The Path of Ascension 8: A LitRPG Adventure

1 Seasaìdh MacMhunna walked down the hall with all the other scions of the noble families and tried to repress her exuberance. She had fought for this opportunity amongst the peers of her lineage and had come out on top after all the tests and challenges. They didn’t look just for combat prowess when selecting the candidates, though that was certainly part of it. Puzzle and problem-solving skills, personality, athleticism, test scores, and a dozen other things she couldn’t quite claim to understand were all evaluated as part of the process. But now it was here, and she could hardly wait. The Founder’s Armory was an ancient creation, from the early days of the Clans themselves, and had been the handiwork of the Founder’s firstborn and one of her race’s progenitors. It was a place of legends, and the birthplace of countless more. Every year, the best dwarven children from across the entire realm—or close enough, anyway—were allowed entry into the armory, where they were presented with the opportunity of a lifetime. Even the halls they walked through on their way to the Armory itself were magnificent, far grander than her Clan leader’s descriptions had led her to believe. He said they were grand and impressive, conjuring thoughts of gems and precious metals, but how wrong she was. The halls were seemingly simple affairs of stone, metal, and wood, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. Materials blended together so seamlessly she couldn’t quite tell where the stone turned into wood until it was already blending into the metal further down the hall. And that was only the backdrop. On the walls, a little higher than head height, were the murals. She recognized each from her history lessons. The first was the story of The Founder giving life to the Dwarves. The Second Sun was also pictured, repairing their central star by replacing it with his personal forge after a battle during the Shattering had destroyed the first one. Another depicted Vercatus single-handedly holding back an army of indistinct enemies while missing an arm, then the next mural pictured him again, forging his Goldhand from the grandest natural treasures. The next showed Regula sacrificing herself to take down a dragon who had tried to burn a city. On and on, her ancestors were represented in the murals, and she was astounded at their proud legacy. The legacy of a people who forged themselves out of common metals and into something greater. Seasaìdh had always known Dwarves were special, but today was the first day that she truly felt it. Felt it in her metal bones. When the older woman leading them through the twisting halls reached a recess in the wall where a room tucked away, Seasaìdh almost walked right past the entrance in her trance. At the slight clearing of a throat, she came to herself, and while trying to hide her blushing, rushed into the room with the other heirs. Once everyone was sitting down, the old woman spoke. “Good evening, children. You have proven yourselves, the five hundred best of your peers from across the Clans this year, standing unmoving before all your compatriots. The grandest fighters, the cleverest scholars, the most dedicated to your studies. You have all distinguished yourselves, and that is worthy of celebration.” Pausing, she started looking around the room with a small smile that implied everyone she was looking at was special in some way. Then, the woman turned and an image appeared projected on the fall wall. “You may call me the Curator. It is both my title and position. A position I have earned through blood, sweat, and tears, and a position I have held for centuries. I have seen many of your parents, grandparents, and beyond walk through these doors, and I have no doubt that I shall someday see your children and grandchildren pass through my care.” “Now, I’m certain that all of you can’t wait for me to shut up and let you get on with this most exciting day of your lives, but I made your great-great grandparents wait while this old woman had her fun, and now it’s your turn. The Founder’s Armory is open to you today and today alone, the greatest treasure passed down from the Founder’s firstborn himself. Each weapon within is a masterwork unlike any the Realm has seen since. Some compare them to Growth items, but the Artifacts within are far more than a mere riftcraft could ever hope to be. No, these Artifacts are partners, not tools. They grow alongside you, yes, and should you be chosen, should you prove worthy, you will be Awoken and bonded to the Artifact. Your Talents will grow to complement your Artifact, even as it grows to complement you. “Now, I speak of you being chosen. It is not I who will choose the wielder for each Artifact, but the Artifact themselves. They cannot be negotiated with, nor bargained for. Their bond is absolute and forever, their judgment final, and they are very, very picky with their choices. It has been twelve hundred years since the last time an Inheritor has been chosen, though we usually expect one every seven hundred to a thousand years. If you are not chosen, if no Artifact deems you worthy, then you shall simply be awakened at the end of the day.