“Okay, next question,” Eve wondered aloud as she held the weapon to her waist. “How exactly does one belt a morningstar?”
“I think it’s a special strap,” Alex offered. “I’m sure any leatherworker could make you one.”
More things to buy, Eve thought to herself as she shoved the mace into her pack. There’s always more things to buy. She turned to Wes and Preston. “Come to think of it, Alex and I both bought new weapons with our dungeon money, but you two are still in the same gear. What gives?”
Wes chuckled. “I can’t believe it took you so long to ask. I commissioned a staff from a local enchanter. It wasn’t ready in time for this job, but I oughta be able to pick it up once we get back.”
Preston didn’t look up from his search as he called out his own answer. “I’m saving it. Sent some to my da, but I’m holding on to the rest in case something happens. You don’t have to spend all your money the moment you get it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s easier when you don’t have a speeding ticket that needs paying and worn-out clothes that need replacing and a deadly Mana generating thing that needs dealing with.”
Wes grinned. “Not to mention Mr. Priestess over there gets free housing at the cathedral.”
The healer turned up his palms. “We can’t all be Ayla’s chosen.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Eve muttered as she returned to her search.
Minutes turned to hours as the four adventurers filtered through the hoard, turning over broken carts and damaged gear to find those few pieces still intact. In addition to the rope and morningstar, Eve soon found her pack stuffed with a set of cutlery, a pair of dark leather boots that looked vaguely her size, and a brown, hooded cloak with only a few bite-holes in it.
The party’s pile of things to sell, on the other hand, grew substantially. The collection was mostly made up of basic steel weapons, given their resistance to biting, clawing, and other drake-borne damages. A few of the swords, axes, and spears were stained with blood, evidence that their former owners had at least put up a fight before falling to the draconid’s maw. Most shone clean.
The vast majority of any defensive gear they came across wasn’t even worth considering. It made sense that armor of any kind wouldn’t survive its wearer’s death by drake. To be entirely honest, Eve was rather impressed the beast had managed to remove so many cuirasses, vambraces, and chausses from its meals with as little damage as it had.
Of course, ‘little’ was relative. Most pieces were significantly chewed up if not outright torn in half, but they remained recognizable. Mostly.
Alex practically cheered with uncharacteristic enthusiasm as she strapped a metal kite shield to her back. Sure, it was a bit dented, and whatever sigil that had once colored its front had been long scratched away, but it fit the Survivor well. After all, what good was a tank without a shield?
Eve was just evaluating the ruined state of yet another bedroll—apparently the creature had thought them chew toys—when a yelp rang out behind her. She turned just in time to find Preston frantically hopping on one foot as he tugged at his boot.
“I found it!”
Wes was the first to reach him, helping stabilize the healer as he removed his right boot. Eve and Alex made their own way over as the men hunched over Preston’s discovery.
The Striker arrived to find a foot-long lizard wrapped around the Priestess’s arm, its claws harmlessly retracted into its tiny little feet. “Look at him,” he gushed. “He likes me.”
“Good for it,” Alex replied, reaching for her belt knife. “Now let’s put it down before it bites you.”
Preston spun to put himself between Alex and his new charge, otherwise completely ignoring her comment. He looked up at Wes. “Do you think he’s hungry? He looks hungry.”
“Only one way to find out,” the mage said, digging through his pack for a piece of jerky. Tearing off a bite-sized chunk, he held it out towards the hatchling. Sure enough, it wolfed down the morsel with a vengeance, expertly avoiding Wes’s fingers in the process.
“Awww, he knows his mommy.” Preston stroked the creature’s head with the tip of his index finger as it ate.
“Wait, how come I’m its mommy?” Wes protested. “You’re the Priestess.”
“You two can’t be serious,” Alex spoke up as they boxed her out. “That’s a dangerous animal.”
“I’m gonna name him Reginald.” Preston continued to ignore her. “Does he look like a Reginald to you?”
“That thing is going to grow to be the size of a gods-damned house!”
“Eh, let them have their fun,” Eve said. “They can always release it once they realize how stupid an idea this is.” She shook her head. “Come on, let’s get moving.” She nodded towards the stack of weapons they’d collected for sale. “We’ve got packing to do.”
The warrior grumbled and rolled her eyes and gripped her knife but did eventually turn to follow Eve to the hillside where they’d left their spoils. They had to leave a few of the more worse-for-wear pieces behind for lack of bag space, but by the time Eve’s, Alex’s, and Wes’s packs were stuffed full, the party had more than enough wares to sell upon their return.
After a quick stop to carve off a few scales from the fallen drake to prove they’d killed it, their job in the hills was well and truly done.
So it was that laden with food, supplies, trophies, and enough weapons to arm a small village, that Eve, Alex, Wes, Preston, and Reginald turned around to make their way back home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Money to Burn
EVE SAT UPON the soft grass, leaning against her pack as the exhaustion of the day’s adventuring washed over her. The collection of swords and axes and knives they’d claimed from the drake’s hoard kept her backrest upright at the cost of significant lumpiness. She shifted as the handle of a dagger on the other side of the canvas dug into her back.
The four companions sat together under the starry sky, having elected to make camp for the night rather than try and find their way back to Lynthia in the dark. The array of camping supplies they’d just looted may or may not have had an impact on that decision.
A crackling campfire held off the creeping chill of coming autumn, casting its orange glow across their tired faces. For all his protests that it was perfectly safe, Eve hadn’t let Wes light the fire. The last thing they needed was to set the bloody dirt ablaze.
Still, the fire mage stared at the burning twigs with a furrowed brow and a slight, but noticeable, grimace. In his hand he absentmindedly flipped a copper penny, serenading the gathered adventurers with the rhythmic ting and slap of a coin flicked and caught.
For her part, Eve couldn’t believe he was still mad about the campfire thing.
Preston spent his attention fawning over Reginald, hand feeding the oversized lizard with little bits of charred meat left over from their dinner. It wrapped itself around his arm, somehow managing to cling to the warm healer without digging in its claws.
Eve Appraised the creature, more out of boredom than any expectation of useful information.
Level 1 Hatchling Drake
Yep, she thought, useless as usual. She wondered if there was some way to upgrade the skill or otherwise glean more information from it.
Alex, meanwhile, spent the time running a whetstone along the tip of her spear, glancing up regularly at the baby monster with a combination of disdain and suspicion. While Eve didn’t necessarily expect the hatchling to murder them in their sleep, she could understand the warrior’s feelings. They had watched its mother kill a man.
It took Preston running out of scraps to feed Reginald to finally break the silence. “Hey, Wes, heads or tails?”
The mage flipped and caught the coin once more before replying, “Call it in the air.”
Another ting rang out as he flicked the copper piece, firelight reflecting off its spinning surface with a warm glimmer.
“Heads!”
Wes caught it in his palm, slam
ming it into the underside of his forearm. “And the answer is…” He withdrew his hand, revealing a small green flame consuming the coin. “Fire! I guess you lose.”
Eve snorted.
Preston grumbled, “If I didn’t have a drake occupying my arm, I would so smack you right now.”
Wes chuckled, flipping the coin again. A trail of emerald fire followed it as it spun through the air. “You have to admit it looks pretty.”
“You sure about that, Wes?” Alex’s voice pulled at their attention. “Until we get paid back in Lynthia, I don’t think you really have money to burn.”
The party froze.
In dead silence, three pairs of eyes turned to gape at the ever businesslike Survivor.
“What?”
“Did you…” Preston managed. “Did you just tell a joke?”
“Bandir’s balls,” Wes swore. “She has a sense of humor after all.”
Alex huffed, “Just because I choose not to joke around with you doesn’t mean I’m incapable of it.”
Eve met the warrior’s gaze, a genuine grin stretching across her face. She gave a gentle nod. It was, of course, not her place to tell the others Alex’s reasons for keeping her distance, but that didn’t stop her from appreciating progress where she saw it.
Alex shook her head, breaking eye contact. “You know what? It’s late; we’re clearly all tired; I’m going to bed. You jokesters can figure out first watch amongst yourselves. Wake me when it’s my turn.”
“I’ll handle it,” Wes volunteered. “You all get some sleep.”
Eve nodded, flashing a grateful smile before rolling onto her side. The warmth of the fire washed against her back as she drifted off, leaving Wes alone to gaze into its crackling glow.
* * *
“Where did you get this?” The guild clerk looked up from the folded parchment and pile of drake scales to cock an eyebrow at the four gathered adventurers. “I didn’t assign this job.”
All eyes turned to Eve, who held up her hands in an exaggerated shrug. “The buyer came to us directly. I guess she heard about our exploits and decided we were best for the job.”
The receptionist managed a truly striking amount of incredulity in the look she gave them.
“What?” Eve asked. “It’s not so farfetched, is it?”
The woman sighed. “You know, you’re better than I gave you credit for.” She unlocked a drawer in her desk, counting out the contracted payment. “Eight hundred silver, as promised. Good work.”
Eve blinked.
“You did well,” the clerk elaborated. “Come back tomorrow and I might have another job for you.”
The Striker opened her mouth to reply, but a quick call of “next!” prompted Wes to gather up the coin and usher her away. She hated the swelling sense of pride she felt at the receptionist’s kind words, detested that she should care about the opinion of such a vile woman. But she did.
Eve forced her thoughts away from the receptionist as Wes doled out the silver. There simply was nothing for reversing a foul mood quite like receiving a heavy purse. The ten-silver pieces reduced the sum to a manageable quantity, but Eve still reveled in the heft of the pouch. Perhaps more exciting, even, than the beauty of a payday was another fact driven home by the weight of her pack: they weren’t finished yet.
Alex took the lead out of the guild hall, directing the party towards a steel smith she knew would give them a fair price.
Eve squinted as the famous glass walls refracted the midmorning sun directly into her eyes, doing her best to follow the warrior’s blurry form as she deftly maneuvered through the crowded streets. Though she managed to keep to her course without bumping into too many passersby, she did fail to notice when Preston peeled away. When they finally did arrive at their destination, it took Wes’s explanation for her to even realize his absence.
“He’s off to the cathedral,” the mage said. “Wants to research how to care for a baby drake, and apparently Ayla’s got quite the library.”
Eve shrugged. “Ah, well. It’s not like he was carrying any of the loot. The freeloader.”
Wes laughed. “Right. How many bones did you break on that job?”
“Hells if I know.”
“Exactly.”
Alex’s voice cut into their conversation from where she held the door to the smithy. “Enough gossiping, ladies. We’ve got weapons to sell.”
“Hey, I’m not a lady,” Wes protested. “And Eve sure as all hells isn’t one.”
Eve gave him a rude gesture.
“See, look at that unladylike behavior. She’s making my point for me.”
She snorted. “Maybe Preston was right to call you Reginald’s mommy. You certainly sound a lot like my ma.”
“Any more backtalk out of you and you’re grounded.”
Eve guffawed, breaking out into a massive grin as she stepped past him into the smithy. Wes followed in a fit of laughter of his own, eliciting a disappointed head-shake from Alex.
Much as the tall Survivor insisted they maintain a steady, professional front while negotiating the sale of their loot, they agreed upon a price all too easily. Apparently there had been a huge uptick in newly classed adventurers. Eve didn’t stop to think about what that might’ve meant.
In all, the hardest part about the deal was the simple act of actually unloading the gear onto the wooden countertop. As it turned out, just throwing a bunch of weapons into a shoulder pack resulted in a rather hazardous game of pickup-sticks. By the second time she accidentally slit open her hand on an exposed blade, Eve began to resent Preston’s absence.
Fortunately enough, the smith was perfectly happy to lend her a few bandages, especially after Wes refused to share his ring of regeneration. The mage had cuts of his own.
Alex somehow escaped the process unscathed, either through surprising dexterity or a defensive ability she hadn’t shared with the others. Come to think of it, Alex hadn’t shared any of her abilities with the others. Eve made a note to ask her about it when she had a chance.
Thirty minutes later saw the Striker practically skipping from the smithy, her pack comfortably lighter and her purse wonderfully heavier. With a quick word to Wes to confirm their celebration at the guild hall and a few inquiries about armorers to Alex, Eve split from the others to go about her shopping.
She resolved, of course, not to spend the entirety of her newfound two hundred fifty silver—she’d learned her lesson after breaking the table and ending up killing rats in the sewer—but by the gods she was going to spend some of it.
Her first stop was to find a replacement for her canvas pack. It had been a sound enough purchase when she’d first obtained it, but the other trouble with stuffing a bunch of weapons into a bag is the damage they do to said bag. Why couldn’t the drake have hoarded sheaths too?
A few silver spent and Eve was once again confident her pack wouldn’t spill its contents at a moment’s notice.
Moving on, she at last visited the cobbler Thander had recommended days ago, replacing her peasant’s boots with a much sturdier pair, complete with treaded soles to complement her Surefooted skill.
Eve’s final—and most expensive—stop in her shopping extravaganza was at the leatherworker Alex had recommended. Between modifying her belt to include a loop for her morning star and commissioning an entire set of leather armor, this particular errand put her down over a hundred silver. She didn’t regret it.
Still, even in the knowledge she’d gotten a good deal on essential protection, leaving the armorer’s shop empty-handed stung. At least he’d promised to work quickly, pointing out a completed set that was almost Eve’s size. She’d have to return tomorrow to pick up the adjusted outfit. At least he’d done her belt there and then, so she didn’t have to worry about the morning star dealing any more damage to her new pack.
She returned to the adventurer’s guild that night with a spring in her step, eager to drink and laugh and celebrate their victory as well as to learn what exciting toys the
others had spent their prize on. That staff Wes had mentioned commissioning interested her the most. A simple boost to fire damage wouldn’t take this long, right? No doubt the mage would be more than happy to brag about it once he had the weapon in hand.
After a quick visit to her room to deposit her gear and change into fresh clothes, Eve descended into the common room. She was the first to arrive.
Unperturbed by the tardiness of her companions—Wes had to track Preston down to deliver his share of the loot-money before doing his own shopping—Eve claimed a table and ordered the first round. She thought to herself, as she nursed her first intoxicant of many that evening, of how remarkable it was to have come so far so quickly.
Not long ago she’d been a Seamstress’s daughter in Nowherested, and now here she was drinking ale in the adventurer’s guild with enchanted daggers and a gods-damned morning star at her side. She thought back to her dreams of being a Peddler and traveling the world. How quaint they’d been. How unambitious.
Eve realized, though, as she took a gulp from her tankard, that she hadn’t actually done all that much traveling. Sure, she’d come to Lynthia and seen the great glass walls, but that was about it. Maybe it was about time to move on.
The Striker’s musings came to a screeching halt as the guild door swung open to admit the absolute last person she’d expected.
Alex strode into the room.
“You came,” Eve pointed out the obvious as the warrior claimed a seat at the table.
“What? Can’t an adventurer share a drink with her teammates?”
Eve smiled, holding up her near-empty mug. “She most certainly can.”
Alex lifted her glass to the air, spilling a bit of ale as she and Eve clinked their tankards together. “To a job well done and money to burn.”
The Striker laughed, giving Alex a meaningful look as she echoed the toast. “To a job well done and money to burn.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
This Quest is Broken! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 1) Page 24