But declaring for this ridiculous duke, whom I didn't know and certainly didn’t like? This was one leash too much.
“You mistake me, my Lord,” I spoke up. Malik turned with a sharp look, but I ignored him. “As I'm not from this country, Stalburgh is just another place I'm passing through. It is not my home. Therefore, I do not see the need to declare for you.”
The duke wore a half-smile, almost a sneer. “Is that right, Marrow of Many Names? Well, since you are a foreigner, let me explain how vassalage works.” He held up a finger at himself. “I grant protection to whoever is in my lands.” He pointed at me. “Whomever is protected in my lands is my vassal. It's quite simple, really.”
I wished Malik had talked through this with me a bit more. I stewed as Malik interjected and began smoothing the situation over, slowly but inevitably winding me around to the oath for both duke and king. Finally, I relented, and began reciting the words.
When we were done, a feeling like I'd been doused in cold oil spreading over me at Lord Rodalt’s victorious smile. “Well, my vassal,” he said to me, “I hear you are making a journey soon. I'll expect a full report upon your return, hm?”
“Yes, m’lord,” I said glumly. I couldn’t get out of there soon enough, and turned away without a bow, Malik apologizing behind before following close on my heels.
11
The Tipsy Navigator
“Thanks for that,” I grumbled as we exited the castle.
“For what? You wanted to continue your task and get in good with the king. I provided a way to do that.” Malik shrugged. “What's the harm in having another boss, eh?”
I just shook my head and pulled up my stats. I hadn't placed the points for my latest level up yet, and it beat talking to this back alley swindler.
I pondered where to put these new points given my recent experiences. With the skeleton knight, quick feet and reactions allowed me to overcome a much greater foe. That called for more points in dexterity and agility. However, I had already invested in those with my last level up. And as my quarrel with the duke showed, I had many other confrontations in the Everlands other than physical fights. Just making my character a dumb, efficient brute wouldn’t get me far if I couldn’t persuade people of anything.
With all this in mind, I put my 10 SP in stamina, then put one AP in agility, belief, intellect, and charisma each. I knew my spells were useful, so it made sense to advance intellect, and I hoped my channels would be increasingly important — I could tell Minor Healing certainly would be, especially when I could Siphon Essence to recover spirit. As for charisma, I hoped that it would give me an edge for my next battle of words and wits.
I noticed Malik staring at me. “What?” I said.
“Why are you coming back to the Goat with me? Trying to get in my bed or something?” He waved his hands dramatically. “Be away!”
I rubbed my forehead. The man was impossible. “You know, if you weren’t responsible for everything good that’s happened so far, I’d be tempted to clock you.”
The rogue grinned at me. “You’re not the first and won’t be the last, my odd friend.” He pointed down a junction as we walked past it. “Now I’ll be responsible for kicking your ass out of Stalburgh. That way’s the markets. I suggest you see your way to them, before our great duke finds an excuse to detain you.”
I grimaced. “Fair enough. You have any suggestions on where to start?”
Malik shrugged. “If you’re not sure, you can’t go wrong at Yansel’s general store. He can point you in the right direction if you don’t find what you need there.”
“Thanks.” I waved a half-hearted farewell to Malik as I went down the road. After a few crossings, I saw a fresh white sign with cheery red letters reading General Store. A bit of a generic name, but storekeepers weren’t renowned for their creativity.
I entered the general store by its creaking front door. As soon as I stepped in, a bent older lady with short, tightly curled hair sidled up shyly next to me. “May I help you, sir?” she asked meekly.
I blinked. Timidity was something in rare supply in the Everlands so far as I’d experienced it, so her demeanor caught me off-guard. “Hello,” I said awkwardly. “I guess I’m, uh, looking to upgrade my gear.”
Her big eyes wandered over my person. “Ahhh. An adventurer.” Her shy smile brightened the room. “I should have known from the armor.”
I glanced down at my person. If I looked an adventurer, I looked a poor one at the moment. “Yeah, I guess.” I cleared my throat. “Do you have anything I could use?”
“Of course! Right this way, sir.”
The old lady — Yansel I assumed — led me to the corner where a few suits of worn armor hung. I stared at the uninspiring leather set and the rusted iron chainmail. “I think I’ll take a moment to browse,” I said tactfully.
Yansel smiled again. “Take your time.” She shuffled back towards the front, leaving me to walk among the shelves alone.
There were used trinkets beyond count. Candlesticks with chipping silver, worn axes for chopping wood, apples, oranges, salts, what looked like bunches of grass — Yansel had every small thing you could possibly want. Everything you could want, that is, if you were settled with a home. For a traveler like me, it wasn’t quite suiting my needs. So much for Malik’s suggestion.
I did, however, pick up the wood axe, a tinderbox, and a small satchel of rock salt for meals on the road (not only for the taste, but I hoped it would boost the restorative benefits of food I cooked with it). After Yansel happily totaled it up, the damage came to 11 coins, a mere dent in my current wallet of 201 coins. I pushed over the payment, thanked her, and asked after a blacksmith, navigator, and someone who sold spells. While she couldn’t help me with the last one, she gave directions to the closest blacksmith and ranger. I thanked her and left.
It turned out I didn’t really need the directions for the blacksmith, as the plume of smoke ejecting from his furnace was signpost enough. Entering into the shop portion of his place, I heard a bell jingle with the door, and the cry of “Coming!” from the back. A few minutes passed, and I tried not to tap my foot, my press for time weighing on my mind. Finally, the blacksmith emerged from the back, a stout Gnarish with a bald, sweaty head and a long beard. “My pardons for the delay, young master,” the blacksmith said in a genial voice. “What can I do for you?”
I’d been looking around his shop while I’d waited, and had my eye on a particular set, a hauberk and trousers that looked made of sleek, black scales fit seamlessly together. I pointed to it. “How much for those?”
The Gnarish laughed when he saw what I pointed at. “I can save you the trouble. You’re not going to be able to afford that.” His eyes grew distant as he stared at it. “That’s a one-of-a-kind. Genuine dragonscale armor.”
No wonder I’d been impressed. I looked back at it, wondering how big the dragons were in the Everlands. “How’d you get the scales?”
“A lucky venture. An adventurer much like yourself came in with a stack of them one day, and I bought them off of her immediately.” He nodded amicably. “Already sold the other armor set I made from it. This second is my last until I get another such lucky stonefall.” He eyed me. “If you get a bit more experience under your belt, maybe it will come from you.”
New quest: Seller of Scales (Level 29) - Find a dragon and steal its scales to sell them back to the Gnarish blacksmith in Stalburgh. Sounds simple, right?
Reward: 10,000 XP, opportunity to buy dragonscale armor
That one was a far shot. But who knew, maybe I’d get around to it if I went into an Everlands-induced coma in reality.
“Maybe it will,” I smiled. “So what’s it cost? 10,000 coins?”
“50,000. If I’m being generous.”
“Jesus.”
“Who?”
“Er — never mind.” I scanned his selection again, looking for something a little more moderate. “Do you have something suitable for around 100 coins or so?”
The Gnarish eyed me for a moment. “You’re in boiled leather now. You were eyeing the dragonscales. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re looking for something light that allows you to move nimbly on your feet, correct? Doesn’t make much noise? But takes a punch when it need to?”
I was impressed. “Correct to the last detail. Do you have something?”
“Do I indeed!” The Gnarish gave a great guffaw as he came around the corner. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he walked around the edges of his shop. Finally, he arrived at a set of armor composed of dull, metal scales. It didn’t look like much, but then again, I was still a relatively poor nobody, no matter how much just under 200 coins seemed to me.
“These will do you nicely,” the Gnarish said. He pulled up the sleeve to show me. “Steel scales,” he said, pointing, “separated and softened with cotton, so they don’t clink when you’re trying to move softly. And to provide a bit of extra padding and comfort, there’s a layer of leather underneath.”
I touched it myself. It seemed well made. Focusing on it brought up its stats as confirmation:
Steel Scaled Hauberk
Quality: Exceptional (100/100)
Rarity: Uncommon
“A good idea,” I said. “But that’s a cut above normal armor. Am I going to be able to afford it?”
“Well, that is a potential issue… The set runs 350. But if you have the money,” the blacksmith rushed to say as I blanched, “it pays to go for quality up front! The right piece of armor will save your life.” He patted the chest of the armor.
But I just didn’t have that kind of money. “What about just the top half? Could I get them separate? I just can’t afford both.”
“Hmm…” The Gnarish pondered it for a long time. “I suppose that could work,” he said slowly. “I’ll even let go of the tunic for a discount, as I’ve taken a liking to you. 150, and that’s as low as I can go.”
I knew I was supposed to bargain, but I had a feeling the Gnarish was telling the truth. “Done.”
It hurt pushing over those stacks of coins, even when I alleviated the cost by selling my boiled leather jerkin for 10 coins. But when I donned the hauberk a moment later, I knew it was the right decision. I felt the tunic subtly adjust itself to me so it was snug and secure; auto-fit was a handy feature. And the scales on the outside already made me feel safer.
I thanked the blacksmith and turned to leave. Before I did, the Gnarish said one last thing. “I think you’ll go far, if you don’t mind me saying. Do remember about that dragonscale if the opportunity arises!”
“I will.” I smiled and waved back, glad that at least one person didn’t think I was a total poser.
It looked like it wouldn’t matter that I didn’t know where a spell shop was, as I was fast running out of coins — I only had 50 left. But then I remembered I had the two amber amethysts. I had a feeling that a mage might be interested in them, and resolved to ask the navigator, who should know Stalburgh better than anyone, if there really wasn’t a spell seller in the city.
The navigator lived off the main street in a dingy alley, a small sign providing the only indication that I’d reached the right place. Eyeing the small hut skeptically, I knocked.
A clatter sounded from inside. “Shit! Not now!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Come back much, much later!”
I hesitated a moment, debating whether or not I should comply. But time was too short — I couldn’t afford to be polite. I took a deep breath and yanked at the door. It apparently was unlocked, and sprung right open.
The hut looked like an abandoned shack. Cups, plates, and cutlery were scattered across the floor, all with crusted food on them. Even more present were the bottles: big and small, curved and straight, every size present for roll call, and every one empty. But the room wasn’t abandoned — a figure slouched on a stool in the corner. Seeing her posture and her lazy, clumsy movements by the candlelight, it didn't take great perception to know what had been in all those bottles.
The figure sat up at my entrance. “Who do you think you are?” she demanded, her words slurred. “I told you to go away!”
I looked around, not hiding my disgust. “A navigator is supposed to live here.”
“A navigator does live here, not that it's any of your damned business. Now get the hell out of my house!”
I didn't move. “You? You're kidding me. You don't look like you could find your way to the bed right now. If there is one in here.”
The figure made an attempt at rising, then summarily gave up. “Oh, ha-ha, another jester come by to laugh at me.” A hocked loogie nearly hit my foot. “Piss on you all!”
I summoned Magelight, wanting to get a closer look. To my surprise, the navigator was a Satyr. But considering the state of the place, maybe it shouldn't have come as a shock. I don’t mean to be racist, but it did seem that every Satyr I’d come across had quite the proclivity for drink…
Like Brandeur, she was quite the looker. Sure, she had black bags under her eyes, and her walnut skin had a sallow undertone to it, but otherwise she seemed fit, hale, and pretty, with petite but strong features, like a dancer. The fur on her legs looked silky, if a bit matted, and even her horns and hoofs had a certain charm.
The navigator just seemed to grow angrier as I studied her. “Are you just going to stand there and stare? Someone does need a lesson in manners!”
“Will you be the one to teach me?” The tease came out before I thought better of it. Either it was the lack of intellect or a higher charisma; we’d have to see how it turned out.
To my surprise, a grin cracked across her face, but it disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. “Cheeky bastard.” She sighed, and slowly sat up, though the attempt at decorum was undermined by her taking a long draught from the goblet in her hand. “I assume you're here because you need to travel the wilderness in search of far-fetched adventures, am I right?”
“Something like that. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction, give me a few survival tips, stuff like that.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up. “And then what, you'll waltz off on your own and arrive at your destination whole and healthy?”
Something in her tone made me hesitate. “That's the idea,” I said tentatively.
She shook her head, a snide smile spreading. “Then I suppose you haven't heard of the widow willows, so called for the sap that runs down their trunks and branches and traps any who comes near. Or the choker vines that creep up on you while you're sleeping. Not to mention all monsters — craig trolls, the restless dead, dire wolves, goblins — who would love to make a meal of your meat.”
A cold fear started creeping in, from my toes to the hairs on my scalp. I'd nearly been killed by a skeleton warrior. How could I survive all of that on my own?
“Or…” The Satyr straightened up and pawed at her unruly hair. “You could hire a navigator.”
I stared. “You? I'm traveling to J’anteau. Could you make it even outside Stalburgh without collapsing?”
Her hair stood on end like a cat’s. “If you want my help, you're doing a shoddy job of asking for it.”
I wasn't sure if it was her help I needed, but I did need someone to guide me. Until I found out who, it was better to humor her. “Okay. How much would you cost?”
Her eyes suddenly became sharp and shrewd through the cloud of intoxication. “You're an adventurer. That means you'll have an eye for treasure, unless your fine armor misspeaks.” She tossed her head and eyed me. “I'll have half of it.”
“Half?” My eyes nearly fell out of my head. “Of everything I get? No way.”
“Well then,” the navigator said, sitting back. “Have fun with 100% of nothing, plus a bonus brutal death.”
I fumed internally. Unfortunately, I had a feeling she was right. “Try 40/60.”
“42/58.”
I stared at her. “Really?”
She cocked an eyebrow and said nothing.
“Fine,” I muttered. “It
'll waste more time than that 2% is worth.”
“That will depend,” she said. She stuck her hand out, a gleam to her eye now. “Farelle.”
I took it. “Marrow.”
“I'm guessing you have some bones to you then.” She chuckled as we shook.
If this kept up, I'd have to get a new name after all.
You have gained a new companion! Companions can aid in your journey and bring a variety of skills to your party, but will only stay with you for as long as their conditions remain applicable. You may view your companion’s stats at any time.
While I had the opportunity, I decided to do just that:
She at least seemed to be what she was, from her skills — someone with a bit of wilderness experience.
“Well then,” the navigator said, standing unsteadily. “Much to do. We leave this evening I assume?”
“The sooner the better.”
“I’ll skip the bath then. Come back in an hour.”
I eyed her skeptically. “I'll come back in an hour and a half. Wouldn't want to skip hygiene.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I smirked to myself.
Farelle gave me instructions for a spell seller, so while she cleaned herself up and prepared for the long journey, I made my way to his shop. It looked, appropriately enough, like a wizard’s hat, with a decrepit, leaning tower wilting off a circular, sloped roof. The door was cracked open, so I knocked lightly and, after a moment, slowly eased inside.
Though outside was day, the inside was cast in shadows, only alleviated by strangely geometric lanterns casting red and blue light around. A rotund man with the barest beard peered from above his half-moon spectacles. “Yes?” he inquired impatiently.
Absalom’s Fate Page 8