Threadbare Volume 1

by Andrew Seiple

  All save for some who were clustered around a twitching green form some distance away. Red zeroes and ones drifted up, lots of them. Threadbare squinted, and recognized Celia’s dragon toy, fighting desperately for its existence against a mob of minicores. Well, that would never do! He ran over there, waving his arms and making the shadows dance on the trees. The minicores ripping up the little animated toy glanced up and rain for their venomous lives.

  But he’d arrived almost too late. The animated toy was in two pieces, stuffing spilling out of it. The upper part, its torso, wings and head twitched and looked at him with an almost sorrowful expression. Filled with feelings that his little fuzzy form could barely express, Threadbare picked the dragon up in trembling paws. He hugged the toy to him, then turned to glower at the shifting, buglike forms hiding in the trees.

  Then he froze. Up above, far up in the pines, bigger Minicores clung to the branches, ignoring the unease of their brood below. They were on par with the one he’d taken out solo back in the tunnel, but there were about six or seven per tree, at least as far as he could tell.

  He was glad he’d spotted them before he tried climbing out of this place.

  PER +1

  So. What now?

  “Got it!” He heard Jarrik yell from above, and with a screech and a sound of more snapping branches, the large form of the Kittyhawk crashed down below, a little ways away. “Aw man, now we won’t...” the wind picked up, and Threadbare couldn’t hear the rest of the scout’s words. They were pretty far up there.

  Suddenly, the dragon toy twisted, and looked directly at him. Its eyes had shifted, he noticed. They looked almost human now.

  “Threadbare! Oh my gods. Where are you? What is this?” He heard Celia say in his ear, and turned to look for Celia, but didn’t see her. Then it struck him, she was a scout now. Wind’s Whisper was totally a thing she could do, and that was probably it.

  The little dragon toy looked around. Then it tapped Threadbare on the arm with its nose, and pointed off in one direction. Threadbare stared at it. It tapped again, tugged harder.

  Oh!

  INT +1

  Threadbare set off that way, following the dragon’s pointing head, looking around as he went. The bigger minicores stayed to the trees, thankfully, and the small ones shrunk back from his light. For now, he thought he was safe, as long as he didn’t run into anything that wasn’t a minicore and stayed a good distance away from the bigger ones.

  A few minutes later, he came across Celia’s waterskin, the dried jerky that Mordecai’s sons had given her for lunch later, and the sewing kit. Also what looked like a spare set of trousers and some of her underwear.

  Threadbare vaguely remembered seeing some of this stuff spill out of her pack when the winds had ripped him out of it.

  “Good! Listen, Threadbare, I need you to pick up that Tailor’s kit. I can’t mend...” Her words drifted off into hissing “That’s annoying. I can’t mend you from this distance, so you’ll need to sew yourself...” They faded again. A few seconds passed, and Threadbare picked up the tailoring kit. It wasn’t much, just a sturdy wooden box. He opened it to find needles, thread, and scissors inside, as well as several small patches, a few skeins of yarn, and a thimble.

  “I’m going to teach you to be a tailor.” Celia said. “So you can fix yourself and get out of here.”

  A pause, then she spoke again. “Gods this is skilling Wind’s Whisper up fast. Um, here’s what you do...”

  It took the little girl a few more Whispers to get the idea across, but Threadbare got the notion. Once he was sure he had the steps down, he tried the first one; threading the needle.

  Which, as it turned out, was really hard with padded paws.

  DEX +1

  DEX +1

  Finally, more by chance than anything else he got the thread through the loop.

  LUCK +1

  From there, the needle went through one of the patches, pulling the thread along. Then the needle went through the little dragon. Three painstaking and crude stitches and one point of Dex later, Threadbare had sewn the patch to the little dragon.

  By sewing cloth you have unlocked a crafting job; Tailor!

  Do you wish to become a Tailor at this time? y/n?

  Yes, yes he did!

  You are now a level 1 tailor!

  DEX +1

  PER +1

  You have learned the Tailoring Skill!

  Your Tailoring skill is now level 1!

  You have learned the Clean and Press Skill!

  Your Clean and Press skill is now level 1!

  The little dragon followed his movements, and the head nodded. “Okay. Now pick up a patch and start sewing it to yourself. Watch for the...”

  She faded again. Threadbare waited a bit, then decided she wasn’t going to finish the sentence. He tried doing as she said—

  —and stared in amazement as a brown frame of some sort of unknown material appeared right in front of him, just like the words did. This one said “Tailoring” and as he watched it filled in with solid brown color.

  He looked down at his side just as the bar finished filling in, and with a flicker of motion so fast he wasn’t sure he’d seen it, the patch was now sticking to his side.

  Your Tailoring Skill is now level 2!

  You have been healed for 10 points!

  Threadbare tried it a couple of more times. He found out that all he had to do was get the needle in and start a sewing motion, and so long as he fiddled with the needle, the little bar would fill up and the job would complete itself in about ten seconds.

  Which was good, because that patch he’d sewn on the dragon had taken minutes. This was a lot faster. Two more patches and two more tailoring skill uses later, he was feeling much better. He was also running low on patches.

  “Listen, Threadbare,” Celia said in his ear again, “Can you climb out of here now?”

  He pointed up at the trees. The little dragon craned its neck, and studied the clustered large minicores.

  “Okay, that’s a no. Hold on while I talk with the group.”

  After a moment, in between the rising winds, Threadbare heard shouting from above. Mostly Beryl’s voice, though Celia’s was mixed in here and there. It eventually died down.

  “Okay, that’s settled.” Celia’s voice was tight and low. “We’re going to beat up the Kittyhawk again, and go further in...”

  “So just keep moving forward and we should meet up somewhere at someplace Jarrik calls the...”

  “There should be a connection between the two paths. He didn’t know how to get into that hidden area, but you stumbled into...”

  “Oh, and wait a bit. Then see if you can find the Kittyhawk corpses. He says there might be loot...”

  Threadbare nodded, patted the dragon on the head, and looked back in the sewing kit. Only four more patches left. And he was going to have to go through a lot of stuff to get back to his little girl. Would it last? Probably not, not at a flat ten hp per patch.

  What to do?

  He looked around, and then his eyes fell upon the bright, fluffy panties that had spilled out of Celia’s pack. And the trousers, larger than he was.

  Well, patches were just cloth. And cloth was cloth, wasn’t it?

  INT +1

  He hauled out the scissors and got to work, skilling up tailor as he went. He hit level two at the job, happy enough to have the extra dex and per. It wasn’t much, but hey.

  A few minutes later, he had rigged the trouser pockets into carrying packs, and the panties got sewn together into a shirtlike tunic. The stuff he couldn’t wear got cut into patches that went into the tailoring kit. The wooden box would just barely fit into one of the packs, so that was good. That just left one thing to carry.

  You have equipped a Pantunic!

  He studied the dragon toy remnant, and it looked sadly back. It was his link to Celia, at least until it deanimated. He couldn’t carry it in a pack, because she was looking through its eyes somehow. It need
ed to see. It needed to be somewhere it could see without tying up his paws, while he was fighting or climbing or whatever.

  So where could he put it?

  And then he had a wonderful idea!

  Reaching down, he grabbed the dragon toy, carefully moved some of the stuffing back inside it, and stuck it on his head. A few stitches to hold it in place, and it was up there peering around, sitting comfortably above his fuzzy ears.

  You have equipped a Draco Chapeaux!

  And words flashed up, entirely unexpected.

  By creating and showing off your own unique clothing style, you have unlocked the Model job!

  Do you wish to become a Model at this time? y/n?

  Threadbare stood there in his panty-shirt, pockets hanging off of his back, his new hat flapping its wings to stay balanced on his head, considering the new option.

  Then a noise from above, and he broke off ruminating to watch a second Kittyhawk come crashing down. He marked where it fell and went back to considering this... model... thing.

  He really had no clue what a model was or what he’d done of note, but it was a new job, and those made him more powerful. And judging by the things he’d seen in this dungeon, he could use all the power he could get.

  So yes, he guessed he wanted to be a model.

  You are now a level 1 Model!

  +3 AGL

  +3 CHA

  +3 PER

  You have learned the Dietary Restriction skill!

  Your Dietary Restriction skill is now level 1!

  You have learned the Fascination skill!

  Your Fascination skill is now level 1!

  You have learned the Flex skill!

  Your Flex skill is now level 1!

  You have learned the Self-Esteem skill!

  Your Self-Esteem skill is now level 1!

  You have learned the Work It Baby skill!

  Your Work It Baby skill is now level 1!

  Well nuts, it didn’t boost anything he used to fight? Oh well. At least agility would help him get around more easily.

  Right. Next order of business, the Kittyhawk corpses.

  With the dragon’s help, his still fairly-bright glowgleam effect, and his newly increased perception the little bear managed to hunt down the Kittyhawks. The newly-fallen corpse was in the process of being stripped by a swarm of minicores when he arrived, and they were reluctant to leave, even with the light. He had to kill a few, but they eventually broke and fled. Sadly, they weren’t enough of a challenge to give him any boosts, it looked like.

  Rummaging around, he found a rolled up piece of parchment that unrolled to reveal drawings and diagrams for something called a “Wrong Flier.” He didn’t understand any other words of it, and tucked the paper in his pants pocket pack. There was also a small ball of something he’d last seen when Celia was cutting meat out of the goat. Though he didn’t know the word for it, it was a bundle of rolled up intestines, curiously clean even though they’d been recently harvested.

  It didn’t look like much. He considered throwing it away, but decided against it. So far items that monsters dropped had been good to have around, so maybe it would be useful later?

  WIS +1

  Oh, well, that settled it. He pocketed it as well, and started hunting for the other corpse. It took a while, and as he went, his thoughts strayed back to home. He was starting to miss the place. This was a fun adventure and all, but when they were done it would be nice to get back where he belonged. Hopefully Daddy was okay without Celia there to keep an eye on him.

  *****

  By the house at the edge of the hills, in a newly-cleaned workshop, Caradon sat and stared at his enchanting supplies. Golems were resource hogs, and he’d used up every smuggled magic item that Mordecai had brought him this week, disenchanting them and mowing through the entire supply of reagents and crystals. And then he’d disenchanted the last two batches of toy golems that he’d tried, and failed to enhance. That hadn’t returned as many reagents as he’d hoped.

  Sighing, he sat back and did the equations. He had enough left for one more Toy Golem. Not one more batch, one more Toy Golem. He rubbed his knuckles against his eyes.

  First, he needed a toy. The old man rummaged through the bin, found it empty. His daughter had taken all of hers, so that was out, not that he’d touch her toys without her permission anyway. That left one option.

  He drummed his fingers against the wood of the table, turning it over and over in his mind.

  Caradon didn’t want to do it. But he’d been through two batches since Celia had gone, and he felt he was on the cusp of a breakthrough. He could work straight through, without interruptions, without having to spare time to tend to her, or mind the house. One good push might do it.

  He had to stop holding back.

  Caradon went back to the house, rubbed Pulsiver as the cat purred against his leg as soon as he got through the door, and made his way upstairs to the attic. And once there, with only the cat looking on, he dug out the trunk he’d hidden safely away oh so many years ago. Trembling, he opened it, and snatched up the loose sack inside, feeling the weight of the contents. He started to open it, then stopped. No, no. Not here.

  Downstairs, at the broad table, with only Emmet and Pulsivar looking on, he poured himself a glass of wine and felt his sanity refill a bit while he drained it. Then he opened the sack, pulling out two things. A framed portrait of a smiling woman, and an old, ragged teddy bear. Six inches tall, with jet black fur, it stared at him as he held it up. One button eye clattered off as the moth-eaten thread gave way, and Caradon sighed.

  “Hello Missus Fluffbear.” Caradon put down the toy, and looked at the portrait, feeling a lump swell up in his throat. “Hello Amelia.” He took a breath, two, three, until he could speak again. “Ten years gone, and I’ve never missed you more. No man should outlive...” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I’m sorry, but I have to borrow Missus Fluffbear. Will you... don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

  Pulsivar purred like a buzzsaw and rubbed against his calves, and Caradon picked up the fat cat, grunting as he did so. He scratched Pulsivar’s neck, and waited until the tears that threatened his eyes had subsided.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes. Thank you, Amelia.” Caradon put Pulsivar to the side, and picked up Missus Fluffbear. Then he dug out his sewing kit and got to work.

  Ten minutes later, in his workshop, he made the final pass of his enchanting wand over the little bear, and the crystals and dust he’d arranged in arcane patterns around her glowed, disappearing as magical patterns flared over her body. The vessel was ready.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stumbled out of the workshop, pounding his fist against the door frame, barely holding in his disappointment. Another one! Another stunted little barely-intelligent thing! He’d sacrificed Amelia’s childhood toy, her favorite, for what?

  In fury, he turned back to look at the failed experiment, his still-running eye for detail showing every pathetic detail of its anemic status screen, screaming in wordless frustration...

  ...and Missus Fluffbear cowered away from him, putting its paws over its head.

  He sighed, feeling his anger ebb. Sure, it was only due to its adorable skill, but...

  Wait a minute.

  Its charisma... hadn’t it been sixteen, when he’d first checked the little toy?

  Now it was seventeen.

  He blinked, as his eye for detail faded.

  Implications crashed in on him, but he shook his head. It hadn’t responded to the invite. But it had just gained an attribute point, something lesser golems couldn’t do.

  On the edge, so close to completing the equation, he unbound the little golem from its place on the shelf, and picked it up, hugging it to him. It was stiff in his arms for a bit.

  “Hug,” Caradon said, and hugged the bear once more. “Hug means this.” He embraced it once more, then held it out.

  And Missus Fluffbear looked at him solemnly, then held her arms out for anot
her hug.

  Caradon gasped, as her intelligence ticked up from five to six.

  “I’ve been a fool. I’ve been a damned, stupid old fool.” He hugged the tiny teddy bear, and now the tears slid freely down his face. “What have I done?” The empty spaces on the shelves where dozens of test subjects had sat haunted him, and he turned his face away. “It doesn’t make supergolems. It makes golems into people.”

  Noise from outside, a rumbling crash, and that’s all the warning he got before the wall of the workshop exploded, and a rock the size of his dining room table rolled towards him. He yelled and jumped back, dropping Missus Fluffbear in the process—

  —and the boulder swerved, the damned rock hit some tiny obstacle and swerved, heading straight for the prone form of Missus Fluffbear.

  “No! Animus!” Caradon shouted at his chair, “Invite, ah, Chairy Mcchairface!” Split seconds to go as the rock tumbled, but now the chair was in his party, and subject to his buffs and will, and it scooped Missus Fluffbear up and fled the workshop at Caradon’s heels as the thoroughly random rock took out another wall and rumbled to a stop.

  A short distance away, Caradon stared at it, then stared upslope, at an outcropping which now looked decidedly less sturdy than it had this morning. “That stone shelf has been up there for years. That’s an odd stroke... of... bad... luck....” A horrible thought filled him, and he looked back at Missus Fluffbear.

  Sitting calmly in her chair, she held her arms out for a hug.

  And to his horror, he realized that her luck had just gone up. From four to five.

  “Oh no. No, no, no.”

  From behind him, he heard the call of Screaming Eagles on the hunt. Eagles, plural.

  He grabbed Fluffbear and ran.

  Hours later, after the last monster was dead, the fires were out, and Emmet was stomping around the yard hauling monster carcasses away, a haggard and exhausted Caradon looked at the battered but triumphant Raggedy Men. The wards on the house had been damaged a bit, but that was fine.

  “Two greens,” he told Missus Fluffbear as he put his hand of cards down, and she considered, and put down two blues.

  “Good! You win!” He patted her head, and she wiggled with pleasure, something that Pulsivar might have done. Not that the cat had much opportunity to teach her. He'd taken a look at her and fled, for no reason Caradon could tell. “Keep playing grindluck,” he told her, studying her status screen’s thirteen luck with his eye for detail. “We’re going to be here a while.”