The Vein of Forbidden Ore

Chapter Five: The Vein of Forbidden Ore

The world snapped back into focus with the familiar chill of the Pale Forest night seeping through Staltz’s bones. The dark skeleton at the anvil paused mid-swing, hammer hovering above a half-formed longsword that glowed cherry-red. Crimson eye-flames narrowed as they studied the newcomer.

“You are one of the Touched,” the old smith stated, voice low and certain.

Staltz tilted his skull. “Touched? What exactly does that mean?”

The blacksmith rested the hammer on the anvil and leaned forward.

“The Touched are those whose souls are bound by foreign powers: gods, demons, or stranger things beyond the veil. When a normal undead falls in this world, we crumble to dust and are gone forever. But you… you vanish for a time and return whole, as though **** itself cannot hold you. Some say your kind are chosen. Others say cursed. Most simply say inconvenient.” He gave a dry, rattling chuckle. “Either way, you may prove more useful than the average bag of bones.”

Without further explanation he resumed hammering, sparks cascading like fiery rain. Staltz, now thoroughly intrigued, set off north-northwest toward the abandoned mine.

The journey was uneventful save for a handful of rabbits that met swift, hammer-induced ends. Experience crept upward, but not quite enough for level 5.

The mine entrance yawned like a skull’s maw in the hillside, timbers rotted and sagging. Inside, the undead darkvision kicked in: a cold, colorless grey that turned the shafts into a monochrome labyrinth. Staltz prowled deeper, pick in inventory, fingers trailing along damp stone in search of ore veins. Minutes stretched into frustration; the walls yielded nothing but dust and stubborn rock.

Finally, irritation boiling over, Staltz materialized his pick and slammed it into the wall randomly screaming "fuck you stupid mine" only for the wall to explode inward in a cascade of rubble, revealing a hidden pocket chamber no larger than a modest room. Within, veins of ore pulsed with faint violet light, as though lit from within by captured starlight.

“Jackpot.”

For the next half hour the cavern rang with the steady chime of pick on stone. When the last glowing chunk clattered into his inventory, the haul was impressive:

Iron Ore Chunk ×10

Copper Ore Chunk ×20

Silver Ore Chunk ×5

Eldritch Ore Chunk ×2

[Mining has reached Rank 5]

Satisfied, Staltz dematerialized the pick and jogged back through the forest paths to the hermit’s forge.

He upended his inventory in a clattering heap before the anvil. Iron, copper, and silver spilled across the packed earth, but Don’s gaze locked instantly on the two pieces of Eldritch Ore. The master blacksmith crouched, lifting one chunk with reverent care, turning it beneath the forge-light. Violet motes danced across his midnight bones.

“I have not laid eyes on eldritch ore since… longer than you have existed, Touched or not.” His voice dropped to a grave whisper. “Keep these. Hide them. Speak of them to no one; not guard, not guildmate, not even the wind. There are powers in this realm that would flay a disgraced noble a thousand times over for possessing even a fragment.”

He straightened, expression unreadable.

Quest Complete: First Haul from the Depths

Reward: Apprenticeship with Don

Only then did the nameplate above the tall, bearded skeleton shift. The generic Blacksmith dissolved like mist, reforming in elegant crimson script:

Don: Master Blacksmith

Staltz blinked. Apparently trust; or at least utility; had finally earned him the right to know the hermit’s true name.

Don was already turning back to the anvil, but over his shoulder he rumbled, “Rest while the forge cools, apprentice. Tomorrow we begin teaching you what fire and **** can truly forge.”