Penitent

Michael spent the next few days training, practicing with his new blessing, and spending time with both his fellow former Stent soldiers, and those he'd grown close to in Gemini. He also took the time to have all of his equipment looked at by Gurndan who received the piles of metal with a scowl that didn't shift even a hair after Michael handed him a gold. When he came back a few days later to retrieve everything, the dwarf gave him all of his things back, but hesitated as he went to hand him his mace.

"What's wrong?"

"There's something off with this."

"Off how?"

"Off as in… off. The metal, the shape. There's something different about it. Something is changing within it. I just can't put my finger on it though."

Michael frowned as he picked it up and started turning it over in his hands. All it felt to him was familiar, but he decided to look closer and began to divine it. He saw a flash of gold lettering that quickly sputtered and faded.

"I think… I think it's getting a title."

The dwarf whistled. "A title? I only made that for you a few months ago. Though I suppose it was forged from the same metal as that ugly sword you had before. Did it have any other history before then?"

"The smith had used my old sword from Stent as a base to make that one."

"Maybe the same materials along with always having the same user…" Gurndan mumbled a bit and trailed off as he looked at the mace. "Take good care of it."

"Is that how a titled item is made?" he asked. "Just use it for long enough and take good enough care of it?"

Gurndan shrugged. "It's a bit of a mystery. Weapons and armor receive titles more than anything else. Sometimes they're used by a great man or woman. Sometimes they're passed down over generations and gain a title. Sometimes they're pivotal in a great event. I've heard people say that when the Humelands were united with an emperor he could actually imbue almost anything with a title after using it just a few times. I've only seen a handful though, most are hoarded by whoever has them. The more minor ones, like that Pendant of yours, or your friend's boots tend to slip between the cracks."

Michael nodded. "Any idea what I could expect? I haven't seen any titled weapons."

Gurndan shrugged. "Titles and Deeds aren't really a dwarven thing, as we rely on our ancestors and the gods beneath. I'd guess something that would boost your strength or help you with a particular kind of swing. The good thing is the increased durability that occurs with all titled objects. It's like it imbues the metal with something extra that makes it better all around."

Michael nodded and started gathering his armor from the counter, carefully buckling his mace to his waist.

"Thank you Gurndan, I hope I see you again someday."

"I hope not, but I won't mind if you bring that mace back for me to look at once it's titled."

Michael smiled and nodded as he left the smithy and started walking down the streets of Southwind back toward the Gemini camp. He hadn't spent as much time in the town itself as he'd wanted to, but he'd spent a few days here and there healing who he could when he could. A few times someone had come into the Gemini camp looking for him to help with a broken leg or even the occasional lame horse. As such he got a number of friendly smiles and waves as he walked. It struck him again how different things were for him now than they'd been in Stent. He was still in frequent danger, but now it was by his choice, and it wasn't for a war he didn't care about. At least, he hadn't been until recently.

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He frowned as he reached the camp. He seemed to be the only one disappointed that they were switching jobs. Most of the others preferred the certainty of fighting native enemies. You knew what to expect from other humans or even dwarves and elves. With the rifts there was a lot of unpredictability, that's what had led to all the deaths the company had sustained. It had seemed easier at first when there were fewer, but those kinds of surprises killed at least one person each time. It wore on people.

When he reached his tent he actually heard Marcus whistling as he performed maintenance on his rifle.

"You seem to be in a good mood. Have a winning roll of dice?"

Marcus looked down the barrel of his rifle, checking its sights. "In a way. I was worried we'd be fighting at rifts forever. I can't really gain much with my title if I'm not fighting things that are also titled. I earned a few useful deeds with the rifts, but fighting soldiers again will be much more effective."

Michael frowned, he'd forgotten about Marcus's first title. It let him sometimes absorb the benefits of those he killed's titles and deeds.

"Don't you feel like you're doing more good with the rifts though?" asked Michael.

"Good isn't what keeps me alive and gives me a future. I don't mind doing something to help people I like here and there, but I won't act sad that I won't have to deal with weird portals to hell dimensions any more."

Michael sighed. "Fair enough."

"I was worried that you'd be staying here though. Fighting some kind of one-man crusade."

"I might've, but the gods have other plans." Plans that he wasn't entirely happy with, but they hadn't steered him wrong so far.

"Well, you'll have to thank them for me. I'd rather have you around."

"For the healing?"

"That and the banter. You also act like a beautiful woman attractor. Once they actually talk to you and realize you're only into old crones then the rest of us can swoop in."

Michael smiled as he shook his head. "Well, I'm always happy to help." He dropped his stuff back in his tent and came back out, finding a spot next to Marcus and working his dagger with a whetstone.

"You heard any more from Veras?" asked Michael.

Marcus stopped his light whistling and paused what he was doing for a few moments. "Yes. She sounds like… I don't like her."

"She sounds like my wife Sara to me. I didn't like it at first, but if I had to choose between the pain it causes me and never hearing her voice again then I'd choose this."

"I wish she'd fuck off."

Michael nodded sympathetically. "I can't blame you for that. I was surprised that she was so drawn to you. I would've expected Pyotr. He seems more… lovable than you."

That made Marcus laugh. "He is." He went to clean another of his rifles.

Michael had hoped to get a bit more out of Marcus. Maybe learn more about who he had been and the woman he'd loved. That love had clearly made enough of an impression that a goddess was interested in it. As always though, Marcus didn't seem like he wanted to open up, and Michael didn't want to push.

"Where is everyone anyway?"

"Pyotr hasn't left Syl's room at the inn in town for the last two days."

Michael laughed. He'd wondered how things had been going between him and the aelven scout. She'd seemed a bit cold toward Pyotr at first, but he wasn't surprised she'd thawed.

"What about Ollie and Davi?"

"Ollie took Davi to the Rose Petal in town. Wanted to make up for him missing our time at the Velvet Embrace."

Michael nodded, fond memories of a golden haired woman flashing in his mind for a few moments and feeling a vague interest from Veras as they did.

"I'm surprised you didn't go with them."

"I owe the madam money."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Not for that. She frequents the cock fights. I put way too much on a titled rooster named Big Red. He got torn to shreds by a bantam half his size. It was wild."

"Hoping to skip town before she can collect."

"Yep."

Michael slid his whetstone along the edge of his dagger one last time then took a moment to test the edge, pressing it against his thumb where it quickly drew blood. He healed it in an instant and put the aelven dagger back in its sheath.

"You know, I wonder how the gods could've possibly chosen me when I'm surrounded by such degenerates."

Marcus shrugged. "Seems to me they might prefer degenerates. After all, Nykas laughs with Ollie. I can't imagine choosing anything more depraved than an Australian as a potential worshipper."

"I think Nykas just favors anyone who uses 'a bee's dick' as a form of measurement and wakes up to say his mouth is 'dry as a dingo's donger'."

"There's no way all of those phrases are real. I think he's making some of them up since no other Australians are around to correct him."

"I hope you're right. Otherwise I'd be forced to admit it's better to be here than back on Earth where there's so many more Aussies."