by Pirateaba
Back to the thinking. Adventurers? Yeah, they’re like…starving artists? They don’t earn much from hunting monsters, but the ones who survive their raids on dungeons or old ruins can earn unimaginable amounts of wealth in an instant. I guess it’s appealing for people who think they’ll survive. Not me, thanks. I’ve seen what Goblins do with people, and they’re the weakest monsters around.
So, if adventurers represent the top earners, Runners fall somewhere around the mid-categories. It’s a dangerous job, but not nearly as dangerous as fighting monsters.
Why do I care? Oh, right, money. I’ve got enough.
Back to the inn. I’m tired, but my mind is still racing. It’s been how many hours? I’m still annoyed by those idiots back in the Runner’s Guild. And Garia. I’m more annoyed than mad at her, but—
She was staring at my ear. Which is fair. Are ear injuries that common around here? It’s a distinctive pattern—perhaps that’s why she’s curious. And about me running barefoot. It’s not common even in fantasy worlds, I guess.
Back to the inn. Time for a meal. Let’s eat and think. What kind of meal? Chicken. I could go for chicken and mashed potatoes. It tastes good, especially since I’m hungry. But focus. Is that guy staring at my breasts? Yes. I hate you, random stranger.
Ignore him. Eat chicken. Gravy goes on top of potatoes. Think.
Let’s go over it again. Priorities. First and most important? Money to live on. Right now I’m earning enough for a room at an inn and regular meals, but keep saving.
Second, I need more information. Libraries don’t exist around here, or at least, they aren’t open for the public. I need maps, but I also need a book on the cities around here. History, culture—I need a local. Can’t ask them too much, or they’ll get suspicious. Put that one on the backburner.
Next? Um. Equipment. The job I’ve got is pretty much the only one I can do. Alternatives? I could be a scribe…if my handwriting were better. But being able to write more than my name is helpful. Too bad it’s not too useful.
Focus. Equipment. There’s magical items on sale in the markets. Not many—and they’re expensive. But runners have different kinds of enchanted items. I want one. But I’m still trying to earn enough money to buy a good healing potion for emergencies. That has to be the first priority.
Meal’s done? Do I leave the plate or…? Hm. Let’s see. Looks like they’re leaving plates. And the innkeeper puts it on my tab…? Yeah. I’ll pay it tomorrow.
Back up to my room, away from prying eyes and people who want to sit and have a drink with me. I’m not against drinking* but I really don’t need to deal with lonely men right now.
*Well, I am if it’s alcohol.
My bed’s pretty good this time. You definitely get what you pay for. I guess I’ll spend at least two silver coins on my inn from now on. It’s expensive, but it beats a bad bed.
Hm. Final check before I got to sleep. Fals? Hate him. Got to run with Garia sometime. Get it over with. Using money for…healing potion. And then equipment. Right.
I know what to do tomorrow. I’ll go to the Runner’s Guild first thing and get some good, high-paying requests. Save up, buy that healing potion. But something else nags me as I lie in the bed with a feather poking the back of my head.
Here’s the problem. And it’s a big one. I have no idea what to do next. Not ‘next’ as in tomorrow, but ‘next’ as in what I should be aiming for in the future. I can earn enough money to live off of, but what’s my end goal? To live and die here? Or to return home? And how in the blue blazes* am I going to do that?
*Where does that quote come from? No, focus. Focus.
When I run I can keep the doubts from floating about in my head. But when I stop and when I’m about to sleep I feel it crawling back up from the depths.
Uncertainty. I still don’t know why I’m here, what magic or fate brought me to this place, or what even to do next. I earn money and I keep it, but I don’t know what to do with it. I run and run, and someday I’ll run into something nasty. This world is full of monsters, and I don’t know what to do.
Still, I can’t worry about it now. I have to sleep. If I’m tired or I oversleep tomorrow I’ll miss the good deliveries.
I close my eyes. Time to sleep. My mind is racing, but at least my body’s tired. I’m drifting off in my mattress. It’s not that much different from my one back at home, to be honest. Maybe more lumpy and less comfortable as a whole, but it will do. And I’m so tired.
Damn. I forgot. Before I sleep. Concentrate. Block out the messages—
[Barefoot Runner Class Ob—]
[Barefoot Runner Le—]
[Skill: Runner’s—]
[Ski—]
I hate having to do that every night.
1.21
The inn. A place for questing adventurers, drinking, solace, and even temporary, messy love. Or just lust. In any good tavern you can find at least one mysterious figure in the shadows ready to spout off cryptic messages of doom. No pub worthy of the name wouldn’t have the potential for indiscriminate violence simmering in the air.
Inns attract crowds. Thus, an innkeeper must be constantly busy. It’s a demanding job that often requires more than one barmaid or bartender – barboy being a seldom-used term that only dictionary aficionados employ.
Erin Solstice sat in her inn and waited for the crowds to come pouring through the door. Any second now. She’d be fighting them off with burning oil and kitchen knives. Any moment. They were probably just waiting until nightfall.
—-
Two nights later Erin had to concede that being an innkeeper was harder than it looked. And it looked really hard.
“What good is owning an inn without customers?”
Erin sighed and sat back in her chair. She eyed the gleaming wooden floor and stout wooden door and wondered whether it was worth cleaning them again. But no, she’d dusted and polished every available surface, and she had enough food in the kitchen for a small army. What she didn’t have was money or people willing to spend money.
“Two days.”
Erin put her head in her hands glumly. Two days since she’d painted her sign and named the inn. Two days, and her only customers were the three terrors that plagued her waking nightmares.
Relc, Klkbch, and Pisces. They were all horrible customers. Each one was fine on his own—well, Pisces was annoying no matter what, but as patrons they had extremely objectionable flaws. Even Klbkch.
Especially Klbkch.
It wasn’t that they were annoying, per se, but…no, they were annoying. Erin gritted her teeth. She wished the Goblins would stop by for a change of pace. At least they were clean, quiet, and finished everything on their plate.
Well, Relc always finished everything on his plate. So did the other two, but in Relc’s case he tended to spread the contents of his plate on the table and the floor. How hard was it to use a knife and fork?
And the one who did use a knife and fork never paid for anything. Ever. Erin felt like she was running a soup kitchen every time she fed Pisces.
As for Klbkch that…that…
“That lying, pasta-eating snake-ant jerk!”
Erin slapped the table. She was especially mad at him. How could he betray her expectations like that?
She’d been happy to feed him pasta all night long. Happy that was, until Pisces and Relc told her that Antinium couldn’t handle bread or pasta that well. They were all naturally glucose-intolerant. Eating pasta was about as fun for Klbkch as poking his tongue with a knife. If he had a tongue.
Pasta wasn’t technically poison for him, but it made Klbkch lethargic and did nasty things to his digestion. Either way, he’d clearly been buying and eating her food just to support her.
The nerve. The gall of that bug. Ants were bugs, right?
When she’d found out about Klbkch’s aversion to pasta she’d gotten into a huge fight with him. Or rather, she’d gotten mad and he’d apologized repeatedly. Ever since then Erin had let him
buy blue fruit juice or blue fruits, but no more pasta. The trouble with that was that Erin lost out on one of her major sources of income, as Relc visited every other day and Pisces came by too frequently.
“Another night without customers.”
Erin groaned to herself as she stared at her inn. She mechanically wiped a mug clean with a clean piece of cloth. Not because it was dirty; it just felt like an innkeeper-y thing to do. And she was bored.
“What I wouldn’t give for one customer.”
Two tables over, Pisces looked up from his bowl of onion and sausage soup.
“I am right here, you know.”
Erin glared at him.
“I meant a paying, nice customer.”
He sniffed and drank the last dregs from his bowl. The one positive aspect about the mage – if you could call it that – was that he ate like a starving wolverine.
“I believe there is a lovely tradition known as a ‘tab’. Rest assured I will make sufficient payment to you in time, good mistress. Although I must say you could stand to improve the variety of your dishes. Pasta and soup are all very well, but I trust you do know there are other types of food in the world?”
Erin ground her teeth together. She pointed the door.
“Out.”
Pisces stood with offended dignity and brushed off his dirty robe. He offered Erin a bow that was sardonic without being offensive enough for a thumping.
“Your soup was most adequate. However, I would advise you to add more seasonings to combat the bland taste.”
Erin opened her mouth, but he was already halfway out the door. She watched it close and then stop until it was a tiny bit ajar. This time Erin punched the table.
After she’d closed and bolted the new door Klbkch had helped her install, Erin tasted the cold soup and made a face. She stomped over to her shelves and looked for a bag of salt.
Cooking was harder than it looked. And sadly, while Erin could make several dishes thanks to her skill, there wasn’t really any point if no one but Pisces was going to eat it. Today she’d tried out soup, and she had half a pot still sitting in the kitchen. She’d have to wait for Relc to come by tomorrow to finish it all.
Erin sighed and sat down at her table. It was her favorite table, the second one near the bar. It was where she slept. True, she could have used the floor or done something about the second floor, but she was out of money for things like mattresses and pillows. For now, she slept. Her life wasn’t bad. She’d survived Goblins and actually started running a business. She just wished—
She just wished things would start going her way.
—-
The next day Erin woke up, she woke up tired. Very tired. And that was strange, because Erin had gotten a good night’s sleep. Or so she’d thought.
As Erin shifted to get up she felt uncomfortable. She looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a variation of a t-shirt and pants she’d custom-ordered from one of the Gnolls that Krisha had introduced her to.
Most Drakes went for an ancient-Greek style toga or robe look and their clothes were long and free-flowing. Some of them wore sarongs, but Erin was pretty sure it was only the females.
On the other hand, Gnolls wore minimal attire, usually just enough to cover their furry parts which weren’t visible in the first place. And while Erin was fine with that look, she wasn’t too keen on wearing just a thong and breast band in public. Hence, her clothes.
The fabric was a rougher, sturdier type of cloth than Erin would have liked, but it wasn’t that uncomfortable. She’d slept in it fine just the other day. So why was it suddenly rubbing against her down…there…?
Erin looked down and began praying under her breath. She closed her eyes. Did she have to go to the bathroom? No. Nope. Not at all. So then why was she leaking…?
“Oh. My. God. This is not okay!”
The wetness in the crotch of her pants spread even as Erin looked down. She began to swear, even as she jumped up and ran for some clean cloths. It couldn’t be happening. But it was. How had she forgotten?
Her period. She was on her damn period.
Erin went to the shopping bag where she’d neatly stored many of the items she’d bought and began tearing through it, tossing items aside. Towels. She had to have towels somewhere in here.
There. Erin grabbed them and a fresh pair of pants. She walked back into the common room and hesitated. Like hell she was going to change in here. She went upstairs.
As Erin switched her pants and wiped away the mess she wondered what cruel twist of fate had dumped her in this fantasy world – yet still gave her the miracle of life every month.
“I’ve never heard of video game characters dealing with this! How do you expect Lara Croft to climb mountains with a giant frickin’ diaper in her pants? I’d love to see Leia fighting stormtroopers on her cycle!”
Erin slammed downstairs and threw her pants and the bloody towel on the ground. The other one she took to the kitchen and cut in half. Then she shoved it down her pants.
“Rough.”
The towels were not meant for use in the way she was using them. Erin shuddered. This was a nightmare. She had to get relief. And by relief, she meant tampons.
And that was another chilling thought, because Erin was pretty sure tampons never existed in medieval times. But—they had pads, right? Women existed back in the dark ages, even if they were oppressed. And Liscor wasn’t that primitive. So they had to have pads. They had to.
“Please God, if you’re there. Or the Buddha. I’ll pray to anyone. Just please don’t make me wear a diaper.”
She wasn’t even sure if they had diapers. She hadn’t seen many baby Drakes while walking in the city, and they stayed away from the scary human in any case.
Erin went for the door and hesitated. She felt like she was wearing a scratchy diaper, but it couldn’t be helped. She felt at her pocket and then went to her discarded pants and pulled out a very thin coin pouch. She didn’t have much money, but it was probably enough.
Her bloody pants and towel were another issue. Erin stared at them and then kicked them under the table. Then she opened the door and slammed it behind her. Her temper was already bad when she left her inn.
After the forty minutes it took to get to Liscor at quick pace, Erin’s mood had gone from bad to thunderous. The towel in her pants chafed. And her period was heavy. She wanted to kill everything. And that was before she tripped on a rock.
—-
Erin marched into Liscor through the western gates. Actually, she stormed through the gates. In actual fact, she practically charged through them.
The Drake on duty, the same yellow one she’d seen several times before opened his mouth to make a comment. Erin snarled at him as she went past. He shut up.
—-
Another obstacle got in her way before she got to the market street. Olesm appeared out of nowhere, holding a box in his scaly hands.
“Good day, Miss Solstice. What a coincidence running into you here.”
Erin gritted her teeth. Her abdomen was cramping up. This was a bad one.
“Not now, Olesm.”
He ducked his head, but kept pace with you.
“I understand this might be a bad moment, but I was wondering if you would be free later to play a game of—”
Erin turned her head as she stomped past him. Olesm swallowed the words he’d been about to say. She left him behind and kept moving down the street. Some Gnolls snarled at her when she walked in front of them. This time she snarled back.
—-
“Pads.”
Krshia looked up from her pile of copper and silver coins.
“Yes, Erin Solstice?”
Erin took a deep breath. She couldn’t get mad. Not now, when her goal was so close.
“Pads. I want to buy pads. Or tampons, if you guys actually have those.”
The Gnoll shopkeeper was sitting down, but her head was almost higher than Erin’s. She blinked at Erin.
“What are these pads you speak of? Are they bandages?”
Erin’s blood froze. She felt the earth beneath her begin to open, and choir of undead hands reaching up to pull her into the fiery pits of hell.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
Bits of fur flew into the air as Krshia shook her head.
“Apologies. It is shedding season. Why are you so concerned, Erin Solstice?”
Erin leaned forwards and whispered loudly to Krshia.
“I’m bleeding. I need pads. Cloth pads, now.”
“Bleeding? Where?”
Maybe the Gnoll really was messing with her, or she didn’t have the same sense of public decency Erin did. Either way, Erin leaned forwards and whispered the location in Krshia’s ear.
The Gnoll shrugged.
“Is it not fine?”
Erin gaped at her. Krshia scratched the fur around her neck looking unconcerned.
“It is only liquid, yes? And all who smell you will know either way. Why waste good cloth?”
Erin stared at her. Krshia stopped scratching.
“What?”
“Are you messing with me? Because if you are, I’m not in the mood for it.”
“I would not tease a young one like you when you stink of sweat and blood.”
Krshia looked mildly offended. Erin rubbed at her eyes and crossed her legs.
“Sorry. It’s just—you can smell that? Seriously? No, don’t tell me. I really don’t want to know. Don’t Gnolls have periods too?”
The Gnoll in question tilted her head slightly and make a confused face.
“Periods?”
“The menstrual cycle. You know, that time of the month when you donate blood. When Aunt Flo comes to town. Shark week. The Crimson Tide. Parting the Red Sea!”
Krshia blinked at her. Erin felt her voice growing louder.
“You know! Riding the cotton pony! It’s that thing ladies have! The waterfalls of hell! The blood baptism! The get-out-of-swim-class card! The proof of womanhood! The part of the month where blood comes out of your—”