A few of the raccants appreciated the craftsmanship, even as they reached for weapons.
Your Work It Baby skill is now level 3!
Threadbare tried a smile. He had been trying to get to the pole of the nearest tent to slide down it, but the end result was the same. This whole effort was because he wanted to try talking to the funny creatures, first. They were only about two or three times his size, and perhaps he could sort out things without a misunderstanding.
“Hello,” he said, in his soft, quiet voice. With an air cavity about the size of a pair of grapes to work with, it was barely audible, even to the relatively good hearing of the raccants. “I’m looking for Missus Fluffbear. She’s like me but black, and this big.” He put his hand at about his waist. Or where his waist would be if he had one.
This was kind of exciting, he’d never been able to talk things out before! The raccants gathered around him, poking at him curiously with clubs. He pushed one away before it could rap him on the ear. “Please can you give her back?”
The largest of the raccants, one with a pair of stars made out of wet and dirty wood on his shoulders, tied there by uneven strings, swaggered up to him and chattered something that Threadbare completely failed to understand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t speak that.”
The raccant leaned over, grabbed his apron, and examined it. His wooden mask, which looked like a fat-cheeked blunt-nosed fuzzy thing, read “HMSTR,” and it was very close to Threadbare’s face.
“Yes, that is my apron.”
The raccant plucked the scissors out of their sheath, and started picking out the other tools and items, handing them back to his subordinates. Threadbare, with a strength that surprised the big raccant, yanked his apron back and smoothed it.
“No,” the little bear said.
Instantly the raccants closed ranks, pointing with sharp sticks and brandishing clubs. Threadbare shook his head.
Well, he’d tried.
The big raccant brought his club bashing down on the tiny bear—
—and blinked behind his mask as a crimson ‘1’ rolled up from Threadbare’s noggin.
Threadbare hauled back and punched the raccant in the mask, sending him staggering back, as a red ‘18’ rose into the air.
Your Brawling skill is now level 21!
Your Weapon Specialization skill is now level 2!
And then the rest of the raccants, thoroughly spooked by the little creature, and aggravated at the intrusion, piled in on the teddy bear.
They might as well have been attacking a wall. Threadbare had flexed before he went up the tree, and between the buff and his thickened hide and stuffing, their clubs and spears did little. Still, there were many of them, and they had decent hit points, so his own counterattacks weren’t thinning the numbers by much. And every now and then, one of them would get lucky and crit, and sneak anywhere from five to fifteen points of damage through.
Finally Threadbare accepted that he was going to have to play for keeps... especially when he saw a black from materialize out of nowhere, leaping over the fence and moving up to the back of the group he was fighting. These raccants were dead, Threadbare knew. He might as well get some practice in before they went down.
And the next time he got a chance to fight back, he went for a swipe instead of a punch.
The raccant fell back, staring at its slashed arm, and the ‘26’ oozing out of it. The bear had claws!
Your Claw Swipes skill is now level 17!
Your Weapon Specialization skill is now level 3!
Your Weapon Specialization skill is now level 4!
Your Weapon Specialization skill is now level 5!
Your Brawling skill is now level 22!
Critical Hit!
DEX +1
LUCK +1
The claw swipes helped, but it was still a slog. But as Threadbare struggled, Pulsivar went to work. The big cat took down three of them one by one, swift, silent pounces that ended in blood and corpses. Finally, the remaining raccants noticed, and the second they did, they panicked!
The Black Death was upon them!
This was far too much. Raccants didn’t have much in the way of moxie to begin with, and caught between a bear and a dark face, they broke like twigs and ran in all directions, scrambling over, around, or in some cases THROUGH their shoddily-prepared fence.
Threadbare nodded. Pulsivar, however, wasn’t done. He started to bound off after one fleeing varmint, paused as another one stumbled, and fell behind—
“No,” said Threadbare, walking up to him and putting his paws on the big black bobcat’s chest.
CHA +1
Pulsivar paused, eyes narrowed, then sat down nonchalantly, and gave his fur a few good licks. Proper grooming was important before a meal. And during a meal. And sometimes after.
Threadbare smiled in relief, and petted Pulsivar. And smiled even wider, when his experience from the fight and comforting his friend rolled a long-awaiting pair of jobs into their next level.
You are now a level 10 Toy Golem!
All Attributes +2!
You have learned the Bodyguard skill!
Your Bodyguard skill is now level 1!
You are now a level 3 Model!
AGL+3
CHA+3
PER+3
Checking Dietary Restrictions time counter...
Your Dietary Restrictions skill is now level 15!
Buff adjusted accordingly!
Threadbare watched the words flash by, then breathed a sigh of relief. As interesting and invigorating as all that had been, he couldn’t pause now. He was in unknown territory, and the best scout he’d ever met had taught him that you don’t waste time in unknown territory. He needed to repair, regroup, and renew his search for his missing friend. “Mend,” he whispered.
You have mended Threadbare!
You have been healed for 5 points!
Your Mend skill is now level 2!
Wow, that was pretty pathetic. He tried it a few more times, skilling up to level five and getting an int boost before he was fully repaired. He’d caught a few of critical hits back there. Small crits, but crits nonetheless. At least the amount he mended himself by varied, and it even broke double digits a few times.
At the end of his healing, he got another notice;
You are now a level 2 animator!
DEX+3
INT+3
WILL+3
He shook his head. Why was he leveling so much? Compared to the things he’d been through, that had barely been trouble.
But then Threadbare stopped and thought about it. There had been a good dozen raccants in the camp, and they’d all jumped him at once, fighting well together despite their relative weakness. He hadn’t dropped any of them, really, Pulsivar had done most of the work toward the end of the fight. Yeah, if that had gone on a few more minutes they would have battered him down, or put him in a bad spot. Threadbare had some stuff that he could try if things got desperate, but... well, he had no idea how most of it would work.
As far as leveling up went, he thought that what was happening was that he was getting experience in the jobs that he used to get through each particular fight or tough spot. Golem, now, that was understandable. It had been a long time since he leveled golem, and since he’d done that he’d been hurt the worst he’d ever been, and only survived years by dint of being what he was. Model? Well, his apron had made a positive first impression and he’d been talking a lot at them. So social skills helped level him there. And he had flex and self-esteem going, though it was hard to tell if those counted as well. Duelist had probably gotten a little bit. And bear as well, though that hadn’t leveled. Animator made sense because he was doing some actual healing with actual consequences using the animator skill, mend. And it was low level so a few spells and the animating practice he’d done to date were enough to bring the overall job to level two.
And here he was woolgathering again! In an unsafe location, too. He turned to Pulsi
var, ready to get him rolling—
—only to find the cat messily devouring the choice bits of one of the raccant corpses.
Oh. Well, uh, they’d be here a little while then.
So instead Threadbare gathered up the trampled and muddy supplies that the raccants had taken from him, used Clean and Press on them, (skilling up twice,) and put them back in his pockets. The scissors were last, and they didn’t need cleaning, thankfully.
Then he paused and looked around.
The raccants that had fled into the woods were long gone. Whether they’d be back or not, he couldn’t say. But the mine entrance loomed, and that was where they’d have Missus Fluffbear, if indeed they had her at all.
Threadbare was pretty good at taking hits, but unless Pulsivar’s new form had gotten a lot sturdier, then the big cat wasn’t. And in that mine, in tight quarters, the big cat would have a harder time using his mobility and sneakiness.
“Party Screen,” Threadbare whispered again, checking out the cat’s hit points. Still One hundred and forty-five. He was level twenty one, and he had only a little better than half Threadbare’s hit points. Given how nasty things could get, the little bear didn’t want to risk his friend’s death.
They needed something to stack the odds.
Well, he was a necromancer, wasn’t he? And there were corpses a-plenty around, with probably some spirits he’d just made? That was how it worked, right?
So Threadbare reached out and poked one of the dead raccants. “Zombies,” the little bear whispered.
Your Zombies skill is now level 2!
The corpse got up, groaning—
—and died as Pulsivar pounced it, ripping it open.
“Um,” Threadbare said. “No, it is okay, see? Zombies.”
Your Zombies skill is now level 3!
Another corpse risen, and another corpse put down as the cat bit it and shook until things snapped.
Okay. That wouldn’t work. Pulsivar didn’t understand the whole undead thing. Come to think of it, neither did Threadbare, not completely. Maybe he’d practice it later, when the cat was out hunting or something. Though Pulsivar showed no inclination to leave Threadbare’s side, not since the morning. Finally the bear had just invited him to his party, and to his surprise, had instantly been joined. Threadbare wasn’t sure how, since he was pretty sure the big cat couldn’t read.
(He had no way of knowing that Pulsivar had found the secret to make the annoying words go away years ago, just like Threadbare had.)
The cat, proud of itself for taking care of the renewed threat, which had obviously just been a couple of the stupid prey playing dead, groomed himself smugly.
Stuck, Threadbare looked around the campsite. Fortunately, he found something suitable in short order. The head raccant in charge of the camp had his own throne in one of the tents. In actuality, most humans would have taken a look and recognized that it was a salvaged high chair, for babies to eat from.
But it had legs, and it was wood, and by golly it would do.
“Animus,” Threadbare breathed as he touched it. “Invite Chair.”
Your Animus skill is now level 6!
Your Creator’s Guardians skill is now level 6!
Oddly enough, the tug from the casting was a little more draining than usual. Threadbare checked his status screen, and sure enough, he was down fifteen points instead of ten. Maybe because the high chair was big, bigger than him and made of wood?
Then, on his status screen, he saw his new bodyguard skill, and opened up its help prompt.
Oh, perfect!
BODYGUARD
Level: 10 Cost: 25 Sta Duration: 1 minute per toy golem level
Name a target party member when activating this skill. For the duration, you have a chance of intercepting each attack aimed at them, so long as you remain within two yards of them. Multiple attackers or overwhelming amounts of strikes may reduce the effectiveness of this defense.
Feeling a lot better, Threadbare marched out of the tent. The chair followed, creaking and rocking as its legs stumped along. He was a little worried as they approached Pulsivar and the cat glanced up...
...then went back to grooming. He’d been an animator’s pet, after all, and would have been a familiar if Caradon hadn’t stopped leveling the Wizard job years ago. Chairs could move, so what? That was just a thing that happened.
“Bodyguard Pulsivar,” Threadbare said, and toddled toward the cave, his high chair following behind.
Your Bodyguard skill is now level 2!
After a few minutes, Pulsivar followed. That little bear was being stupid again. Looks like it was up to the only adult around here to take charge of things.
Five steps into the mine, The darkness rose around them. Threadbare moved on cautiously, ready to cast a spell—
—and everything shifted.
CHAPTER 2: RACCOON RUMPUS TIME
Abruptly they were in a curving stone cave well lit with candles, and stolen lanterns. There was music playing from somewhere down the bend. Odd and thumping, it bore no resemblance to anything Threadbare had ever heard before. But then, he barely knew of music. Just a few songs that Celia would sing now and again... but thinking of that made his chest hurt, and he pushed it away because he had bigger concerns.
“We’re in a dungeon,” Threadbare told Pulsivar.
Pulsivar’s eyes flicked back and forth, as his tail lashed. Everything had suddenly changed, and he didn’t like that much. He liked the music even less, and a low growl rumbled out of his throat. Not a sanity-damaging one, thankfully.
“I know,” Threadbare tried to tell him, but his little voice was lost in the music.
Okay, that was a problem. He’d experiment later, and try to fix that. But for now? He’d try to find his lost companion. So he set off again, and grudgingly, Pulsivar followed.
They came to the first cross corridor. Threadbare turned the corner—
—and was promptly jumped by a jumbled mass of junk and garbage.
The thing smacked him with a tendril made of rope and old tools, clocking him for ‘5’ and knocking him against the wall. Surprised, he lashed back—
—and then Pulsivar leaped on it.
It was made of pretty sturdy stuff, and still had some fight in it after that, but Threadbare helped tear it to bits while the high chair slowly kicked it, sending up ‘1’s and ‘2’s with its piddly attacks.
The little bear thought that maybe there was something hiding under the junk, but no, nothing was under there. The mob of trash had moved on its own and just slunk up and whacked him a good one.
Threadbare did find a few coins. A bunch of brown grungy ones and a couple of silvers. Garon had used those, Threadbare remembered. Maybe he could give them to Garon if he ever found the half-orc again? He tucked them into his apron pockets.
Two more trash mobs, a handful of coins, and a surprised raccant guard later, the tunnels opened up. Threadbare gazed upon a large cave, with multiple seats and benches made from stalagmites, free-standing and in rows. Ropes and chains of lanterns hung from the ceiling, flashing with odd colors, and at least three dozen raccants sat on them or jumped up and down, dancing to the music.
Garbage piled high around the cavern shook to the beat, piles of trash and even cans of the stuff shaking as the beat thumped on. Occasionally a can would boil over, and a new trash mob would rattle out, then head toward one of the corridors leading out of the cavern.
And up on stage, was a Raccant wearing a pair of baggy black pants, a gold chain, and some odd contraption over his eyes that Threadbare had never seen before. Though for once that wasn’t due to his ignorance. After all, very few people in Cylvania would have recognized a pair of sunglasses.
That Raccant was dancing his heart out up there, jerking spasmodically...
...up until the point he stopped, and the music stopped with him.
The strange figure pointed at Threadbare.
As one, the audience turned to behold the tiny teddy,
and as one they rose, irate that their song had been disrupted. Wooden masks in the shape of every domestic animal glared at Threadbare, who looked to Pulsivar for reassurance—
—and found the cat gone.
Well. Shoot.
The trash mobs, at least, left him alone. The raccant mob didn’t.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. His buffed armor was good enough to reduce most of the damage to minimal amounts, and the high chair, though not as sturdy, rocked back and forth and gave as good as it got. But just as Threadbare thought he was getting ahead, the figure up on stage started dancing again, and the music jumped with him.
It was a heartening song, a song that fired the blood and strengthened the arm...
...and it wasn’t helping Threadbare one bit.
His enemies, on the other hand, drew strength from it! Their attacks turned from ‘0’s and ‘1’s to ‘3’s and ‘4’s, and to his horror, the little bear saw his high chair minion take a solid hit and collapse.
But maybe it was still salvageable? He lunged for it, opening his mouth to cast as he did. “Animus—”
—and his hand collided with a raccant’s mask.
Your Animus skill is now level 7!
The mask shivered and twisted, sliding so the eyeholes moved away from its wearers eyes, and the raccant backed off, clawing at it frantically. He stumbled back into two more of the mob, who left off attacking and shoved him away, trying to stay out of reach as he panicked and lashed out.
Huh!
Well, why not?
Three more points of the animus skill, a point of dexterity, and six more castings later, Threadbare was down a fair amount of sanity, but half the mob was in disarray, and the other half was trying to stop them from trampling each other.
And finally Pulsivar made an entrance, slinking in from the side and starting to pick off the stragglers. One by one they fell, and Threadbare smiled as he popped his own claws. He’d found a weakness, now to capitalize on it!
Your Claw Swipes skill is now level 18!
DEX +1
Finally it was done, and they stood among the piles of dead concertgoers. Not one had fled, but this was a dungeon, so Threadbare didn’t find it odd. Monsters worked this way, in dungeons.
Threadbare Volume 2 Page 3