small lamp at the counter and the fires of furnaces hard at work. "How do people shop here?" I gasped as I followed the assistant through winding paths between working areas.

"The chief usually greets them." He weaved past a blazing fire and anvil, where a buff woman was fiercely striking at a near-white block of metal. I rushed past, hoping to dodge the heat as much as possible. She looked up and winked at me as I passed. I didn't think much of it, but I did wave back. The assistant guy led me deeper and deeper into the forge, and I noticed that fewer and fewer of the stations were becoming active. We finally reached the largest room, a gigantic yet completely inactive forge. A line of light peeked out near the floor a few feet away, and the dim outline of a door sat right above it. The guy stopped at the door, opened it, then stood back. "Go in. Good luck."

"Good luck?" I asked as I stepped into the room. I soon understood why.

The room was literally a freezer. Frost lined the small desk and black hammer in the corner of the room and covered the walls with a light fuzz of white. Ice cracked under my feet and fissures spread from where my feet stepped inside. The couch was sky blue, but the color of the frost accented the blue to near white as well. I thought Elsa had struck again for a moment. I then saw the leather bag, somehow untouched by ice, and the woman holding the bag.

The first thing I noticed was that her skin was white. I don't mean white like Caucasian white, but snow white - without a flaw or dark speck. Her black hair hung over her face, which almost seemed sculpted, giving her a sort of eerie atmosphere. She wore a bluish-black Japanese kimono with the neck so low that it should be embarrassing, yet not low enough to expose anything. Everything about her seemed to be sculpted, actually - as if a master sculptor carved his true love into a snow sculpture with every ounce of his being. Despite her scanty clothing, she didn't seem cold. It was more like the cold of the room was because of her. Once she left, this room would thaw into a messy mass of soaked furniture. Her eyes and mouth were tilted, looking into the bag. Frankly, I'm more surprised the bag or the potions haven't frozen over yet.

The question that had formed in my mind burst out of my mouth. "What's a Yuki-Onna doing in a smithy?"