Luckily, my existence continued one minute later, when I respawned inside the familiar and comforting confines of my hut in Blade’s Rest. I was lying on my bed, wearing furs that were stained red.
The stains would gradually disappear over time, but for now they served as a grim reminder that builders shouldn’t go stealing a giant bear’s favorite flower.
Death debuff gained:
You have lost 5 inventory items.
My stomach dropped. This wasn’t such an unusual debuff to get when you died in BaS. Sometimes you lost gold, sometimes exp, but plenty of times you lost some or even all of your inventory.
If I had lost the Banshee Polkweed, Linc was gonna be so disappointed.
I checked my inventory to see what was missing.
Let’s see.
I’ve definitely lost some of my limestone….my self-hammering hammer…some granite, some lumber.
I couldn’t see it.
The Polkweed was gone!
I checked again, hoping my eyes were deceiving me.
And then I saw it, a tiny little flower in my inventory, sandwiched between 10 lumps of coal and 50 slate bricks.
I breathed out in relief and shut my eyes for a moment, only to hear rapid knocks on my hut door.
“Come in.”
This command allowed Linc and Hilly to enter my hut. Linc stood over my bed. “Well? Do you have it?”
“That ain’t a comforting way to speak to a guy who just got killed.”
“C’mon, Josh. Tell me that ya got it….”
I made a grim face. “Linc, buddy. I’m sorry to say…that there’s a giant bear who’s gonna be pissed, because I have his Banshee Polkweed!”
I gave the flower to Linc, who immediately exited my hut and sprinted away, no doubt heading to his potioneering workshop.
Hilly remained in my hut. “Fancy a beer?” she said.
“You bet.”
I sprang out of bed with the speed and agility that definitely didn’t belong to a guy who’d just been killed by a bear. I stretched my arms above my head until I felt a satisfying crack, then straightened my fur armor and headed out of my hut.
By the time we got to the Blade and Grunder, word had somehow already spread through the hamlet about what had happened. When we entered the tavern, a grizzly bear came rushing at us.
Hilly drew her sword.
I stood there, shaking my head.
The bear stopped running. From behind it came the sound of a grown man laughing like a kid.
“That’d be scarier if the bear wasn’t carrying a tip jar and a specials menu,” I said.
Hercule carried Big George back over to the bar, laughing to himself all the way.
Gorgal, Frenrita, Hanz, and Franz were sitting at our usual table, near the snug. Seeing us, Gorgal stood up.
“We get up,” he said.
I shook my head. “No, don’t worry about it. We’ll sit over here. A chair’s a chair.”
Gorgal nodded. “Metal armor. I make for you. No more death by bear.”
“I don’t reckon I can use metal armor. But thanks.”
“I’ll take some if the offer’s there,” said Hilly.
“I will make.”
Hilly bought us two tankards of a new ale that Hercule was trialing, called The Imp’s Demise. It was a cherry ale. The idea of mixing fruit and beer seemed weird to me, but man, did it taste good.
I ordered us two bowls of crab ravioli, a special that was available today thanks to Atticus and Argyle expanding their operation to a beach way south, which was full of soft-shell crabs that you could collect by the bucketful.
“Let me make a fool of you while we wait,” said Hilly.
She headed to the dartboard on the wall, kept in place by string tied around a nail. The dartboard was quite new, but it was already scored with thousands of dots thanks to the archers and their drunken competition.
Hilly won one game and started crowing about it, so I whipped her ass by winning the next three. At which point Hercule arrived with two bowls of ravioli served in a basil and garlic sauce. It was so good I ate one bowl full and then ordered another.
“Hungry?” said Hilly.
“Always.”
“Yep. Stupid question.”
Linc showed no sign that he was going to leave his workshop any time soon, and Hilly told me she was heading northeast and would be gone for maybe three or four game days.
“There’s some kind of canyon near a town called Forlorn Hope. They got buffalo running around and when you tan their hides, the leather’s crazy durable.”
This left me to my own devices, but that was good because I had lots to do.
Heading toward the travelers’ road, I stopped by the hamlet sign, where Marvin the bookselling slug had left his request list. Already there were a few requests written on it. Hanz and Franz had asked for a book on astronomy, while Frenrita had requested a book called ‘The Blacksmith’s Secret – A Saucy Adventure.’
Later on, in Westfell, I crossed through merchant’s square. There were lots of strange looking stalls set out around the square, and they were selling all different kinds of foods such as spicy sausage, beef rolls, pork knuckle, and fermented cabbage. I bought a spicy sausage and a portion of fermented cabbage from a stall manned by an old gentleman with rosy red cheeks.
“You eat now, or take for later?”
“I’ll take it wrapped up, please.”
My travels took me across streets where the taverns were open and they had set tables and chairs outside, and these were all occupied by folks wearing strange pairs of trousers that reached up to their chests and were held in place by multicolored straps that looped around their shoulders. Every table was taken up by giant tankards of beer. One tavern, the Ape and Mongoose, had a sign outside that said ‘Happy Bavarnis Festival.’
Checking my world map, Bavarnis was a region in the far west of BaS, in a valley surrounded on all sides by towering lava mountains, the home of volcanoes that had been dormant for centuries.
Seeing how busy and cheerful Westfell was – except for some of the town’s inhabitants who resented the influx of beer drinkers – made me think that maybe Blade’s Rest should start having festivals. It’d be a good way to draw the kinds of footfall we’d need for higher levels.
The spicy sausage and fermented cabbage was still warm in its wax wrapping when I reached Scribbler’s Row. I headed to the end, where I reached Forked Tongue Books.
I couldn’t say why I kept coming back here. Bryp was an asshole and it wasn’t as if he gave me a discount. I guess I just found him amusing, and it was a change from some of the dryer merchants in BaS.
Reaching his shop, I ever-so-gently opened the door. I did it inch by inch, as slowly and quietly as possible.
When the gap was wide enough for me to fit through, I dashed in, startling Bryp’s weird demon bird.
“Ha-ha! Got ya!” I said, pointing.
Its feathers stood on end, revealing scaly skin beneath. It was shaking.
“Geez. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ya. I just wanted to give you a taste of your own-”
The bird suddenly shrieked at me. It was so loud that I jumped. Its feathers flattened and it made a sound that I was sure was laughter.
Bryp entered the shop front and was about to pounce on the counter, when he saw me.
“Ah. It’s you. What can I do for you?”
I put the sausage parcel on the counter and unwrapped the wax packing.
“First, I don’t know why I’m being nice to ya. Maybe I’m in a good mood, which is strange considering the day I had yesterday. But anyway. I don’t know what satyrs eat, but you never seem to leave this place so I reckon you never get to enjoy all the festivals and stuff that happen in town.”
Bryp stared at the sausage and cabbage, which was giving off a divine aroma.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“No. It isn’t that. It’s just…nobody ever brought food to me before.”
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because you’re an ass. Oh. I forgot. They gave me a wooden fork.”
I handed the fork to Bryp, forgetting that he had hooves for hands. Shaking his head, he tossed the fork aside and went into the back of his shop, returning soon after with an implement that was fork-like except it had a grip that fit around his hoof, like a cutlass handle.
Wielding a knife that was similarly handled, he cut up the sausage and gave some to his demon bird, and then he ate the rest with a speed that suggested a tremendous appetite had been brewing.
When he was done, he burped and set down his knife and fork. “Ah, tasty it was, yes indeed. Thank you, friend, for I…for me…you did feed.”
His voice trailed off, as his eyes closed sleepily.
I pressed the bell on his counter, and the tinging sound woke him up. “Hey! You fixed the bell!” I said, delighted.
“Well, yes. I supposed there are some concessions I must make for customers.”
“Anyway. No problem about the sausage. Now, I need another skilltome.”
“My. You are busy, aren’t you?”
“I’m building a town. Well, more of a hamlet right now. So yeah, I guess I am.”
“Which skill tome do you need?”
“Something for learning architecture.”
“Hmm. A tricky subject.”
In one leap of his goat legs, Bryp cleared the counter and landed in the shop front. He browsed his own shelves, muttering to himself, “Architecture…architecture…”
Finding nothing, he once again leaped over his counter and jigged his way into the back area of his shop, where he was gone for five minutes.
I looked up at the demon bird, which seemed to be regarding me with slightly less hostility than usual. “Enjoy the sausage?” I said.
It gave a happy-sounding squawk, if that was even a thing.
When Bryp returned, he was shaking his head. “Sorry, human. I pride myself on my stock, but this alludes me. Alludes me it does, for I’m afraid that I must say, I, unfortunately, don’t stock, your architecture book.”
“That didn’t quite…”
“It was a half rhyme,” said Bryp, curtly.
“Not really. Is there anywhere else I can try?”
Bryp suggested that I visit the royal college of builders in the town of Blaswegis, which was 500 miles away. There was no royal family in this region of BaS so the alleged wasn’t actually royally affiliated, he said. He reckoned that the pompous asses just thought that having ‘royal’ in the name of the college sounded better.
“That’s a way away, even on a carriage,” I said. “Are you sure there’s nobody else who can help?”
“If you’re referring to the other booksellers, then all I’ll say is this: they’re bloody arseholes. Don’t buy from them.”
“Surprise surprise, you don’t like your competitors.”
“Oh, I do. There’s a rather nice slug who travels the land selling tomes. Delightful fellow he is. But the other shops of scribblers row are pompous, stick up their arses…”
“Ok. So let’s say I won’t try the other shops. There’s gotta be someone who can help.”
“You could try the crafter’s guild,” said Bryp. “They have an assembly hall on Cottage Pass, near the church with the overhang that looks like it will fall off any blasted minute. But again. If you go to a guild, then on your head be it.”
“You don’t like guilds?” I said.
Bryp spat. Then he realized he’d spat on his own counter, so he wiped it with a cloth. “The booksellers have a little club, and surprise surprise they do not let the satyr join it. Humans are contemptible, Josh. They aren’t all like you. At least you’re only half contemptible…”
Leaving Bryp to his grumblings, I headed toward the crafter’s guild, getting lost on a maze-like street called Witching Alley, where many of the town’s pickpockets operated. I had to double back on myself and then take a longer route past a park dedicated in memory of the orcs who died in a battle near Westfell fifty years ago, finally arriving at the guild maybe an hour before sunset.
The crafter’s guild was a strange building, towering four or five levels above the shops on either side of it. It was narrow in structure and looked like a pile of Jenga bricks, with each floor sticking out at odd angles as though they were made separately and then haphazardly placed on top of each other.
I would have expected a building like this to fall down, yet there was an oak tree outside it. An old oak tree, thirty feet tall. Beside it was a plaque that said that the tree was planted when the guild was opened. I guessed it had stood for this long, so maybe it would stay stable for just a little bit longer.
Heading inside, I emerged into a foyer with a marble floor. Dotted around the room and pushed up against the walls were various stone statues. There was a giant hammer, a chisel, a wood planer. Three archways led deeper into the guild – north, east, and west. There was nobody in sight.
I was unsure where to go until I noticed that each archway bore a symbol etched into the highest point of the arch lintel. The one I needed showed an etching of some kind of blueprint.
Following this archway took me into a tunnel lit by oil lanterns fixed to the wall. It ran true for a while before turning right and then bringing me to a great hall.
This place was huge. Way bigger than should have been optically possible, given how narrow the building was from the outside.
One third of the hall was taken up by an open-plan tavern called the Grand Design, where a burly-looking barmaid served beer and food to folks lounging by tables.
Another was given up to great, long oak desks, on which were spread white and blue rolls of paper, covered tip to toe in pencil markings. Most looked incomprehensible to me, but glancing at one paper, I was sure I was looking at the design of a windmill.
Finally, the furthest third of the hall was given to merchants who’d set up various stalls. There were five merchants in total. Some of them sold blank prints to design things on. Two merchants both sold pencils, triangles, protractors, and the like, and they seemed to regard each other with hostility and were constantly yelling over each other.
The merchant that I reckoned I needed was a woman who was spaced away from the rest. She was sitting behind a wooden stall, yet she didn’t have any wares on show.
As I moved toward her, a man suddenly appeared in front of me. He was wearing a smart, stark blue suit.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, his nose pinching with every word. “Are you a fellow of the guild?”
“Nope.”
“Then you must pay two coppers to enter.”
I got my money out.
He arched an eyebrow at me, tilting his head slightly upwards as though he found it repugnant to face me straight on. “Are you a craftsman, may I ask?”
“What the hell’s it got to do with you?”
“I have to ask, as only craftsman may enter. If you would be so kind, sir.”
He held out his palm. Feeling annoyed and wanting to get this over with, I placed two coppers in his palm. He didn’t do anything with them.
“Ahem. I need to analyze your skills, sir. If you would be so kind as to touch my palm with your index finger.”
I shrugged. “You’re the one who’s gonna look stupid, buddy.”
The employee, gatekeeper, whatever he was, shut his eyes for a moment, before saying, “Very well.”
With no further barriers to my entry, I crossed the hall of the architect’s guild and sought out the merchant lady, who was sitting alone. She had grey hair that fell to her shoulders, and though her complexion was pale, her right hand was a deep purple and her fist was clenched.
She acknowledged me with a slight nod of her head.
“Carpentry, improvisation, stonemasonry and…tinkering. Hmm. An apprentice in most. Skilled in just one.”
“Hit the nail on the head,” I said. “How’d you do that?”
“It is written in the stars.”
Written in your code, more like, I thought. “I need some training. Can you offer it?”
“Perhaps, if the stars shine gold enough.”
A menu system opened for me, covering her from my vision.
[Jaqueline-Mae Sharp, fellow of the Westminster Architectural College.]
Services:
Architecture – Beginner’s instruction
Custom building design [Prices dependent upon size]
Instant skill training in architecture cost 275 gold. In my personal stash, I had 78 gold, 10 silver, and a few coppers. I had more than that in my inventory, but the rest of it was earmarked for hamlet stuff. It wasn’t really my property.
This was a steep price to pay for a skill which would cost me maybe 5 bucks and some time if I used a skilltome. Trouble was, there didn’t seem to be any architecture skill books in Westfell, and the nearest town from here was a fair distance.
Ah. But maybe there was something I could do.
“Thanks, but I’ll leave it,” I said.
I headed back to Blade’s Rest, where the familiar sight of our growing little hamlet with the limestone paving and the soft light glowing from my makeshift lamps gave me a warm feeling.
At the hamlet sign, I made an entry in Marvin’s request book saying that I wanted some kind of guide to learning architecture. And then, I headed to my hut to do some nice, quiet crafting.
That was when I heard the sound of some kind of wild beasts tearing across the field toward me.