Book 2 - Chapter 19 (Patreon)

It was oddly jarring to walk into the public house and not have Hera give him a second glance. Right, in this culture he was technically an adult. It was more complicated than that, obviously. All the people from his same System Day were still living with their parents and most were just starting internships. But legally they were adults and could even order alcohol. Although, he’d heard that when Rodrige the new [Carpenter] had tried to order rum, Hela had just laughed at him and told him to come back when there was hair on his chest.

Davi hadn’t arrived on stage yet, but the room was already fairly full, with Davi’s family all sitting at the table nearest the stage and his cousins and parents’ closest friends spread out on the six tables nearby. Zilly was at one of those, sitting with her parents and her little sister. She didn’t talk about her sister much, maybe because there was a ten year age gap. Brin didn’t even know her name, but was surprised Hela had let a four-year-old in here.

To his surprise, he also saw Effa, moving between the tables, handing out drinks. She looked her usual sunken, work-down self, but moved gracefully and even gave small smiles when people thanked her for their drinks. It was unsettling, like seeing a statue come to life. He wasn’t sure if he should try to talk to her or not, but the question answered itself when she went into the back room shortly after he arrived and didn’t come back out again.

Myra was sitting off to the side, alone, in the part of the room that the adventurers had taken over. There were six of them, sitting at two different tables. The townsfolk gave them a wide berth and the adventurers were usually content to keep to themselves, but Brin wondered if things were starting to get awkward. Usually adventurers were in-and-out. They traveled through, on their way to the wastes or Gilly or maybe to find some exotic plant or animal, but none of them ever came to stay. This might be the longest that any adventurers had ever stayed in Hammon’s Bog. He wondered what they did all day. He decided to talk to them, although hopefully he’d get a chance to chat with Myra and Zilly as well.

He ordered at the bar and then walked over to one of the tables of adventurers.

“Keep walking, kid,” said an armored man. He had wispy blonde hair and elfin features, or maybe the plastic perfection of a K-Pop singer. [Inspect] called him “Rinnil, entertainer and [Warrior].”

“Make me, I guess,” said Brin, and pulled up a seat. Rinnil groaned and put his head down on the table. From the redness in his cheeks, it seemed like he was well past his first drink. That answered the question as to what they did all day.

The second person at the table was a finely dressed man with a black, neatly trimmed beard. He would have looked elegant if not for the fact that the beard took up just a little too much of his face, making him look like a monkey. He sniffed when Brin sat down and looked away as if this little towny were completely beneath his notice. [Inspect] just gave a name: Rat Scratch.

The last was a woman with dreadlocks. She was shirtless except for a skimpy vest full of knives. No, it wasn’t really a vest at all, just a throwing-knife holster. She had a faint bluish tint to her skin. [Inspect] called her Otanyn and gave her Class as [Clockmaker].

This was by far the coolest table. The other table of adventurers just had two [Hunters] and a [Rogue].

“So what’s your deal? At first I’d say [Clockmaker] is an obvious lie, but maybe it gives some cool benefit to throwing knives that I haven’t heard of?”

“Infa itaka t’ch tellutka naga,” said Otanyn, shaking her head.

“Oh, she pretends to not speak Frenarian to get out of interactions she doesn’t want to have? That’s fair,” Brin said to Rat Scratch.

“May I ask you something? Why did you speak to her first?” Rat Scratch asked. His voice had the elegant undertones of someone trying to sound like nobility.

“Because she’s hot. I mean, like, what did you expect?” said Brin.

Rat sniffed and looked away again as if deciding Brin wasn’t worth his time, but Otanyn raised her hand to hide her mouth while she laughed.

“It’s a mistranslation,” said Otanyn in a thick accent. “My Class is [Atchendt] in my tongue. It’s a class for those who maintain the enormous stone timekeeping devices in the temples in my home country.”

“That sounds amazing! What are they like? And where do you come from?”

She leaned back in surprise. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“Of course!”

Rinnil didn’t lift his head from the table when he said, “She’s probably wondering why you wouldn’t rather talk about matos or the rain, or whatever it is these tedious people are so interested in.”

“Hey, you think Hammon’s Bog is boring? You’re just visiting. Try living here,” Brin said. In actuality, Brin thought Hammon’s Bog could do with being a bit less exciting lately, though he had to admit the entertainment options were a bit lacking now that Gustaff was dead.

“Then I will tell you,” said Otanyn. “Do you know where Polissia is? I don’t come from there, but close…”

She told of a place so temperate that they didn’t even build houses, just little lean-tos, because the rains were always warm and the sun was always cool. Instead, they built elaborate open-air temples. Giant stone edifices to track the time and keep the calendar, as well as other wonders. She spoke of her life fishing in the sea, of tending the fields, and milking the cows. She talked about her excitement when she was chosen as an [Atchendt], and her work with the priests and prophets. He noticed that she carefully didn’t speak of exactly what an [Atchendt] could do, only that it was important.

She became an adventurer because of a political scandal she got caught up in, where one of the priests she worked for got caught up in a corruption investigation, and he and his entire staff were fired. Her choice had been to change her Class or leave her home. She’d chosen to leave.

“What was the nature of the scandal, if I might ask?” asked Rat Scratch.

“Oh, that we were embezzling the tithes and growing fat off the labor of others,” said Otanyn.

“How dreadful, to be lumped in with such a man,” said Rat.

“Oh, no, not just him. We were all doing it,” said Otanyn. “And when I say we grew fat, I mean really fat. If you had seen me back then…” She puffed out her cheeks and held her hands in front of her stomach.

Rinnil picked his head off the table and leaned back, laughing from the gut. “Why have you never told me any of this?”

“I did not wish to,” said Otanyn. She turned to Brin. “But now I have told you of myself. Perhaps you will answer questions about you?”

Brin blinked. “I’m an open book.”

She glanced to Rat, who subtly shook his head. Oh, so they had a lie detector on staff? He’d have to be careful of what he said. He was most certainly not an open book, and he couldn’t say any more outright lies.

Just then, Hela came to the table, setting a small beer and a plate of food in front of him. Some kind of white meat–it looked delicious–with carrots and pickled mato. Brin picked up a fork and said, “What is this? This looks like giant snake? Where’d you get it?”

“Don’t know. None of my business,” Hela said flatly.

“How is it none of your business? You’re literally serving–come back!”

Hela was already halfway back to her counter. Brin took a bite. Seasoned to perfection, sort of lemony and just a hint of spice. It was delicious.

Marksi darted up his legs and grabbed the snake steak in his mouth. Brin caught it with his fork before the rascal could pull the entire thing to the ground. Marksi used his new hands to tear a chunk off and started gobbling it. He didn’t eat like a snake, by swallowing everything in one big bite, but actually bit off pieces and chewed with surprisingly human-like teeth.

“You probably shouldn’t be eating that. I don’t think,” said Brin.

Marksi ignored him and chomped away.

“Ah! Ah! And what is this?” asked Otanyn.

“Marksi’s my pet dragon. Marksi, stop doing cannibalism and go say hi to the pretty lady,” said Brin.

Marksi licked his paws, and then scampered off of Brin’s lap, under the table, and climbed up to receive the enthusiastic attentions of Otanyn. She petted his back and scratched his chin vigorously while he purred and lived it up.

Rinnel stared in disbelief. “No matter how many times I [Inspect] it just keeps coming back ‘dragon’. What in the world?”

“It’s weird, right?” asked Brin. “Everyone around here acts like it’s perfectly normal to have a dragon as a pet. It’s been driving me nuts.”

“There are others?” asked Rinnel. “Rat, are you seeing this?”

“It’s authentic,” said Rat.

“A few others,” said Brin. He’d asked around and found a few others who’d gotten pet snakes from the snake pond, but those ones had all stayed snakes. They stayed in their tank and ate bugs and weren’t any smarter than animals. Marksi was special.

“How did you..? if it’s not too much to ask,” said Otanyn.

“There’s an enormous ancient dragon in a pond not too far from here. We call it the snake pond. Lots of little snakes, but they’re actually dragonlings, like Marksi. Jump in the water, and the Hidden Guardian will give you one if he likes you. Or just catch one if you can. I should warn you, though, the Hidden Guardian is smart. Seeing it felt like… being in the temple, almost. I don’t think you should go there if you’re just planning on grabbing a dragonling to sell.”

Both Otanyn and Rinnel looked at Rat, who nodded.

“Unbelievable,” said Rinnel. “The old one is just passing them out like party favors?”

“Not so unbelievable,” said Otanyn. “The dragons know that they are waning. Each dragon is lesser than his sire. This is the way it is, but is it the way it must be? To send the child away may be the only way to give it a chance to grow.”

“Some among the gentry find it hard to raise high-leveled children at home. It’s hard to level when you’re too comfortable. They send them out, sometimes to the army, to boarding school, or sometimes just out, to find their own way in the world for a time. Or so I’ve heard,” said Rat.

Brin swallowed a bite of snake. “There’s something to be said about the easy life, though. You don’t need high levels to be happy.”

“This is truth,” said Otanyn. “Many times I have wished that I was back in Kamat, lazy, fat and low-leveled.”

“My friend over there, she’s a [Warrior]. People are worried that she’s going to run off some day.”

Rinnel snorted. “So that’s what this is about. Wave her over.”

Zilly had been surreptitiously watching Brin talk to the adventurers. She turned away when she saw him look at her, but not so far that she missed his wave. She practically skipped over and sat down beside him.

Rinnel waved leisurely. “Welcome. The more the merrier, I guess. So my buddy here, Mr… Scar the Mistaken. Is that right?”

“It’s his real name,” said Rat.

“Ridiculous. Alright. Well, Brin here tells me you’re a [Warrior]. Is that right?”

“That’s right!” said Zilly, sitting forward.

“Let me cut to the chase. You don’t want this life. This life is cold night, scant meals–”

“Oh, no, no, no!” said Zilly. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to be an adventurer.”

“You don’t?” asked Rinnel.

Otanyn looked to Rat, but Rat noticed Brin was also watching and clenched his jaw. He didn’t nod or shake his head.

“Yeah,” said Zilly. “No offense, but it sounds horrible. I mean, where would I go? My family is here. Everyone I know is here. I mean, I’d like to get out of town a little, but I was thinking of doing what Prefit Elmon does, and protect an occasional caravan. Maybe even see Steamshield someday… I do have questions, though. How do you become an adventurer? Is there an official mandate?”

“It varies by city to city,” said Rinnel, looking a bit perplexed. “Some have guilds, some have registries, and in some cities adventuring is illegal, officially, and you have to sign up as a hunter. But… you don’t want to be one?”

“That’s not what the Prefit thinks,” said Brin.

“Since when is the Prefit right about anything?” asked Zilly.

Brin blinked. “Fair point. But, then, what about our duel?”

“I just want to know how good I am. And none of the other boys would ever agree to it,” said Zilly.

Rat nodded sagely. “A man has nothing to gain from competing with a woman.”

Otanyn looked up from where she was admiring Marksi’s glimmering scales. “What nonsense is this?”

Rat crooked an arrogant eyebrow. “What has he to gain? If he loses, they will laugh at him and call him a weakling. He could not even beat a girl. If he wins? They will call him an abuser. How dare you treat a lady in such a manner? And so on. No one will cheer for him. No maidens will swoon for him.”

“Will maidens swoon for a man who doesn’t not see them as his equals?”

“In my experience, yes,” said Rinnel.

“Honorable combat is honorable. A duel must be fought bravely, no matter the opponent,” said Otanyn. “Do you think women so weak? Am I so weak?”

“He’s not saying that,” said Rinnel. “You’re the real deal; no one else I’d rather have fighting by my side. And I’d fight by your side any time, anywhere. You know that. I’ve proven that. I’m sure Rat is the same. It’s just… if I had to fight against you… I’d rather not do it in public.”

Otanyn looked back and forth between her friends as if she’d never seen them before. “I cannot believe this.”

Brin shrugged. “I wasn’t raised right. I will absolutely hit a girl. Just make sure to bring your A-game, ok, Zilly?”

“Well stated!” said Otanyn. “I think. Come, Zilly, ignore these fools and ask your questions of me. What do you wish to know?”

“Great! First off, what did he mean by registering as a [Hunter]? What if you don’t have the [Hunter] Class?” asked Zilly.

“No, no, not the Class, just a hunter, as in, one who hunts…”

Otanyn went into a long speech about the ins and outs of adventuring. She made it sound like most of the challenge of that life was finding someone to pay for their services and navigating the various bureaucracies. The actual slaying of monsters was a small side-note.

Brin finished his lunch and listened. He absolutely did plan on leaving this town some day, and this was all stuff he needed to know. He also listened to the music in the background with half an ear. It was simple, but peaceful and non-intrusive. Perfect background music…

The music.

He looked at the stage. Davi was up there, playing his lute. From the looks of things, not many people had noticed, but his mother’s eyes were fixed on him. Thinking back on it, Davi had been playing for a while now, probably since right after Brin had entered the public house.

Now that he was paying attention, it was obvious. Davi’s music was screwing with his head. Just like he’d tugged on Brin’s emotions that time in the field, he was doing it now, although much more subtly. The message was something like, Don’t pay attention to me, don’t think about the music. Have a nice time, this is a good place to be, tip well.

Brin’s inner-selves had told him that he should look into figuring out how to train his resistance to mental control. It looked like he had an answer. He’d need to talk to Davi, and maybe Jeffrey if he could get him.

Speaking of talking to your friends, he decided to visit Myra’s table. The entire time he’d been in here, she’d sat alone and no-one had approached her, and it was giving Brin second-hand anxiety. She was also close enough that he’d be able to overhear Otanyn’s lecture to Zilly. In his past life, he’d never been able to manage it, but his Mental Control was getting high enough to follow two or three conversations at once without effort.

He stood, and Otanyn interrupted herself. “Before you go, tell me. How did you get that scar?”

“The big one? Ax to the head. Undead attacked Travin’s Bog and killed everyone. The only thing that saved me was the Mother’s Knot.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already know that,” said Zilly.

“We heard, but did not know for sure. It’s true, then. The undead, they surround us?” Otanyn narrowed her eyes, studying Brin intently.

“It’s true,” said Brin. “I’ve seen them. Lots of them. Almost all of these scars are from undead.”

Rinnel and Otanyn looked at Rat, who said, “Truth.”

“Well of course it’s true,” said Zilly.

“Thank you, Brin. You must tell me the whole story someday. Now, Zilly, as I was saying…”

Brin stepped over and sat at Myra’s table.

She looked inordinately grateful to not have to be alone anymore. She bit her lip against a smile, and with visible effort, turned it into a frown. “It’s a load of horse dung.”

“What is?”

“Zilly’s speech about not wanting to be an adventurer. She’s just telling them what they wanted to hear to get them talking. And they’re eating it up. Just look at them. Zilly is going to skip town the second this undead thing clears up. Trust me.”

Brin rubbed his hand through his hair. “What should I do?”

“Let her leave? I don’t see what the problem is,” said Myra.

“What about you?” asked Brin.

“I could stay. If I, um, met the right person.” She looked down, wincing at herself. “But I think I’m going to take off! See the world for a while, and get some levels. Weaving isn’t nearly as dangerous as adventuring, obviously. Lots of [Weavers] get their start by going around with merchant caravans. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Mom is never going to leave Hammon’s Bog, but as long as I stay here they’re always going to see me a certain way.”

“They’re going to get over this… whatever it is,” said Brin. “Just give it time. The town will find a new pariah of the month.”

“Yeah, and when they do things will go back to how they were before. I’ll still be the [Weaver’s] daughter,” said Myra.

“Fair enough,” said Brin. He kind of hoped that they’d all leave. They could be an adventuring team together, and he’d be able to keep an eye on them and keep them safe. Myra would be the only non-Rare Classer, but Commoners could be pretty dangerous in their own right. She’d be fine if she could get some levels.

“Hey, what would you say about making me some clothes?”

“Brin, you don’t have to–”

“I actually need this,” Brin interrupted. “The only other person I could ask is your mother, and well… you know. I could use some workout clothes. It would need to be soft, stretchy and sturdy. I usually get my clothes from Perris, and he can work literal magic with leather, but it gets stinky fast and it sucks to clean.”

Her saw her eyes calculating. “Yes…I believe I could make something to suit.”

“Good,” said Brin. “As for the price–”

“You don’t have to pay me to–”

“Yes I do. One because I’m rich and two, because it’ll help your levels. Won’t it?”

She sighed. “Yes, it will.”

“Good. Then just tell me whatever’s fair.”

“Eight silver,” said Myra.

“You drive a hard bargain. Sixteen silver. Done.” He held out his hand.

“My mom would barely be able to charge that,” said Myra.

“Final offer. Oh, and can you do all the finishing work yourself? I know a [Weaver] isn’t a [Seamstress], but I have a hard time knowing who to trust. In current circumstances.”

“I know. Fine.” She shook his hand.

Davi’s music hit a discordant beat, and he stopped playing. His hands traced the strings as if trying to remember where he was, but it was obvious he’d lost it. His eyes were fixed on Brin, holding Myra’s hand. Well, not holding. It was a handshake, but who knew how it looked to Davi.

With the music stopped, the mental effect was gone and the rest of the people in the crowd started to notice Davi was there. They shouted his name, at first because they were alerting everyone that he was there, but then more urgently to get him to play a song.

He blinked down at them and paled. Dozens of his friends and family and other townspeople clapped and yelled his name, filling the room with raucous noise. He looked sort of small on that stage. Davi was huge compared to other boys, and especially compared to Brin, but on the stage of adulthood he looked like a scared young man.

Davi gulped, and then played a chord. The cheers swelled even louder, and he played another, then moved into a song. The crowd quieted a bit, and he gained confidence and played less haltingly.

The song was a celebratory march about the victory of Frenaria against the Stone King. Brin had never heard Jeffrey play it, but it was one that the other kids would often get Gustaff to play. It was energetic and triumphant, and apparently, a crowd favorite. Davi soon had everyone singing along and stomping to the beat.

The next song was more of the same, a triumphant battle hymn. His voice was low for his age, but still at the awkward age where you knew it would be much lower in a few years, but he didn't miss a single note even though the song was written for a tenor.

When it was done, he finally cleared his throat and addressed the audience for the first time. "Thanks for coming out! I'm [Bard] Davi, but you all know that. Thank you all for your support, and I'd especially like to thank Hela for hosting me. I'll be playing most afternoons from now on, so come on by and see me. But not too often!"

That line got a chorus of laughs, and then Davi began another song. This one was more subdued. A sentimental memorial.

Brin stayed through the entire set, which lasted about ten more songs. The emotional tugs that [Bards] were loved for were very controlled and subdued, to Brin's relief. He might not have had the same power as an experienced [Bard] like Jeffrey, but at least he wasn't painful to listen to. When his emotional manipulation sort of rubbed Brin the wrong way, it was easily brushed off. It also probably helped that almost everyone in this room was already on Davi's side from the start.

Brin was also relieved that Davi never played any love songs. He just wasn't ready for that from a fourteen-year-old. Davi did play a few dancing tunes, and Brin ended up dancing with both Zilly and Myra, though when he danced with Myra he noticed that Davi turned to the side where he couldn't see them and missed more than a few notes.

The last song was a hymn to Solia, which reminded Brin that he'd been neglecting the temple. Or avoiding it, maybe. But first things first, he needed to talk to Jeffrey about resisting mental control. Davi was mobbed when he tried to leave the stage, and Brin took that excuse to slip away and find the [Bard].