“Fuck me running with a pogo stick.”
“I’m sorry, to begin with I can’t do anything like that, besides it sounds really uncomfortable to try to run at the same time, and I really have no idea what that last thing is.”
“This is what you were hiding from me?” The purple-haired dwarven girl turned to Jarrik. “This is why you wouldn’t tell me what was going on? You, you, you...”
She grabbed his shirt, hauled him in and down, and locked her lips on his. “You wonderful boyfriend, you,” she murmured, when they came up for air. “Holy shitcakes with fucknuggets on top.”
“So that means you like it?” Threadbare guessed.
“Ohhh yeah.” She grinned up at Jarrik, who shot her a goofy, toothy grin right back. “Ah... you need anything from me, Threadbare?”
“No. Not really. Nothing that we can’t figure out later. We have some time yet.”
“Good. Me and Jarry are gonna go find my new office and break it in.” She ran out of the room, giggling, with Jarrik chasing after her.
Threadbare rubbed his head and wandered out the door, back into the heart of the foundry district. The rhythm of the hammers had changed overnight, and the streets were full of dwarves and carts full of ingots, shipping them frantically to the forges and machine shops and enchanters. The dwarven way of war relied on metal, on crafted objects, on having the best equipment and the most gear, and by golly, every last dwarf who lived in this place was finding ways to help however they could.
Threadbare was doing his part. And his sanity was low because of it. Recharging faster, thanks to the skill the golden laurels granted him, but the fact remained that golems took a lot of sanity to prepare and animate. And Zuula was busy shuttling around between the other members of the group, dreamquesting them to recharge their pools faster, so Threadbare, for the moment, had a rare hour or two to himself where he wasn’t casting or sleeping.
Three streets down, he found the small chamber that Cecelia had requisitioned and knocked on the door. After a few minutes, a viewslot slid open, and he found himself staring into Kayin’s glass eyes. The slot closed, and the door opened.
“Desu, boss,” she greeted him with a thumped salute, fuzzy hand to her chest.
“Hello. Is everything alright?”
She glanced to the rear of the chamber, where tools rattled, and an old suit of plate armor shook as a doll-sized figure worked within its opened breastplate. “I guess? Cecelia! Bear’s here!”
The rattling stopped. The plate shook. Cecelia’s grease-smeared face poked out of the armor, hair bound up in a kerchief. “Oh! Hi.”
“Hello. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Good. Working in smaller scale is harder, but... well, I’ve got access to dwarven engineers. You just missed a couple of them. They’re in here studying how I’m doing it. Since I’ve got them to handle the parts that require non-job tinkering, I can focus on just one part at a time and get it done quicker.”
Threadbare nodded and stood there, feeling awkward for no reason he could tell. “That’s good.”
Cecelia considered him. “Clean and Press,” she said, and the smears vanished from her dress. She hopped down off the armor and gathered the little bear into her arms. “Your sanity is low, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” he hugged her back. “I’m sorry if I’m imposing.”
“No, no, you’re not. Don’t even think of it. This...” Cecelia gestured around the workroom and all the tools and gears and items that Threadbare didn’t know the names of. “This is all because of you. I’m here because of you. I’m alive because of you.”
“Are you really alive?”
She nodded, her chin moving against the top of his head. “I think so. It’s weirder than it used to be, but I’m still me. You saved me, and I’ll never forget that. You’ll never impose. You can always visit, always get a hug. I’ll always have time for you.”
The little bear leaned into her, buried his muzzle in the porcelain between her neck and shoulder. “Thank you.”
And there they sat for a while. Kayin busied herself cleaning up other parts of the workshop, giving them peace.
Finally, Threadbare stirred. “I should let you get to it.”
“Yeah. They’ll need me on the battlefield. And I’ll need the armor to do the most good.”
“I’m a little surprised you aren’t making it... well, bigger.”
“I thought of that. But there’s a lot of reasons not to do that. If I did, then the Hand would be after me. I’m a priority target that way, and I don’t think I could survive with all three of their active members on me at once. And also, this will let me get into the fort and bring it into the core chamber. Then there’s the fact it’s going together quicker, and actually? I think, if I’m lucky, that the strength reduction won’t be too bad. All of our calculations are indicating that. Though there are downsides. I’m going to burn through coal faster. No way around it.”
“Madeline does have that merchant’s pack,” Threadbare pointed out.
“Ooooh, there’s a thought. I’ll talk to her and Graves later, see if we can rig something up...” She put him down and picked up a wrench. “Don’t worry about me,” she smiled over her shoulder as she turned back to the armor. “But you might check on the others, if you’re looking for something to do. I’ve been at low sanity many times, and company always helped me get through that. I think it could do you some good as well.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Threadbare said, adjusting his laurels. His ears really weren’t set up to hold them too well.
So the little bear went and found the corner where Kayin was sweeping, handling the bulky broom that was five times her size with easy dexterity and strength. “Hello. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, we’ve got that war coming up.”
She snorted. “I’ve been training for years to fight that war. On the other side, mind you. Don’t worry about me, I don’t let things like that worry me. Do the job, get paid, move on.”
“Oh. Should I pay you?”
“You already have!” She indicated her body with her furry hands. “This gets you my help until the Kingdom’s saved. Afterwards... I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I like you guys, but we’re all going to have to decide on our own individual ‘afterwards’. I don’t have any family to go back to; my old killers’ guild is dead and gone, and I don’t have many friends outside of work.”
“I thought we were your friends.”
“Oh. Uh... well, you are. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.” She wrapped her arms around the broom and leaned against it. “You’re cool enough. Some of the others aren’t the friends I would have chosen, but I guess it’s fair to say mostly we’re friends. But I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life with you all. You know?”
“It is a pretty big decision,” Threadbare agreed.
“Bottom line, don’t worry about me. I look after myself, and I’ll look after you and the rest.” She shrugged. “Might want to check in with Graves, though. He’s a little more invested in... well, everything.”
“I can do that.”
Threadbare found his way outside and went back to the temple of Yorgum. Back around to the side-entrance into the storeroom where rows and rows of plush toys had been laid out with glistening black soulstones resting in bundles of cloth next to them. Graves moved among them, chatting. Fluffbear kept him company, as she worked on the wooden toy bodies that some of the ex-cultists had requested.
“No, I don’t think it’s a bad notion,” Graves said. “A bunny has some advantages over a bear, just in different areas-”
He broke off as he saw Threadbare. And about two hundred voices shouted out various greetings, as the soulstoned dead got into the act.
Threadbare greeted them back by name, one at a time, and chatted with them for a bit until about ten minutes later when Graves interrupted. “Sorry, I think we’ll need a few minutes. Ca
n I shut off the Speak with Dead for a bit, folks?”
Then it took another few minutes to get through all the goodbyes. Threadbare didn’t mind. Everyone seemed happy, so that was good.
Graves, on the other hand, looked almost as haggard as he had back when he was still affected by Anise’s kiss. “Let’s walk, okay? I need to get out of here for a bit.”
“Sure.”
Fluffbear joined them as they walked out. “Breaktime is good.”
“Very good.” Graves sighed. Then he smiled. “I wonder if this is what it’s like to have children.”
“Well,” Threadbare said, glancing to Fluffbear, “She’s making their bodies so that makes her their mother, and we’re giving them their souls, so that makes us... hum... no, it doesn’t quite add up.”
“Am I being a good mother?” Missus Fluffbear asked.
“The best.” Graves smiled down at her.
“It really is a strange situation.” Threadbare admitted.
“I wasn’t meaning in the biological sense or even the creator’s sense, like Caradon was with you lot. They’re already existing people; we’re just helping them transition from a bad state to a good one.” Graves rubbed his forehead. “Though I’m worried that they’re... well, they’re coming to see you as more than a good samaritan. Me too, but I’ve been discouraging it. I think if there was a job based around worshiping you, they’d take it.”
“What?” Threadbare would have blinked if he could have.
“Remember, these are people who let a charismatic cultist talk them into worshiping a dark power. You’re very much not that; you saved them from him as far as they’re concerned, and they’ve...” Graves shook his head. “They went for a good long time with a center to their lives. A faith, no matter how misguided. Then that faith got taken away. Now they’re searching for a new one, whether or not they know it. And here you are.”
“I’m not a dark power. I’m certainly not a god.”
“No. But that’s how they’re coming to look at you.”
“I don’t know if that’s right or wrong.”
“I can ask Yorgum about it,” Fluffbear offered, pointing to a stone bench off to the side of the Temple.
Threadbare looked to Graves. Graves shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
The little bear clambered up on the bench, armor scraping on stone as she went, and knelt.
After a few minutes she looked up. “He said that if you don’t like it, he’ll take them.”
Graves snorted. “Oh come on now...”
“He also said that you and Threadbare are the friends they need right now, but there’s things you can’t do for them, that will cause problems eventually. But he can do those things for them. And that in time if you survive and share responsibility, you will find a lot of friendly priests of Yorgum who will be willing to learn how to make golems and transfer souls, with rules about it to keep Nurph and Nebs and everyone happy.”
“Huh. That’s a good point, actually,” Graves said, leaning against the wall, and pulling his goatee. “Right now it’s dependent on us. This whole thing we’ve discovered. And it raises questions about eternal life, which no Nebite worth their salt would tolerate. I mean now, we’re fixing the Kingdom and saving the world, but if we succeed, there’s going to be a tomorrow.” Graves’ eyes lit up. “And if we can get the backing of the Church of Yorgum and turn it into a sect, a holy order... it’ll be a lot easier to get it accepted by the populace. My gods.”
“Just one,” squeaked Fluffbear.
“I may have to join the faith. This guy is savvy.” Graves grinned.
“Ooh! Ooh! You should join right away! Tomorrow is pastry day!” Fluffbear said. “Living people love those thingies!”
“I’ll have a talk with the priest when we get back inside,” Graves said, animated in ways that had nothing to do with necromancy. “Thank you!” Then he twitched and turned to Threadbare. “I’m sorry, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
Threadbare smiled. Graves didn’t look haggard at all anymore. “Oh, nothing. Do you know where everyone else is? Ah, besides Celia and Kayin?”
“Glub and Zuula are down at the Sturdy Stout, doing dungeon triage. Garon is running the training dungeon. Pretty sure the cats are with them, though with Pulsivar, it’s hard to tell. You know.”
“I do.” Now that his friend was a Misplacer Beast, it was amazing how little they saw of him anymore.
“Cool. Alright,” Graves offered Fluffbear an arm up, and she hopped into his embrace. “Let’s go talk about my sudden attack of faith.”
“Yay!” Fluffbear said, as they went back inside. “My first convert!”
Threadbare smiled and headed down the street, to where the edge of the crafter’s district turned into microbrewery lane. Copper vats started poking out of the walls, and the sound of gurgling water running over mash filled his ears, as yeasty scent filled his nose. He lingered for a few minutes by the meadhall, sniffing, as he always did.
But eventually he remembered his task, and found his way to the Sturdy Stout. A tavern that had fallen on harder times, due to the war and the death of a lot of its regulars, the owners had been happy to rent it out to the golems for training purposes.
After all, thanks to the giants, and King Grundi’s negotiation skills, they had a dungeon core to play with, didn’t they? And a whole lot of newly-made doll haunters who needed levels.
Downstairs, a strange melody played, as Glub squeezed an accordion and sang something soothing. Torn up teddy bears, with a brace of other toy types, sat at the tables and chatted, showing off loot and tending to their weapons. A few female-looking teddy bears leaned on the stage, gazing up at Glub with affection. And there, in the back corner, was Zuula. She sat there with a mug almost as big as she was, drinking it, then spitting it into a nearby spittoon.
“Is that fun?” Threadbare asked, pulling a chair up to the table. Dwarven chairs and tables were much more friendly to very small toys than human ones, he’d been relieved to find out.
“Is something to do,” Zuula grumbled. “Garon not letting Zuula run de dungeon no more. Just because Zuula killed a few dudes. Pfft, not like it permanent or nothing.”
“We’re supposed to be making them stronger, not making them have to reset their levels with deaths.”
“Bah! Is lesson! Next time fight better! Is... motivation.” She pounded another gulp, then spat it out. “Now is all slow regeneration whenever dey come back hurt, or whoops, get in de soulstone.” She gestured at the bag next to her. “At least Graves manage to get dem up to five-job stones. Which is more den most of dem need.”
“Well...” Threadbare began, then realized the room had gone silent. Every toy in there was looking his way, and whispers were going around the small crowd. “I think it’s good to have options,” he finished, adjusting his laurels again.
Your Adorable skill is now level 36!
Your Adorable skill is now level 37!
Your Adorable skill is now level 38!
Your Adorable skill is now level 39!
You are now a level 11 Model!
AGI+3
CHA+3
PER+3
Checking timer...
Your Dietary Restrictions skill is now level 55!
Your Work it Baby skill is now level 55!
“Perhaps we could talk behind the bar?”Threadbare pointed at the room beyond.
“Sure. Beats barfing bad ale over and over.”
“Why are you doing that anyway?” he asked, as he followed her into the back room.
“It is what you do in taverns. Besides pinch asses and start fights.” She sighed. “Not allowed to do dat even. Not dat it help. You punch one of de golems, dey say sorry. Dey...” she shook her head. “Too grateful.”
“I had a talk with Graves and Fluffbear about that.”
“Dey see problem too? Good.” Zuula punched his shoulder. “Lot of faith dey got in you, Dreadbear. You better not let dem down.”
&nbs
p; “I’ll try not to.”
“You do fine.” Zuula grinned. “Talking wit’ Jarrik earlier. Beryl t’inking maybe we three, me, Garon, and Jarrik be first flier driver people.”
“Really?”
“We all gots flight skill. Garon from when he trying to be dragon. Zuula from owl days. Jarrik because he actually survive first couple of tests. T’ree half-orcs be flying dose t’ings. Gonna call ourselves de Green Bear’uns because of you.”
“Thank you.”
Zuula leaned against a barrel. “You here because it starting to get to you, hm?”
“It is?”
“De fight. You not be liking fighting people. Not much for monsters, but dose is different. People, not so much. Not to you.”
Threadbare nodded. “Yes. However this goes, people are going to get hurt. And a lot of them don’t want to fight in the first place.”
“Is war. Is why stupid gods got a goddess who only handles war. She do dat so people can deal wit’ it.” Zuula sighed. “Is gonna be hard on you.”
“Yes. But I have to do this. Celia needs me to.” Threadbare thought a moment, then looked back to the door. “They need me to. You need me to.”
“Yes,” Zuula said. “You saved us all. But when you save some’ting, you responsible for it, from dat point on. It only exist because of you. If it turn out bad or do bad, is because you save it. But...” Zuula punched his shoulder again, gentler this time. “It same t’ing if it turn out good. That is you good, too.” She smiled, cloth lips stretching around wooden tusks. “And you done some good here. Never doubt dat.”
“Thank you.” He hugged her. And after tensing for a second, she hugged him back.
The door creaked behind him. “Hey man, I... oh, cuddle puddle? I’m in.” Wooden arms reached around them both, and Glub grinned wide wooden jaws as he hugged them close.
“Yeah, Zuula go heal weakys up now,” the half-orc said, disengaging herself. “Good talk.” She punched them both in the shoulder and wandered outside.
Threadbare Volume 3 Page 25