Chapter 8 - Civilization. Sort of. (Patreon)

The town wasn’t as close as Glimmerbang made it sound. I ended up having to sleep some more inside a huge, rotted-out log. Thankfully, I avoided combat and only had to deal with nagging aches and pains, a bite wound, and a minor stab to my chest. As far as life here went, that seemed like a pretty small price to pay for peace.

 It was midday by the time I finally broke free of the trees. As soon as I was in the open, I was relieved to see a relatively large town below. It wasn’t a city, but it also wasn’t full of miniature buildings and hellish little gnome things. People. Humans, hopefully. 

My brief time in that forest had me feeling desperate for a little human connection. At least robbery probably wasn’t too common. Considering I could simply touch my helmet and zap it straight to my slip space, nobody could steal it. And if they tried to kill me for it, well… I’d be dead, but they wouldn’t get the helmet, and they’d know it.

It was at least a little comforting. 

The settlement straddled a river and was ringed by a relatively flimsy-looking wooden wall. I noticed a section of the wall was broken and splintered, but a team of men and women was busy hammering and carrying supplies in what looked like a hasty repair effort.

I hiked downhill, suddenly self-conscious of my tomte war criminal outfit.

I took in the sights as I continued toward the town. Behind me, the forest loomed. Everywhere else, it was picturesque grassland and rolling hills. The river cutting through the town weaved its way up the hill and disappeared somewhere into the forest I had just come from.

Once I was closer, I could see the townspeople were all wearing relatively plain clothes. The colors were generally muted, and the style was simple—overalls for men and medieval-looking dresses for women.

One of the women spotted me coming and covered her mouth, then pointed.

A couple of men rushed behind the wall and returned with weapons at the ready.

I held up my hands—it was a gesture I was getting used to in this world. “I know I look crazy,” I said. “But there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for my clothes. And the helmet…” I added, feeling a little less sure about that one. I had no idea how unusual a helmet like this would be on Eros. Judging by the plainly clothed people I saw, I was starting to think it might be pretty strange.

“Stay there,” one of the men said. He was pointing a pitchfork at me. Inspecting him or any of the other people gathered by the broken wall gave me the same description.

[Human, Level 1 (Wood)] “Humans are the most common race on Eros. Often viewed as greedy, opportunistic, and xenophobic by the other races, their prominence is generally regarded as a less-than-great thing. However, their contributions to Eros's culinary menu are by far the best. Specifically, we are all grateful for the invention of the meatball, which is generally agreed to be a culinary masterpiece.” 

“Polianne,” the man with the pitchfork said. “Go fetch Jarn. He’s going to want to see this.”

A brown-haired woman with mousy features rushed through the broken gate.

A few of the others had apparently decided I wasn’t enough of a spectacle to interrupt their work. A thick-armed man gestured for a young boy to bring him a box of nails. He plucked some free and returned to hammering fresh wooden boards into place.

I inspected all the townspeople I could see and was interested to find that none were higher than level five. Most were level one, and only a couple seemed to have earned any experience at all. It seemed odd. In a world this dangerous, if they could all earn experience, how did they make it to adulthood without getting in a single fight?

Then I supposed it wasn’t that crazy. When had I ever killed anything in my old life? Never. Townspeople with different levels were probably involved in some rare, life-or-death struggle and were lucky to come out of it alive. Or maybe they were hunters, simply gathering food on occasion.

“What happened to the wall?” I asked, pointing. I couldn’t help craning my neck to look past the two men still leveling weapons toward me. I could see a quaint little cobbled street inside and buildings that looked largely hand-made by unskilled builders. Several doorways were skewed to the side, and most lines didn’t seem straight. But the people looked happy enough, even if they were all rushing around like they had too much to do and not enough time to do it.

“You wait right there,” he said, jerking the pitchfork toward me.

I couldn’t say a flimsy pitchfork scared me too much after literal flying spiders, but I folded my arms and waited as instructed. 

I was still standing there when a man in dented and scratched silver armor appeared. He clattered with every step. I noticed he was resting a gauntleted fist on the pommel of a sword at his hip, and a battered shield was strapped to his back. He had dark, curly hair, bags under his eyes, and, by my guess, he looked about 40 years old.

[Human, Level 4 (Iron)]

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a little confused. His level was lower than mine, but his rank was higher. Was it a political thing? Or maybe the levels reset with every rank? 

The armored man jerked his head, and the woman—Polianne—came forward with a simple beige robe and pair of shoes. She wasn’t making eye contact as she approached, holding them out for me to take. 

“Thanks,” I said, genuinely appreciative, as I slipped into the itchy robe. Once I was covered up, I felt just a little more human, even if I was wearing my crazy helmet and had tomte clothes strapped to my body beneath the robe. 

The armored guard moved closer, and the two townspeople lowered their weapons and returned to work. Apparently, they were confident this guy could handle me.

“Jarn, right?” I said, sticking my hand out for him to shake. I eyed his badge again, wanting to ask but not sure I should expose how oblivious I was just yet. 

He absently lifted a fingertip to an iron badge pinning a brown cloak to his shoulder, noticing my attention. He pretended not to notice my outstretched hand, however.

I let it fall to my side.

“What brings you to Riverwell?” he demanded.

“I need an Arcanery,” I said. I assumed it was a reasonable enough reason to want to come inside. 

Jarn’s expression was pure stone. He looked over my shoulder toward the trees. “You came from The Black Wood.”

“Yes…” I said slowly. Hopefully, that wasn’t some kind of test. 

He pointed at my helmet. “Where did you get that? It looks familiar… I think I’ve seen it in a painting.”

“Family heirloom,” I said confidently.

That made Jarn raise an eyebrow. To my surprise, though, he nodded slightly, as if that was a reasonable explanation. “You have money for a room? We don’t take layabouts or freeloaders. Not in these times.”

“I’ve got a little.”

He twisted his lips, nodding again. When he spoke, it was if he was talking to himself. “You came out of the Black Wood in one piece. Must be resourceful, at least.” He stared for several awkward seconds before seeming to come to a decision. “You’ll be watched while you’re in the town proper. One of my guards will shadow you. You can have a room for free, but there’s one condition. We’re taking a small party to clear out an infestation at first light tomorrow. You tag along to help, and you’ll be welcome here anytime you like. If not, the room will cost you a gold piece.”

One of the workers smirked at that, and I was relatively certain the price he just quoted me was absurd.

“Right,” I said. “So, basically, I help you guys tomorrow or you turn me out? What’s to stop me from just moving on to the next town?”

Jarn shrugged. “Go right ahead. I assume you have supplies to last you for several days of travel back through The Black Wood? Or perhaps you were planning to go two weeks east to Stone Peaks?”

I sighed. “Alright. Point taken. I’ll come with you tomorrow morning.”

Satisfied, Jarn jerked his head for me to follow him over the wrecked wall. A younger female guard around my age was jogging toward us. She looked like she was in her late teens or early twenties with short red hair cut to her jawline, blue eyes, and an upturned nose.

I inspected her tooltip, among other things.

[Human, Level 28 (Wood)]

She did a double-take when she saw me, eyes fixating on my helmet.

“Lyria, you’re in charge of him,” Jarn said. “He fucks anything up, and it’s on you. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jarn stalked back toward the ruined wall with me out of his hair and started barking orders at the townspeople there.

“I’ll try not to fuck anything up, for the record,” I said once I was alone with Lyria.

I was hoping for at least a smile, but all I got was a hard glare. She was shorter than me by half a head or so, but somehow, I got the feeling she could still kick my ass.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll go to the inn and get your room.”

“I actually need to stop at the Arcanery, first.”

The hesitation was plain on her face. “Will it be quick?” she asked.

I honestly had no clue. “Sure,” I said.

 After a few seconds, she sighed, seeming annoyed. “Aren’t you going to take off your helmet?”

“Why would I do that?” In truth, I felt safer with it on. I’d already had my ass saved by its surprising abilities two or three times. But maybe drawing less attention to myself had its own appeal. 

“Because civilized people don’t walk around towns with their helmets on. Especially when you’re a stranger. Same way you don’t go walking around with your weapons in your hands.”

“Alright,” I said, plucking the helmet off and stashing it into my inventory. 

Lyria’s gave me another strange look, then averted her eyes. “Alright. Any other errands you need to run before we get your room?” Her cheeks had gone a touch red, and I wondered if she was really just that annoyed to have to shadow me. I guessed I couldn’t blame her. 

I took a look around. There were several things I wanted to do, but I could tell a few of them might be above the pay grade of a town like this. A bustling library, for instance, would probably not exist in a frontier-style town like Riverwell. I’d be lucky if there was even something like a functional blacksmith that made more than nails and horseshoes. One thing was certain, though. The technology level was firmly medieval.

“Let’s start with the Arcanery,” I suggested.

“This way.”

I followed Lyria through the town and tried not to stare as we walked. Not everybody here seemed to be an ordinary townsperson. I saw a few people I assumed were adventurers. One was a crazed-looking old man with a small stone golem in the palm of his hand. He spoke in a low voice, clearly angry and apparently arguing with the creature.

I wished I could inspect everybody I passed, but with my helmet stashed, all I could do was stare.

We passed a man in a simple robe who was holding something that looked like it was made of clay in his hand. But it was moving and growing as he twitched his fingers. 

“Was that a golem?” I asked.

Lyria gave me a strange look, but didn’t answer my question.

She led me inside a stone building, which stood out among the smaller houses and outdoor market-style tents.

The inside of the building reminded me of a bank. A strange creature sat on a glittery blue pillow. It was a little smaller than a human but bigger than the tomte. It had dark blue skin with a texture like velvet, with specks of silver that caught the light like fresh snow. It had a meticulously styled poof of silver hair, full facial hair except its upper lip, and it was wearing a kind of magnifying glass strapped to its head. 

The clothing it wore was flowing and loose, like it was some kind of meditation guru or spiritual leader.

While Lyria had her back to me, I summoned my helmet and slid it on so I could inspect the strange creature while it still wasn’t paying attention to us. 

[Naidu - Level 44 (Iron)] “The naidu are a mysterious race known for their affinity with dimensional magic. They make for fierce mages but usually prefer the calm life of using their skills to earn a living. Most commonly, naidu can be found pursuing hobbies with their riches, like an obsession with fashion, personal aesthetics, and hosting blood sport tournaments. It is widely suggested not to make a naidu angry.”

Huh. I pulled off my helmet and stashed it again just before it looked up at me. I was pretty sure it was a male.

The magnifying lens over its eye clicked, spinning as if it was zooming in to look at me. “Hmm,” he said, leaning closer. “Hmmm. Interesting.”

“What is?” Lyria asked.

“Most peculiar. Quite rare. Strange…”

Lyria let out a slow breath. “He wants to claim his accomplishment scrip and token.”

The naidu gave her an amused look, flashing pure yellow teeth. They glimmered, though, more like gold than rotted tooth. “He has much more than one scrip and token. More than I’ve ever seen someone claim at once.”

Lyria looked at me like she was actually noticing me for the first time. 

The naidu raised both palms with a clatter of expensive jewelry and sparkle of rings. The magnifying lens over his eye kept whirring and twisting. New lenses appeared, lowering themselves over the naidu’s eye with different colored glass.

He cracked his knuckles, preparing for what seemed like a complex magical spell.

And then he opened a little cabinet to his side and pulled out a black box hardly larger than his fist. It seemed to be made of the same material as my helmet, as if it was a tear in the fabric of reality that showed a curtain of stars behind. One side of the box was covered by a purple cloth.

He wiggled his fingers, rolled his sleeve up, and plunged his arm inside the box. It shouldn’t have been able to fit more than half of his hand, but he reached in all the way up to his elbow, as if fishing around for something in particular. His silver eyebrows scrunched with concentration.

Finally, he looked satisfied and yanked out a bundle of rolled-up paper and a small bag. He dropped the pouch in front of his crossed legs with a metallic clink. 

Lyria stared at the bulging pouch as if it had grown a mouth and started spouting insults.

I shot her a sideways glance. “Is that not normal?”

She simply shook her head, then got up as if she’d been dismissed.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Lyria stared. “I’m not allowed to hear your accomplishment scrips being read…” She said the words with the kind of slow disbelief of somebody having to explain that water was wet or things fell when you dropped them. With that, she moved outside the building and let the door close behind her.

I was alone with the naidu, now. 

“Well,” he said slowly. He had already unrolled the papers and laid them out before him, eyes skittering over the words. “These accomplishments paint a very strange picture. A very interesting one, though…”

Something glimmered in his eyes I wasn’t sure I liked.

“You’re allowed to read them but she’s not?” I asked.

The corner of his dark blue lips twitched. “Of course I’m bound to a pact of secrecy, like every naidu in my position. Lucky for you,” he added. “The story these accomplishments tell would be of great interest to certain individuals.”

A chill ran up my arms, making my hairs stand on end. “Thank you for your discretion, then.”

He nodded deeply, lifting the first scroll to read. I braced myself for the odd personal messages after each accomplishment, but they never came. He simply read them to me, one by one, curiously in the exact order I’d earned them. Whoever my secret messenger was, they seemed to be able to modify the messages I saw through my helmet and keep them hidden from the official scrips. 

Once he was finished, he lifted the bulging pouch and gestured it toward me. “If you please,” he said.

He rolled the parchments back into a small bundle and tucked them into one of his pockets. I thought that was a little odd, but I was also looking at a blue oompa loompa dressed like a hipster genie, so I decided to roll with it. 

I took the pouch and thanked him. I paused by the door, pulled the string, and peered inside. An assortment of variously colored metal coins glowed up at me. One was a demonic red color and little black motes of darkness poured out of it. Another was a vibrant burnt orange color with rays of buttery light emanating from its surface. I noticed little images on each token corresponding to the type of reward they represented.

My stomach fluttered as I took in the sight of it all. The prospect of sweet, sweet loot was even more exciting in real life than in games, it seemed.