by Albion, Rex
“Dress. You mean a dress.”
“Now, now, that’s very judgemental of you. The kilt has a long and noble history and I’m sure all your ancestors wore them,” Roxy said.
“Firstly, it doesn’t have that long a history and wasn’t nearly as popular as people think. Secondly, I don’t think you suggested it because it’s practical and I don’t think they got all dressed up to chop down trees even when it did get invented. Thirdly, I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine with these loose trousers and an ordinary shirt,” Vandal said.
“At least you took my suggestions on the evening wear,” Roxy sighed.
“It’s a bit more on the frilly shirt end of things than I expected, but it does at least seem to blend in with the locals I’ve seen.”
“Can we afford the mail shirt then?” Roxy asked.
“Yes, that’s no problem.”
“What about armour for you?”
Vandal shook his head. “I’m going to skip that on this trip and make do. Your healing is good, and I think I can manage easily for now.”
“If you insist.”
Vandal brought up the shared screen for their group kitty. They’d split some of the money they’d earned so they’d each have some coins if they needed them for sundry items. But they had put the rest into a pool to spend on things that would benefit them both and build up their home. It was easier to visualise what they’d found that they could sell, and they could add shopping lists and resources to it as well.
“See? Those are things that might be useful to me for an upgrade, but once you stack them up it gets really expensive,” Vandal said, pointing at his armour wish list.
“As long as you’re sure it isn’t better to get you some armour instead of me?”
“I’m not, not really but I think we’ve coped well and that we’re more likely to find something that fits me, than something that fits you.”
“That is a good point. Big humans are much more common so far than short goblins and dwarves that we’d fight.”
They arrived at Hammer & Tongs Armoury and waited patiently for the proprietor to finish serving a grumpy looking Awoken dwarf, who barged past them on the way out. Roxy was about to say something to him, but Vandal put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.
“What a rude prick,” Roxy said.
“Yes, but he’s a rude level twelve prick right now, so let’s not upset him, shall we?”
“My apologies, holy ones. My last customer was a bit upset because an item didn’t fit him well. He’s usually more civil than that,” Rorg Mailsmith said.
“Didn’t he try it on?”
“He insisted that it didn’t need adjustment, against my objection. The customer is always right,” Rorg said, with a shrug.
“What mistake did he make that we shouldn’t? Not enough give around the waist for a big dinner?” Roxy asked.
Rorg cleared his throat, “Perhaps not to be talked about in front of a lady?”
“I’m no wilting flower, Rorg,” Roxy laughed. “I’m intrigued now, I have to know. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Amoria would expect me to keep your confidence.”
The dwarf took a sidestep so he could see no-one had come in behind them, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “He’d ordered an armoured codpiece after a tough fight where he regretted not having one. I said, it needed to be bigger and have more padding and he needed to let me measure him properly, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Bigger? Is he particularly well hung or something?” Vandal laughed.
Rorg smirked and shook his head. “I’m not entirely certain, since he was too embarrassed to show me. But the size and the padding and fitting it properly aren’t about having a big John Thomas to show off, your pardon M’Lady,” Rorg said.
“No problem. This sounds a lot like trying to get fitted for anything. Always take the advice of the experts. It saves a lot of time and chafing in the long run.”
“Chafing is one problem. But if you insist that you don’t want a big codpiece that looks like you’re trying to show off, you’ve got a whole other problem,” Rorg shrugged.
“I get that though, lots of guys seem to have them made so big it’s obvious they’re lying.”
Rorg laughed heartily. “You’re walking into the same trap Grumpy McMiserable did, young Vandal. Even the most blessed lad has very little to stuff away until a beautiful lady perks him up. The codpiece isn’t about protecting your meat, lad. It’s armour for your balls. Tell me, have you ever heard a man say, ‘Oh, right in the cock?’”
Vandal laughed. “Right, no. I see what you mean. So, he put on his ill-fitting codpiece, went out again and?”
“Got kicked in the balls by an orc, with insufficient padding and just a nice firm target to crush his balls against his crotch,” Rorg confirmed. “Oh, it was a very refined and elegant piece, but he wouldn’t let me explain it was made for a dwarven ball game we play around here. I mean, with a ball and a bat that is, not the other meaning. Also, it was for a boy half his size and the object of the game is not to kick each other in the nuts. Thus, the item was wholly inadequate.”
Vandal winced sympathetically while Roxy laughed. “No wonder he was pissed off. I hope he didn’t take it out on you.”
Rorg sighed. “He’s still upset but I directed him to a good healer who should soothe his pain.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Not really, she charges a fortune, and has absolutely no patience for fools,” Rorg smirked. “She also runs a school for new healers so Grumpy is about to find that his precious swollen and bruised bollocks are a case study for students, and he’ll be paying for the privilege most handsomely. I’m sure he’ll be more amenable to a little temporary embarrassment of a fitting in the future.”
“That’s a stroke of genius, there, Rorg. I promise, if I’m ever being as dense as that, just pull me up short and I’ll listen,” Vandal said. “I have no desire to be crushed by an orc’s boot.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you both. I’ll let you know if you’re making a bad choice but you two don’t strike me as the type who won’t listen. Now, I assume you came in here to decide if you were buying that mail shirt I showed you, yesterday?” Rorg asked.
“That’s right, Vandal is convinced his armour can wait, and we made our other purchases so we are sure we can afford it right now,” Roxy said.
Rorg nodded, “It’ll serve you well and it’ll give you a fair price for it when you want something better. Mail gets handed down from father to daughter, through the generations and can be repaired quite well. Unless you store it in salt water or acid, I suppose.”
“Do you have a codpiece that might fit Vandal though? I’m suddenly concerned for his well-being,” Roxy smirked.
“Do you want one that will humble him, or actually work if he gets kicked in the fork?” Rorg chortled.
“Can it tell if he’s being a pain in the neck and work accordingly?” Roxy asked sweetly.
Rorg laughed. “No, but I’ll have to tell my wife that one. A whole new range of gift codpieces might be popular if we can work out such an enchantment. Guaranteed to protect your jewels, as long as you’ve a happy wife! I can see it now.”
“I think I’m going to vote for something with lots of padding. I’m not shy about being measured either,” Vandal said.
“Young lady, would you mind stepping outside while I fit him? Nothing private, it’s just that younger gentlemen either wilt away or stand proud if a pretty lady sees them with their trousers down. The second one does tend to delay the fitting process,” Rorg said, with a wink. Roxy laughed and left them to it, saying she’d be looking at the shops nearby when Vandal was done.
Rorg was quick and professional about his business, and Vandal didn’t have any problems. He’d be walking away with a second hand, fur lined pair of leather underwear, with extra padding where it mattered and a metal cup. It was actually pretty comfortable.
“You should probably give th
at a thorough wash though, before you wear it for long. It’s been in the shop a while and I can’t remember what the barbarian who sold it to me was like. Some seem to take the whole thing a bit far and ignore the need to wash,” Rorg shuddered.
“Noted. I’ll wear my own home and get this thoroughly disinfected then,” Vandal said, as he pulled his pants up and made himself presentable. “The tribe I’m from are very keen on personal hygiene.”
“I could tell you some stories about necromancers. If you ever loot anything useful from one of that lot, don’t wear it without cleansing magic, unless you fancy getting on first name terms with an apothecary,” Rorg said.
Vandal laughed and went outside to fetch Roxy. That’s when he saw him again. The same man he’d chased. Roxy was across the street, looking at what appeared to be a jewellery shop. The cultist was approaching her from behind, and she was completely oblivious to him. A glint of metal in his hand revealed his knife.
“Roxy!” Vandal shouted as he sprinted across the street. She turned, seeing Vandal first then the cultist and his raised knife. Her eyes went wide in alarm and Vandal lost sight of her.
A wagon that was moving at speed down the street, blocked Vandal’s path for a second as the driver screamed at him to clear the road. His heart thumped in his chest as he dodged around the obstruction, and he heard the distinctive crack of Roxy’s lightning spell and a feminine scream of pain.
He pulled up short when he saw her, alone and looking more pissed off and angry than hurt. “Fuck, that hurts,” she spat, as blood dripped between the fingers she’d clamped down over a bloody gash on her arm. The cultist was nowhere to be seen.
“Here, hold this,” she said, thrusting her staff at Vandal and pulling out her fetish. It didn’t take long for her healing to deal with the bloody wound, but Vandal was having trouble calming down.
“I’m sorry, I should have been here,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roxy said. “We had no reason to think we were in danger. We’ll have to be more careful in future. I don’t imagine we’ll need to get your dick measured very often though so it probably won’t be a problem.”
Vandal laughed in relief as he followed Roxy back to the shop, if she was cracking jokes, she was probably fine.
“What happened?” Rorg asked as they opened the door, he was carrying a shield and an axe and had been on his way to find out it seemed.
“Some cutpurse took a swipe at me,” Roxy said, holding up her blood-soaked arm. “But we scared him off, don’t worry.”
Rorg sighed and put his gear away. “Tinshire usually isn’t so bad as this, but all sorts of strange things have happened in recent months. Rumours of violence and people going missing. I hope the Guard can restore order soon.”
“We’re helping them with some of that, as it happens,” Vandal said, not wanting the dwarf to worry unduly. “Don’t worry about us though, we have Amoria’s blessings to protect us. We’ll be more cautious in future.”
“Did you get his measurements?” Roxy asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, all done. Ten inches, I’d say. Your man is blessed,” Rorg said, distractedly.
“Wait, no, we didn’t do that!” Vandal protested. Roxy laughed heartily.
“Hah, just pulling your leg, Vandal,” Rorg said. “He’s got what he needs.”
“He’s got more than enough for my needs,” Roxy agreed. “Oh, you meant a codpiece?”
Vandal sighed. “Alright, if you two have quite finished. How much do we owe you, Rorg?”
“The codpiece is five gold, the mail shirt sixty-five,” Rorg said, and Roxy counted over the coins from their group kitty.
“Great, thanks, Rorg. We’ll be sure to come back as soon as we’re ready for more armour,” Vandal said.
“Don’t wait too long, you can spend gold if you’re dead in a dungeon for want of a good helmet,” Rorg advised.
“We won’t,” Roxy said. “We were hoping to learn about how to find our own resources before we head out into the forest again. What herbs might be worth picking up and how to find raw materials that artisans might need. Can you point us to someone who can teach us?”
“Ay, the guilds have trainers who can teach you that, and sell you the tools you’ll want as well. You’ll know you’re in the right place when you see the street sign,” Rorg said, giving them a few directions.
“Thanks. How will we know from the sign?” Vandal asked.
Rorg smiled. “It’s imaginatively called Guilders Street.”
“That should be easy to remember,” Roxy agreed.
“That it should,” Rorg said, as they waved goodbye.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Have you decided what you want to get?” Roxy asked.
“I’m thinking of picking up Forestry and Mining for now. I’m pretty sure we can get more if we want though, right?”
“Yes, it just means more time to level them all up and get the best things we can find with them.”
“We don’t have to worry about picking the ‘wrong’ one then, which is much better than some ways of doing it. I’m sure we can trade for anything we don’t have.”
“Plus, we’ll grow the Hamlet as soon as we can, then people will be gathering from the other professions around us,” Roxy said.
“Do you know what you want to learn then?”
“Gardening, so I can grow flowers, and Herbalism so I can pick the wild ones,” Roxy said.
“Gardening, really? I suppose it won’t hurt for us to have some decoration,” Vandal said, not really believing it was worth having. When they got the crafting professions at some point, raw resources were going to be crucial. His forestry and mining would let him build their home out as well.
“Flowers are for the daily quest for the Temple, remember?”
Light dawned. “You can grow them? That’s a great idea. Pick what we see but we don’t have to hunt for them.”
“Even better, I’ll be able to grow herbs and vegetables and things as well with seeds and as my herbalism increases. They complement each other well, it’s not just for growing roses. Decorations make the locals who live in your area happy as well.”
“Right, so they’ll be more productive. I stand corrected,” Vandal said, as they arrived in Guilder Street.
The buildings were quite varied, in size and construction technique. The Stonemasons Guild was a large and ornate example of the peak of their artisanship. It had turrets and crenelations it surely didn’t need, and each doorway was flanked by gargoyles and detailed stonework.
The Miner’s Guild was a much simpler building, using the black wooden beams and white wattle and daub walls that were common throughout Tinshire, in the reasonably well-off areas at least. The door was wide open and made to look like the entrance to a huge mine, which sloped down into an underground area. A side door nearby gave access to the ground floor.
The Forester’s Guild was built out like a log cabin, only the first four stories were a circular tower, topped with a much wider platform that housed another two stories that hung over their garden. The roof was covered in dark green wooden shingles and the whole thing resembled a huge tree. It was a little on the nose, but there was no mistaking each building for what it was.
The Carpenters and Woodworkers Guild was opposite and displayed a less rustic approach to a wooden building, with plenty of workshops around it. It seemed pretty clear that some of the guilds did a lot of practical business right there on their large properties. Of course, a forester didn’t need much more than an office and a meeting hall to do business in, he supposed.
The Gardener’s and Herbalists Guilds seemed to share a plot of land, surrounded by a brick wall. An outsized thatched cottage held the gardeners' rooms, and the herbalists had a three-storey stone tower.
They had a quick discussion about joining some crafting guilds straight away but decided to come back another time and keep their guild fees. The miners were closest, and a pair of old men sat in the
garden around the building, playing cards and gossiping, pointed them toward the underground entrance and wished them good fortune.
It turned out they had a tin mine on the site, and a trainer took a small fee, sold Vandal a bag, an old pickaxe and spent half an hour showing him enough to dig up some ore. There was a bit of physical effort to it, but the basic process wasn’t complicated. He was told he could come back and learn more when he was ready to mine more metals. Now that he had the skill, he could see some ore deposits on his mini-map.
New Skill: Mining. You have been given a new skill because you joined a guild.
Roxy had waited up near the old men, enjoying the sunshine with them. When he was finished, he found her casting her healing magic on both of them.
“Bless you, your holiness,” one of the old codgers said. “My knee hasn’t felt so good in years. Not since that Hobgoblin in the deep mine shot his poisoned arrow into it!”
“Hah! Don’t you believe it young, miss. You’re a terrible liar, Fred. His knee gives him aches because he got drunk and hit it with his own pickaxe,” Bert the retired miner guffawed. “Hobgoblin shot him in the knee, indeed. How gullible do you think a Cleric of Amoria is, eh Fred?”
“I don’t know why you’ve always got to tell people, you miserable old bugger. It don’t hurt none, to tell a tale now and then,” Bert grumbled. “My apologies, Priestess. Just a harmless yarn.”
“Don’t fret about it, Bert,” Roxy laughed. “I’m sure Fred has a good line in tall tales too.”
“I do, as it happens. Stop by sometime if you want to hear some. I’ve never met a hobgoblin, but I was in some scrapes when I was dumb enough to be a sapper in the army,” Fred said. “Difference is, I let my audience know when my yarn is a yarn, and when it’s something that actually happened to me, or someone else. Thank you for sorting out my foot. On which, for the record, I dropped a fork just the other day, while I was gardening. Bloody hurt, it did. Didn’t need no monster to attack me. Injured myself all on my own, like a proper bloody idiot!”
Roxy laughed. “Well, I’m glad I could ease your aches and pains, chaps. Thank you for keeping me company while Vandal learned a bit about your trade.”