Chapter 12 - LFG! (Patreon)

When I made it to over to the smithy, I already felt like things were going my way. It looked to be a beautiful day, I had my to-do list all plotted out and I could already see Lyle, Atlas and me leaving the village in search for adventure. Just two minutes later, karma, as well as Lyle's father, were doing their darndest to dissuade me of that notion.

"What do you mean, he's not available?"

"You deaf, fiddle boy? You got his leg broken, now he's doing moron work in the back until it heals. Oughta teach him."

"But...why? It's what he wants to do." If this were a cartoon, steam would be rising from my head.

He grunted. It was a good grunt. A sound that carried a whole conversation in itself - something along the line of: "You're starting to get on my nerves, and I wouldn't mind working out some of the anger issues I've been having with a good pummeling." 

I could feel my shoulders sinking. "Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?"

His frown grew to even more epic proportions, and he crossed his arms in front of his impressive chest, shaking his head. 

Then a spark grew in his eyes he clearly came up with something - and for the briefest moment, I thought I'd gotten through to him - right up until his gravelly voice announced: "Don't try getting Mallard to heal him either. We had a chat."

That really didn't leave much room for interpretation, and I was forced to admit defeat. With weary feet, I turned around and started walking away. In the distance, I could see Jeb come running with a heavy bag bouncing on his shoulders, but when he came closer and saw my expression, he slowed to a walk and, blessedly, didn't ask me anything.

I forced myself to stop whining and reconsider my position. All right, it was going to be a party of two, so what? If anything, my needs for preparation had just lessened, as I didn't have to factor Lyle into the equation. I wiped the frown off my face.

"So Lyle isn't coming after all." I looked at the bulky bag Jeb was toting. "Here, let me take that one - looks like your dad has been busy in the kitchen."

He handed it over and did something unusual for him - looked me straight in the eye. "There's also three gold in there. Da din't have time to talk to the Council - he won't say nothin', but it's his money. Don't you let 'im down, mister."

"I won't. Gillem has done so much for - I just won't. Did you manage to grab a hold of the tailor?"

"Yup. Took care of it. Oh, 'n Da says Greck'll be waiting for you at his spot, whatever that means. Want to go over n' pick up the clothes now?"

"By all means - lead the way." We'd crossed half the village, when I noticed that we were heading for the Harbormaster's home and I turned to Jeb in query: "Who is the tailor again?"

He didn't quite conceal the eye roll. "Mr. Callahan's son? Garrett Callahan?"

Oh. Yeah, I think I had heard something to that effect at some point. A son with fashion sense also explained why Grant Callahan was always impeccably dressed.

The tailor's shop was an unobtrusive one. As a matter of fact, at first I mistook it for a servant's entrance to the large mansion in which the Harbormaster resided. There were no signs, no clothes on display or even windows showing the goods - but then again, there's be no need for that in a village the size of Grant's Crossing. Jeb strode into the building like he owned the place, and I trailed along. After a few steps, I had to stop and let my eyes acclimatize themselves, as I'd just entered an entirely different world. Overall, I got the same sensory overload as when I'd entered Chertog's shed for the first time, only the owner's fixation here was clearly with clothes.

The room in itself was rather plain, I assumed - constructed with unpainted plank floors and little adornments. Apart from the counter at the end of the room and a door behind the counter, it was kept entirely free from furniture. When I say ‘I assumed’ it was plain, I mean that I basically could only see the ceiling and most of the floor. Everything else was covered floor to ceiling. Along the left wall, fabric samples were arranged, color-coded and with a clear progression from coarser materials to finer. Along the right, finished dresses and full suits were arranged on finely painted mannequins along the entire wall, while an intricate wire system displayed an overwhelming number of single pieces. I practically salivated - why on Earth had I ever gone to Mrs. Bertinga to shop for clothes, when there was a selection as stunning and beautiful as this one right next door?

I was still frozen two steps past the doorway, taking it all in, when a loud voice boomed out into the room: "At long last you have returned. My greatest challenge. My nemesis. Will you finally allow me to outfit you in style?" I turned from a classic two-piece suit (A marvellous sight - flawlessly fashioned in white and made from something that looked like silk - but I digress) in time to gape at the sight striding in. He was clearly a half-orc - no doubt there. The greyish green skin tone and the large fangs gave it away. His sense of style, however, was simply flawless. He wore dark blue, well-tailored suit pants combined with a set of leather shoes finer than anything I'd ever owned in the real world, a brown, wide belt with an elaborate golden buckle and a white shirt. All in all, he looked like someone who'd just stepped out of a menswear commercial.

Jeb, however, was less impressed. "Y'still calling me ugly? Cause you know I ain't having none of that." 

The half-orc dismissed the notion with a wave of his hands: "Never, my tiny Drizzlefog friend. I'm just saying that you could be so much more if you let me bedeck you with a suit of clothing or three - as befits the son of a Council member." Only then did he appear to notice me - and he promptly ignored Jeb, crossing the space in three long strides. "Now, what have we here? The notorious newcomer I've heard about, I presume - Arcangelo, was it? Garrett Callahan at your beck and call."

I shook his hand, taking great pains - literally - not to show how he was crushing my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And believe me, if I'd known about this place, I would've stopped by earlier." I gestured at the surrounding merchandise, marvelling at the quality and variety of it all. "Could you...tell me a little about what you do and can do?"

Jeb piped in from the side "Oh, now you did it." and went off to throw himself into the single unoccupied chair in the corner of the room.

Garrett, however...At times you can literally tell from a person's eyes if you hit upon a subject that they love. His eyes practically sparkled, and his polite smile was spilling over into a wide grin. "I'd love to. But let's start with what I don't do. I don't just make clothes. Anybody with a hint of skill can make clothes, mend a tear or rejuvenate an old shirt with some dye. What I do is different and arguably more difficult. I assess a person. Then I inquire as to who that person wants to be. And afterwards, I help them become that person." He gestured with one hand. "As you can see, I do not lack for possibilities. The real challenge lies in defining exactly what you want to achieve." His grin intensified. "So, tell me, illustrious tavern bard and defier of demonologists: Who do you endeavor to be?"

I opened my mouth to answer and was brought short. Suddenly, I realized that I hadn't really thought it through. Who exactly would I want to become within the game? Obviously, aiming for fame or infamy was right out. "Can I get back to you on that one? I really don't know just yet." I responded.

He chuckled. "That is on par with the average response I get. Take our tiny friend over there, who is currently scuffing the upholstery of my chair. He hasn't figured out what he wants in life. A plethora of paths are available to him, but the deciding is tough. Of course, I have offered to make him something more general for everyday use until he comes to know himself, but he refuses. And thus." He raised his voice. "He remains looking like the world's tiniest vagabond." 

The only response from the corner was a rude gesture, and Garrett let out a booming laugh. Clearly, this was not the first time Jeb and Garrett had gone back and forth over the subject.

I was intrigued, however. The only way I could interpret his words were that he would tailor items to shape the skills, and looks of course, in the direction that the buyer wanted. What if I asked for several sets of clothes going in different directions? "I will most definitely get back to you when I've given it proper thought. Please tell me though: How do you get by out here? I mean, there's a limited clientele and - well, looking at the villagers in general, they don't exactly give the impression that they were clothed by you." 

His laughter rang out once again. "Yes, they do look like they spend the majority of the day wallowing in mud, don't they?" He grimaced. "Truth is, I would assuredly do a lot better in a larger city, but this is where I am. Would you want a person with my skills to spend the day sewing rough linen garb? Pfah. I know who I am, and I will continue to pursue my goals." He winked. "As long as my father continues to support me. Our villagers really do not pay me much."

A burst of involuntary laughter escaped me.

He continued unabashed, a gleam in his eyes. "I do not intend to belittle my fellow villagers - even the scruffy ones." The last part was clearly a jibe at Jeb again. "Most of them cannot afford my services, and those who can often misunderstand the point, and save their clothes for special occasions instead of proudly showing off their true selves every single day. I do have high hopes for Grant's Crossing though. Now and again, I convince a person to actually embrace themselves, and it is glorious. Take Gillem, for instance. They are not the most glorious of outfits, but they are undeniably him."

Come to think of it, Gillem always looked pretty dashing. He had a sort of roguish pirate thing going on that definitely worked for him. I nodded in agreement. "“They do become him – and give a bit of a hint to his nature too, I’d say. Now, I believe that I personally could do with something a tiny bit more fancy – but like I said, I’ll have to think it over. What about a person who might need to act differently in different situations?”

His brows scrunched? up in confusion. “I'm not sure I follow that train of thought. You don't want to come across as yourself?"

I shrugged. "It's just a thought I had. Being a bard requires you to perform a lot on-stage, but off stage, I'm not the most extroverted of people. Could you do that?"

"I - I would have to think it over. Your argument makes sense, yet I'm not sure this is something I can condone." He seemed genuinely disturbed at the thought.

I gave him a small smile. "If you can't, it's not a problem at all - and like I mentioned, I'll need some time myself to figure out which path I want to choose anyway." 

We shook hands, and I left the shop along with Jeb who seemed bored to tears at the exchange. I, on the other hand, simply adored Garrett. He was a complete eccentric - hell, "weirdo" wasn't too far off - but he was genuine and true to his character. Also, I couldn't find any flaws with his vision to make people live up to their best and become well-dressed in the process.

I grinned at the thought that all NPCs in the game were based on actual personalities - seems like they'd used all the weird personalities for Grant's Crossing. Ah, well - better get on with it. I asked Jeb to run ahead of me and run interference if he spotted our sable-haired beauty. Odds were pretty good that Atlas would come warn me when she woke up, but..."trust but verify" sounded like the sensible approach at that moment.

The garish front of Mrs. Bertinga's store was a complete counterpoint to the stark functionality of the tailor, but entering the shop still left me at ease - the jumble of items inside the store gave off the same relaxing and slightly dusty feeling, like entering an old antique store. Jeb stayed outside to keep watch.

Outwardly, Mrs. Bertinga fit the bill as well, and I could easily understand how people were taken in by her act. Looking at her standing there behind the counter, hands folded and eyes downturned, she was the spitting image of a kindly old grandmother. Of course, I knew better by now. "Hey Mrs. Bertinga." I walked briskly up to her with a grin on my face. "How much did you fleece that poor caravan merchant for?"

She looked up, and her grandmotherly demeanor was replaced with a fiendish grin. "A lady does not kiss and tell, my dear Arcangelo. Now, as for fleecing - what can I do for you today?"

I lined up my requests - varied as they were - and added how I would love to learn more about Tinkering as well.

She looked at me with a disapproving frown. "Now, now. Do you recall what I told you about my opinion on Tinkering?"

"Yes, that the essence is experimentation and learning how everything works for yourself. And I agree - it's just... Well, I'm off for straits unknown, where the result could actually make a great deal of difference for Grant's Crossing - and I'd hate to fail because I lacked the knowledge to perform well."

At that, the tiny woman gave me a brilliant smile. "Oh, you Reborn types. It's always ‘national emergency’ this, ‘only you can help me’ that. Arcangelo, dear, it takes more than a pretty face to make me go back on my principles."

I relented and we got down to the haggling. 10 minutes later, we shook hands in agreement, and I forked over almost every single coin I had and the ornate silver ring I'd found near the Clutch Mother. This left me with a paltry 8 silver. I watched in growing excitement, as she started piling items up on the desk. Inside of me, a sense of adventure was slowly starting to build, and I carefully built my own pile of items next to hers with things for identifying. 

Without Lyle at my side, I'd have to settle for less than I actually would like to buy. No tent, no length of rope, no luxury items. I'd be hard pressed just to carry all the items I already had in my inventory plus the bed roll I was purchasing - not to mention if I were to get in a combat situation. I did get me a huge pile of crafting materials - more than enough for everything I had already amassed - and then I got me some fun stuff. Mrs. Bertinga had dusted off a nice selection of jewelry, and I ended up purchasing two rings and two bronze armbands. One ring gave a +1 to Endurance and the other a +1 to Perception. Now, I know, stacking Charisma would seem like the wise choice, but unfortunately Exogenics had gone the old-fashioned route - only one item boosting a specific stat or skill would count. The armband was the real kicker of the deal though.

Already feeling quite happy with my transaction, I practically bounced in anticipation while Mrs. Bertinga checked over my unidentified items. She handed them over one by one, after she was done investigating.

The first items were Berthold's axes. "I recognize these, dear. Ugly things. At least, I am confident that you will put them to a more noble use than Berthold himself, Girelle guide his soul."

"Noble" was maybe a bit of an exaggeration - but I suppose that with Berthold as the starting point, pretty much whatever I decided to do was an improvement. The axes themselves, however, were pretty impressive:

Thirsty Blackened Iron axes.

This matched set of short hand axes are fabricated for no-nonsense heavy use. The hickory handles are wrapped in leather for a better grip, and they are balanced for throwing. The serrated edges of the blackened iron axe heads ensure that any major cut will result in an ugly, wide wound and increase bleeding.

Damage: 5-20

Causes bleeding damage: 1/second for 30 seconds.

So, definitely good items, but not exactly a match for Lyle or me. I'd hang on to them though - they were too good to sell. Hmm - maybe Lyle would be interested in an alternative to his 1-hand approach when I returned?

Investigating the earrings made Mrs. Bertinga smile in appreciation. "I've always been fond of these - I actually had a ring like this in my younger days. Some time I'll have to tell you about those days, love. Or the nights, especially. Oh, the adventures."

I desperately tried to stop myself from thinking which kinds of nightly adventures the kindly old grandmother had engaged in during her youth. "Ok? So what do they do?"

She looked like she was lost, reminiscing. "What? Oh, they give you the ability to regain your stamina once a day. Quite useful if you're engaging in...strenuous activities, if you catch my drift."

Pass. Hard pass. "Of course - like in a battle," I said, desperately trying to steer the subject to safer straits.

She tittered. "Exactly, love." and handed over the earrings.

Silver earring of Second Wind.

This earring is formed from nine tiny chain links forged in exquisite detail from bronze, silver, and gold. The chain is attached to three studs, allowing the earring to adorn the entire length of the ear.

Grants Second Wind. Once a day upon activation, regain up to 100 stamina.

10/10 uses.

Wonderful. Had I only had those during our battle with the Dawnlight Soarers, I wouldn’t have been a hairsbreadth from respawning - I could just have regained stamina and pummeled the living hell out of that last kamikaze bird.

The mysterious box with the six glass orbs, however, caused a bit of troubles for her. First, she gave the box itself a thorough investigation. Then she opened it and proceeded to scrutinize the orbs themselves, and following that, removed them to look closer at the inside of the box. Her initial curious glance was slowly replaced by a scowl, which deepened for every minute that passed. It must have been at least a full ten minutes when she stood up and stretched her back. "Well, aren't you a guarantee for mysteries. First you toss a fury gland on my table, and now? I can feel the magic inside both the box itself and the orbs, but I have no idea what they are. Where did you get them?"

My mind sped up. I couldn't tell her everything about what I'd found under the warlock's tower, or the unknown killer might learn that their secret wasn't buried anymore. Sooo - white lie? White lie. "Do you know that hill just outside the village? The one that gives you such a wonderful view of the village and the Jagged Rush? When I'm outside the village, I often pause there before returning to the village. Well, the other day I noticed that some animal had been digging around among the rubble and spotted the corner of this little beauty inside the hole. Does that mean there's nothing to learn from it?" 

Her eyes lit up, and she left me with a mumbled. "Wait right here Arcangelo." Shortly thereafter, she returned, carrying a small, tattered notebook. When she opened it, flipping through the pages, I could tell that a lot of the pages were dog-eared and filled with scribbled additions. Promptly, she slammed down the notebook in front of me with a loud "I knew it!"

The words in the notebook were neat and easy to read: "My correspondance has surely been one large learning experience. While I still hope for my unnamed warlock informer to divulge his name at some point, everything I have been able to confirm elsewhere rings true. What he included in our last correspondance arouses a bit of trepidation in me, however. He  has often explained how the process of creating the basis - the essence and mind - of a golem is costly and difficult.  However, if I interpret this correctly, a warlock will be able to bind these crafted essences to a physical object - a soulstone - in theory allowing for the warlock to hoard the basis of a personal army of unthinking soldiers. I am beginning to suspect that the vilification demonologists are exposed to might actually be better suited to warlocks. Admittedly, I'm not certain how these soulstones are supposed to look, but apparently, the center of the soulstone contains a “floating, misty substance with the color indicating the origin of the essence,” whatever that entails."

Mrs. Bertinga looked at me expectantly.

 “So, you’re telling me that these shinies right before me are actually the basis for creating six frigging golems that’ll respond only to me?” Holy personal bodyguard Batman!

 “Language, Arcangelo.” She admonished. “It’s of course not as simple as all that. If I’m right and if these soulstones are functional, you’d still need somebody to create the golem bodies and activate them – however that might work. You might have noticed that warlocks are not exactly welcomed around these parts.” That last part was delivered with a decent dose of sarcasm. Before I could butt in, she continued. “As a matter of fact, if I were you, I would hesitate to mention these objects to anybody from the village. In larger cities, you will find that warlocks do not have half the bad reputation that they do around here and might be able to receive some guidance." She paused for a moment before continuing: "Unless of course you don't care to lug those orbs halfway around the world. I guess I could part with a few silver for them."

I laughed out loud - really couldn't help myself. The avarice in her eyes was clear enough, I could practically see the glow. "That's awfully kind of you Mrs. Bertinga - I do believe I'll be able to summon the energy, however."

She shrugged, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. "Ah well - please don't blame an old woman for trying." With the deal concluded, Mrs. Bertinga folded her hands. "It has been good seing you again, Arcangelo. Now, off with you, and do try to learn a little more about Tinkering already - I should love to have someone I can talk shop with."

I spread my hands in surrender. "I can only agree. I expect I'll have some time for myself where I can give it a try. Please take care of the Crossing in my absence."

She waved me off with a bright smile, and I went back outside into the bright sun where Jeb was leaning against the wall at an awkward angle. I whistled, and we moved off. With the blue skies above, It was looking more and more like it'd be the perfect day for traveling. I probably should go get Atlas and get going. Except...I exhaled forcefully in disgust with myself. I was being an idiot. Here I was, standing stock still in the middle of the street, just asking for that two-timing elf to bump into me - all because I couldn't make up my mind. The question I was trying to answer was this: "Should I ask Darya to join me on the quest?" The prime reason against was pretty obvious - if she started asking too many questions, I would only have the option to clam up and refuse to answer. In favor however, were several good reasons. I was about to go off into the wilderness - not exactly something I was prepared for, skill, stat, or knowledgewise. She'd also be able to hunt, protect the camp with her scout profession and track properly - and as she had already proved, she more than held her own in a fight. Also, she was really an intriguing person,standoffish though she may be. 

I finally tore myself loose from my own indecision and started walking towards the woods. I could manage some uncomfortable silences if it meant not respawning right back here, just because I couldn't hold my own inside the forest. Jeb agreed to stay behind near the gates and keep an eye open. This time around, I managed to find her camp without a hitch. I even congratulated myself on spotting a couple of old tracks from where somebody had entered and left the camp enclosure - maybe I would actually learn tracking at some point.

She wasn't in the camp though. Of course she wasn't. With my luck, she'd be out on a three-day quest for Sourpuss, collecting mole skins or something. I rubbed my forehead in disgust and said something entirely unsuitable for children's ears - which of course summoned Darya to appear from behind a trea like a genie from a damn bottle.

"Go what on a what now?”

I was struck by the strangest sensation of simultaneously wanting to hide myself and feeling the need to come up with something witty and disarming. "I said I was going to go do...something...something - oh, please just imagine I said something funny - I'm having a bit of an off day here."

The sound she made can only be described as "Snerk." "Done." she said with a teasing smile. "Now, which favor do you need? So far you've only come out here when you needed help."

Oh - so she wouldn't mind it if I actually did stop by? That was progress. "That's not a nice thing to say. Except for your being completely right. Now, if you maybe didn't live in the middle of predator-infested woods, I might stop by more often." 

Her smile grew a fraction - but then her eyebrow quirked up. "I notice you didn't correct me on the ‘needing help’ part."

I sighed. Loudly. "You know, you're way too observant for your own good. And completely right again, of course. Hear me out?"

She leaned back against the tree, crossed her arms over her chest and nodded.

"All right. I've received a quest that can help improve and expand the peaceful area around Grant's Crossing. It's placed in the middle of the wilderness, however, and you know exactly how effective I am with all this nature stuff. That's why I've come to you - with you on board, I believe it should be doable. Now, that is the good news. There are three pieces of bad news, however."

She nodded again, expression serious.

I ticked off on my fingers:"First piece. Lyle is wounded, and won't be able to join us. No tank. Second, and I'm a horrible, horrible person for breaking it like this, but it's a two-week quest. Third. We have to go today, and I can't tell you why." It spoke a lot about her character that she didn't start frowning until that last sentence. 

Following that was quite a lenghty silence, until she asked calmly: "And if I turn you down?"

I shrugged. "I might still make it without your help. It's a two to three days walk through the wilderness though, and that's before the quest even really starts. If I don't make it, nothing much changes, I guess - Grant's Crossing just won't improve the way it could." I maintained my expression studiously calm. "They aren't even real people and you haven't got a bone in this fight. I completely understand it if..."

She interrupted me, for the first time sounding annoyed. "Stop that. Most people back there," she pointed in the direction of the village "have treated me better than anybody back in the real world." She gazed down at the ground for a while before she looked straight at me with a challenging gaze. ”I will help you - but there are a couple of things you need to know." She waited until seeing that she had my full attention. "As long as we're inside the forest, my word is law." 

I nodded, and her expression grew from stern to diabolical. "Also, I will  find out whatever it is you're hiding. I can't stand puzzles."

Oh, this was going to be fun. Depending on how you define “fun.”

The talk grew practical, and we agreed to meet on the other side of the river a couple of hours later - she indicated that she had some preparations to make as well. And with that, my chances had just improved quite a bit - despite her words, I couldn't help but smile while I walked back to the village.