Chapter 72: The Tier 2 Secondary Contest

  It took him the entirety of his two remaining days to ‘perfect’ the pendant--with the only break really coming when someone very official-looking came to deliver an enormous gift basket with a card that said it was “from Jack.”

  Inside were bottles of wine, several tins of caviar, other objects that Tristan was sure were delicacies of some sort or the other, and many other things. But honestly he didn’t care much for that. It was more of an inconvenience presently, so when he asked if the delivery person could just take it to his quarters, and the response was Yes, Tristan basically put it out of mind. The pendant was more important, as was his deadline.

  His last attempt at the pendant took him almost up to the deadline. But by the end, he managed to produce a gorgeous soft teardrop about the size of his pointer finger, with swirls of black and white mithril throughout. He’d set it into a thin, nearly transparent curve that resembled a flickering flame, and threaded the cord through the slightly longer wisp at the top. He’d had to breathe carefully while drilling that tiny hole, and was beyond thankful that the delicate piece hadn’t broken. He loved its mix of round and rigid elements.

  But that was just the blacksmithing side. The physical craftsmanship was easy compared to what he’d done next. This piece was meant to showcase his enchanting, after all. So he’d started by infusing the material, bathing it in essence to enhance its innate properties.

  Then there was the rune! It was by far the most complicated he’d ever attempted, and its swirls and curves accentuated the thin metal shape. He’d managed to fill it perfectly, too, without leaving the slightest room for any more essence. Tempy had actually complimented him on it.

  He ended up running back to the contest registration tables with mere minutes to spare. Wouldn’t you know it, the same woman he'd met the first time was there again, checking over the new sign-ups and submissions.

  “Mister Hammerson, so good to see you were true to your word. Do you have the ‘trinket’ you promised me days ago?”

  Panting, Tristan held up his most recently finished craft.

  [Survivor’s Pendant (rare)]: [Cat-Like Reflexes], [Minor Rune: Cockroach II], Soulbound

  A strong defensive pendant forged by a talented crafter, combining multiple enchanted abilities with practical smithing.

  Honestly, Tristan was as proud of it as he’d been of the [Sanguine Challenger]. While the pendant was physically smaller, the scope of work was hardly different. He’d done the same reinforcing with [Infuse], followed by rune crafting with [Imbue]. The ideas he’d settled on were no less complicated, even if they weren’t original designs, and fitting them on such a small surface required a dexterity he wasn’t used to in his smithing.

  The [Minor Rune: Cockroach] had been really tricky, and he'd barely completed it in time. Tempy had said it was a relatively new design, though she wasn’t sure where the name originated. He could easily imagine some crazy person running through a dungeon, coming up with a way to avoid getting blown up.

  Regardless, the effect was awesome, and Tristan was thrilled to see his iterations had managed to lower its cooldown to every month instead of every two.

  [Minor Rune: Cockroach II] Once per month, the user will, instead of taking lethal damage, be knocked into a magical coma that will last 8 hours.

  The affix, [Cat-Like Reflexes], was a straight 5% increase to dodge chance. He thought the two paired super well together, since more mitigation meant less need for the [Cockroach] skill in the first place!

  The submission lady nodded briskly, holding out a hand until he dropped the pendant into it. “Pretty. I'll be sure this is properly entered into the--" She paused and tapped her forehead. “--Tier 2 Secondary Contest, right?”

  Still panting a bit, Tristan smiled. “That’s exactly right! Good memory! When will judging be held exactly?”

  With a brief, tight smile, the woman pointed to a piece of paper hanging on the wall directly behind her. Actually, it was one of eight such papers, two per tier. He was also happy to notice that there was a big banner for ‘The Farewell Ball’ too.

  Good work, Sophie, he thought with a grin. Then he read the flyer for the Tier 2 Secondary Crafting Class Contest.

  “Ah, 3 days, got it,” Tristan said sheepishly. “Sorry I didn't see it before.”

  “No one ever does,” she replied with a small sigh. “And please do consider attending The Farewell Ball on the eve of debarkation. It’s shaping up to be an impressive event, even by Ark standards.”

  “Yeah, I definitely will. Thanks.” Tristan lowered his voice, not really talking to her any longer. “I might even go with someone.”

  “Good luck, Mister Hammerson,” she replied, already turning to face the next person rushing toward her table. “I can help you here, dearie.”

  Tristan thanked her before stepping away, ducking under a large spear that the slender, red-haired woman behind him swung up and onto the table.

  While it definitely looked interesting, Tristan had grown used to the Ark’s rules and didn’t even try to [Identify] it.

  Besides, he had something else to do.

  With three days until the Secondary Contest’s judging, he was going to try to get closer to Tempy... and maybe even ask her to the ball.

  Yeah. That seems like a reasonable timeline. Three days. I've overcome bigger challenges in less time!

  Before his mettle cooled and his growing doubts could permanently root him to the floor, he began making his way back to the Foundry.

  - - - - -

  “You want me to teach you to what?” Tempy asked.

  “To dance?” Tristan repeated, barely able to fight off the fear that was screaming that he should, ‘Just say nevermind and run away as quickly as possible!’

  But he held his ground, and he waited through two full seconds of silence before Temperance Harrow answered.

  “What in the gods' names for?”

  Tristan grimaced. “You're just such a good teacher--"

  “At enchanting,” she cut him off. “What do I know about dancing? I swing hammers and channel magic; what's that got to do with stomping around on a dancefloor?”

  Tristan scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry I asked. I just thought, I don't know, with as pretty and confident as you are, that someone must have taken you to a dance or two and shown you a good time.”

  The runesmith looked at her student with a sad smile that showed she clearly understood exactly where this was all coming from.

  “Tristan, you’re like a fifth my age. You realize that, right? It just wouldn't work.”

  “What do you mean? I'm just asking about a few dancing lessons.”

  “You're not, kid. You're not. And you were right before: you are far from the only one to see these arms and this cute face and think you'd like to get to know me better. But my top priority is my craft, just as it’s always been.”

  With the way she looked at him, with so much sympathy, it was a miracle Tristan didn't burst into tears.

  “But I thought we were really getting along. And you were, I mean I thought you might have been, I don't know, flirting a bit, too?”

  Tempy chuckled. “Oh, I definitely was! Tristan, you’re a brilliant swordsmith, you’re a natural enchanter, and you're really nice to look at. Especially those shoulders. But you just don’t have the living experience that I do. Flirting is one thing: it's fun, and it means nothing. But going to this ball with you, it would be like dating a child for me. It is like dating a child.”

  Tristan clamped his jaw shut as he forced himself to not disagree with her words. They made a certain sense, he supposed. But they still hurt.

  “I’m not saying no forever, but like... give it 50 years.”

  Fifty years? The number sounded like an eternity. Maybe that was her entire point.

  “I think... I get it.”

  “I’m glad for that, at least,” she said with a step backward. She did not offer any further consolation.

  In a stupor, Tristan mumbled a goodbye and wandered away from the Foundry. He wasn't even sure where he was going. He just knew he couldn't stay there.

  Somehow he ended up on the absolute topmost deck, and not just beneath the protective dome at the top of the atrium. He was outside, with only the sky above him and clouds to keep him company.

  He found a deck chair and reclined it until he was staring up into the endless blue sky. It completely filled his vision. It was so big, and he felt so small.

  He wasn't sure why, but he chose to turn off his [Clock] skill. Then he just lost track of time as he lay there.

  “Oi, can you either stop your bloody loud sighing or have the decency to go somewhere else?”

  Tristan opened his eyes and found that the voice was coming from a very familiar dwarf. That this time he was shirtless and wearing oversized sunglasses didn't matter. It was Gorrek, one of the two owners of MidKnight Plate in Rockmoor. If anything, his frown was a bit deeper than the last time Tristan had seen him all those months before.

  “Oh, hi, Gorrek. Sorry, I was just thinking about--"

  “I don’t care,” the dwarf cut in. “Talkin’ to me wasn’t one of the options I listed.”

  Well, I guess he’s still rude. Still, Tristan tried once again, keeping an even tone despite his previous unhappiness and the dwarf’s surly attitude. “I heard you’re judging one of the contests. That seems like quite the honor.”

  The dwarf turned slightly, rising on one elbow just enough to glare at Tristan. “It would be, if people would stop brown-nosing and trying to unduly influence their marks. Who told you that, anyway?”

  “I wasn’t,” Tristan began, but he doubted anything he could say would change the dwarf’s mind in that regard, so he answered the question instead, and maybe he’d lighten the mood another way. “I just heard it from a few of, uh, your guildmates. Still haven’t had any luck finding ether ore, by the way.” He waited with an attempted smile to see if the returned joke would land.

  “Pah!” The dwarf literally spit to the other side. “Still can’t believe you fell for that one. Are you still dim as all the others, only come knockin’ when you need something?” He lay back down, eyes clearly closed. “Well, have it known: I don’t do favors, and I cannot be bought. So just you forget you heard anything about me judging. You shouldn’t even be talking to me.”

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  “It’s nothing like that,” Tristan tried to explain. “I just came up here to think.”

  “Sure you did. Well, you can do that elsewhere, too. Honestly, with the Guild’s red strike-glow all around you, I don’t want to see you, let alone talk.” He grumbled something that eventually grew louder. “And with as much disruption as you caused, you’re lucky it was only one strike.”

  Oh gods! So I have some sort of red glow from that strike? And it’s visible to anyone in the Steelblood Guild? But something else also caught his attention. “Wait, is it possible they could have given me two?”

  Gorrek raised his head as though to stare straight through Tristan. “Still could if you don’t bloody leave me alone. I can’t stand seeing that strike--bloody red eyesore--! Just get outta my face!” he actually yelled. “If you keep on being my blessed problem, then I’ll give you that second strike myself!”

  Tristan tried his hardest not to read too much into the angry dwarf’s ranting and backed slowly away. “Right, sorry to have disturbed you,” he offered.

  “Stop talkin’ already and get ye gone!” the dwarf grumbled, reclining fully onto his deck chair.

  Slipping back into the covered atrium, Tristan wondered where he could go next and what he could do. Normally, the answer was simple: whenever he felt down like this he’d just go to the forge and work on something. But now, he definitely didn’t want to go back to the Foundry and risk seeing Tempy.

  I have the [Portable Forge], he remembered, but he lacked his hammer or tools, which were of course still at his workstation in the Foundry. Besides, the irony of using the forge--which had been a gift from Tempy--to help him not think about her felt odd.

  Not far away, posted on a column near the middle of the upper atrium, was one of the big, at-a-glance maps that showed every floor of the ship. His eyes scanned over all the crafting areas, High Dining, and the Central Market. There was only one other place that actually caught his eye, a place he hadn’t even set foot in once yet despite his best intentions.

  The gym.

  He’d heard from Sophie that it had a really great layout with nearly all the equipment you could ask for, including spaces to train skills--and apparently her astrals. He wasn’t really sure what that involved, but it sounded nice, and Sophie had gained at least one level there this voyage. If nothing else, Tristan thought it might be a fairly productive way to burn off some of his bad mood.

  Then again, with all the smithing and enchanting he’d been doing lately, he wasn’t sure if he really needed to exert himself that much more. He was honestly pretty tired. The gym was pretty close to the middle of the ship, which meant he’d practically have to walk right past it to go back to his room...

  I’ll just go tomorrow, he told himself.

  With a newfound lack of energy, Tristan slunk down the stairs, appreciating their seemingly endless width as crowds of more lively people passed him in both directions. He made it all the way back to his cabin with just enough mental energy to open the door, slide off his shoes, and barely avoid the enormous gift basket just inside the entryway, before crashing onto the bed.

  - - - - -

  Tristan and Sophie followed behind Mister Biggs as they pushed their way back into the Grand Theater. It was their first time back in three weeks, so Tristan couldn’t be sure if it was just his bad memory or if the room had actually gotten bigger than the last time he’d been there.

  Something that was definitely new was the way the room’s entire ceiling looked like an open, midday sky. The illusion was so good that Tristan expected to feel a breeze sweep across his skin at any moment.

  “Did you know that I originally thought about using this as the location for the Farewell Ball?” The mild disappointment in Sophie’s voice didn’t stop her from explaining. “Unfortunately with all the contests going on in here during the last two days of the voyage, it would have been an absolute logistical nightmare to turn it over so quickly. The Tier 4 Primary Contest would have only ended a few scant hours before the Ball should begin, you know? Moving all the seats out of the way, not to mention making room for the buffet tables--I just felt like it would have been a total mess.”

  “Makes sense,” Tristan replied. He noticed that the young astralist put one hand on Mister Biggs’s back to keep herself moving forward as the crush of the crowd intensified. He was tempted to do the same.

  There were just so many people that he felt confined, like they were pressing in around him. It was strangely enough giving him flashbacks to the coffin in Rockmoor Cemetery. He wondered what percentage of the Ark’s population was currently in this room, with more arriving by the moment. How was it already this crowded? They’d come twenty minutes early, something that Sophie said was “just in case.”

  And this is just for the Tier 2 Secondary Contest!

  Tristan was beyond amazed, especially when he saw how easily the ushers were seating all those in front of them. Sophie, Biggs, and he ended up in some decent seats just under halfway down the bowl, with Tristan thankfully getting an aisle seat. It was a small but important joy, like all the extra love his mother sprinkled on her garlic bread.

  “So if you’re not going to set everything up in here, where is it going to be?” he asked.

  The glare Sophie gave him could have melted steel. “Tristan, are you seriously asking me that? Have you still not read any of the signs, talked to any of the crew, or even heard the idle talk onboard?”

  Having turned slightly to see the mass of people coming in behind them, Tristan shrugged. “I guess I’ve just had my head in the sand.”

  “In the forge is more like,” Sophie grumbled. “Blessed crafters. Ugh.”

  He turned his full attention back to her. “So there’s really somewhere else on the ship that’s as big as this, and that’s able to handle all of what you’re planning?”

  Sophie began massaging one of her temples, saying, “Yes, Tristan. And you better figure it out before..."

  But before she could finish her no-doubt-snarky remark, a bright green movement from the stage drew their attention.

  Looking up, Tristan saw that Bobby, the ever-shirtless Cruise Director, was now dancing laps around the stage. The green-skinned man’s hair periodically caught the light as he flexed and flipped from one side to the other.

  Behind the long table in the middle, five rather stoic-looking people were either rolling their eyes or staring daggers at Bobby. Tristan didn’t recognize any of them, but that wasn’t surprising. There were just too many crafters in the realm--even in the higher tiers--for him to know them all.

  As everyone around them settled into their seats, Tristan was finally able to hear the music Bobby was bouncing around to. Or maybe it was that the melody was growing louder and more intense, just like the green man’s movements. The faster he thrashed about, the more mesmerized Tristan--and seemingly the whole crowd--became, until eventually the song came to a raucous, overpowering climax. Bobby literally jumped up onto the central table, startling two of the judges (because what else could they be?), before performing a blind, flying leap toward the stage’s edge... only to kick one leg forward, bending the other back behind him, and landing in a perfect death drop.

  The crowd, of course, went wild.

  From his now-prone position on the floor, Bobby began pumping his arms, clearly encouraging the crowd to get louder.

  And for the first time, Tristan heard Sophie, sitting right beside him, whistle and shout her approval for what he now realized was a half-naked, totally acrobatic, and ridiculously charming man. It bothered him a bit, probably because only a day ago he'd been hoping Tempy might someday whistle at him like that.

  “HELLOOOOO, CRAFTING ARK!” he shouted, leaping to his feet and holding one hand high above his head as the shrieks and calls grew louder. “Are you all ready for the Tier 2 Secondary-Class Contest?!”

  Bobby clearly interpreted the next overwhelming response from the crowd as a “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get STARTED!” With a grand, two-handed wave, he signaled what would become a march of items down all the aisles. Dozens of people carried what Tristan supposed must be crafted items up to the stage and laid them on the front of the judges’ table.

  Tristan tried to find whoever might be carrying his pendant, but couldn't among all the other items on display. He only saw it once it was up on the table, and then only because one of the judges picked it up and began examining it with what looked like a jeweler's lens. He had to admit, its black and white form really caught the light well. The judges must have agreed, because no sooner did one finish examining it than another would take it and follow suit.

  Sophie leaned in and whispered, “They really seem curious about your entry.”

  Tristan clutched his hands together tightly, trying not to read too much into every tiny facial expression the judges examining his pendant made. “Yeah. Do you think that's a good sign?”

  “I think so. Few of the others have borne as much scrutiny.”

  Tristan wanted to ask exactly what that meant, but instead he sat, watched, and tried to loosen the knot tightening in his right shoulder.

  It's going to be fine, he told himself. Even if you don't place, you did your best, and it came out fantastic. He practiced breathing deeply, trying to calm his mind as his mother had taught him to. Yet every time someone else looked at--or even away from--his pendant, his heart started racing all over again.

  And given how many items they had to talk about, there was a lot of consideration going on. A full fifteen minutes is how long the judges deliberated before handing Bobby a folded piece of paper.

  The green man took it and yelled out to the crowd, “Are you ready to hear the top three finalists?!”

  Another excited roar was all the reply Bobby needed, and he laughed through a couple jokes clearly meant to stall the process as armloads of items were being removed from the table.

  Only three items remained: the spear that had nearly decapitated him back on the last registration day, some sort of clockwork-looking gizmo, and his pendant. Each of the three was then lifted by an assistant that remained at Bobby’s side as he described them.

  “Our first item is the fantastic [Bloodsoaked Spear], crafted by none other than Elizabeth Less! She's flown so many times with us she's almost in the Ascender Club at tier 2!”

  Halfway around the bowl, the thin, red-haired woman Tristan had almost bumped into stood up to massive applause. She waved once, then just as casually sat back down.

  Bobby clapped for her too, before calling attention back to himself. “Thank you, Miss Less. It’s always nice to see you,” he said with a wink.

  He went over to the next helper holding Tristan’s pendant. “Our second item is the nifty little [Survivor’s Pendant], crafted by a newcomer to the Crafting Ark, though his last name is one we’re very familiar with! Tristan Hammerson!”

  He paused as he tapped the paper, turning back to check over his shoulder as he asked, “And is this right? He didn't even have this secondary prior to boarding the Ark? Wow! That is impressive!”

  Tristan stood up slowly, feeling both proud and a bit nervous as he suddenly felt the attention of everyone around him, as well as the hundreds--or possibly thousands--of others in attendance, shift to him. He tried to stand tall and project confidence, raising only one hand like the other crafter had, but he feared his movements and smile came off nervous anyway.

  “It's always good to see new talent aboard the Ark, Mister Hammerson. I hope we get to see much from you in the future!”

  Tristan sat quickly, feeling his face flush at all the positive attention.

  “Our third finalist is the [Omega 13 Device], crafted by--and I hope I’m pronouncing your name correctly--La’lia’ri Quel’lek.”

  A willowy elf woman, perhaps half again taller than Tristan, unfolded herself from the second row of seats near the stage. She was so tall her head came all the way up to Bobby’s waist, despite the differences in elevation.

  “Wow,” Tristan heard himself say.

  Sophie exhaled. “Yeah, she's definitely a Willow Elf.”

  “I wonder what her device does.” Thinking back to the rules of the Ark shared during orientation, he tried using [Identify], just in case... But it was still blocked.

  Surely it must have been unblocked for the judges, though.

  Meanwhile, Sophie shrugged. “Tinkers can pull off some really impressive magic. All their ‘enhanced technology’ opens up a lot of possibilities for things that might otherwise have been impossible. It's also just awesome looking though.”

  The three final items were being paraded around the stage to allow the audience to see them. Bobby followed each item in turn, oohing and ahhing.

  Tristan couldn’t help but chuckle at the realization that none of the top three were from the Steelblood Guild.

  “Now, before I announce the winners’ rankings, I’d like to remind all our other tier 2 entrants that they can pick up their entries in the lobby following the conclusion of the judging. Only the three finalists should report to the stage to collect their prizes. Thank you.”

  By the time Bobby finished his announcement, Sophie was practically holding on to Tristan’s arm. She was squeezing so tightly it might have cut off the circulation of someone with less Endurance, but Tristan didn't care. He was also on the edge of his seat.

  Placing top three is great, but I want to win!

  “Well, the judges' votes are in,” Bobby finally traded, “and there was a surprisingly unanimous decision across all three places!” He chuckled. “First time that's ever happened at this tier, I believe! You're witnessing history here, folks!”

  Stop stalling! Tristan silently screamed. His fingernails were biting into his palms so deeply he was afraid they might draw blood.

  “And now that everyone has had a chance to admire these fine crafts, without further ado...” He took a deep breath. Then he laughed. “Actually, allow me to remind everyone that the Tier 3 and 4 Secondary Contests are to follow immediately after this one, and that the Primary Class Contests will be held in this very room in only 5 short days!”

  A few hecklers shouted out that he needed to “Get on with it!” and “Tell us the winner already!”

  “Alright, alright,” the green man called with another laugh. He held up the folded piece of paper. “In third place, we have... The [Bloodsoaked Spear]!”

  Once again the thin red-haired woman stood, and the crowd showed their appreciation. She raised one hand silently with a nod before Bobby spoke over the excitement.

  “Now that’s the kind of decorum I’d expect from a top crafter! Maybe a few of you could learn from her, eh?” He crouched slightly, as if talking to the closest members of the audience. “Though maybe not the next two, since they’ll be the first and second place winners. That might be too much to ask, don’t you think?”

  The crowd laughed in agreement, but they quieted down quickly enough.

  Bobby took his time as he produced and unfolded the little piece of paper that held not only the judges’ rankings, but also many of Tristan's hopes and dreams. The green-skinned man made several “Hmms” as his finger went top to bottom, slowly, tapping three times, and then repeated the process.

  Tristan’s heart was beating so fast he wondered if it might explode.

  “The winner of TOP CRAFT in the Tier 2 Secondary Crafting Class Contest is..."

  Tristan held his breath.

  “The [Survivor’s Pendant], crafted by Tristan Hammerson!”

  anyone get the "Omega 13" reference?

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