He returned to the yard and found the wood axe still buried deeply into the stump. He reached out and grasped the handle, pulling it. It wouldn’t budge. He wiggled it back and forth and pulled again, straining to get it freed. He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was observing his embarrassing lack of strength and tact.
Finally, the axe dislodged, and he found some unprocessed wood logs and chopped them into quarters, bringing his axe down to split each in half, and then split the halves into halves. It didn’t take long at all before he had produced a pile of wood. Twenty-four pieces to be exact. He placed each block one-by-one onto an empty curing rack.
There was another rack full of bone-dry wood, clearly already cured. He picked up as many as he could handle, six pieces, and held them in his arms tightly. Had he planned better, he would have brought a basket of some kind with him.
He made his way back up to the den, crossing back through the bunks. It was eerily quiet. Clearly several people were staying here by the looks of the several disheveled beds, probably the men practicing archery in the yard earlier at least.
I wonder who I’ll be bunking with…
Up in the den, the fire was dying down, but thankfully, it hadn’t yet extinguished. Andy laid the wood next to the fireplace and threw on three blocks, making a kind of pyramid. It quickly caught fire and the flames began to lick the bottom of the iron pot.
The stew continued simmering.
Andy putzed around the den for a few more moments, enjoying the silence and solitude. He gazed in the pantry, which contained several large cheese wheels, a variety of smoked sausages, and several crates of vegetables, including potatoes, carrots, and onions. Several bundles of herbs hung suspended from the pantry ceiling, drying. Parsley, it seemed, and some kind of cilantro-like plant that was an odd shade of purple.
There was a barrel with a loose lid in the corner. Andy pushed the lid aside. Large, coarse salt grains filled the barrel to the brim, holding a few strips of pork. Andy replaced the lid.
He turned back to the den and shuffled through the meagre book selection: Cresthaven Regional Atlas, Minor Monsters of the Cresthaven Region, Survivalist Field Guide: Third Edition, and 100 Important Weapons. The rest of the shelf was covered in scraps that contained illegibly scribbled notes.
Andy picked up Minor Monsters of the Cresthaven Region. He opened it to a random page, about halfway through the thin volume.
The book pictured a hideous arachnid type monster, with a scorpion-like tail and two pincer claws, as well as an elongated head and a fearsome jaw full of needle-like teeth. An average human figure was drawn next to the monster to give a sense of scale. The human’s head barely reached the underside of the menacing creature. The text read:
Cavern Crawfish. The Cavern Crawfish inhabits many cave systems of the Palima continent. Its stinger delivers paralyzing venom, and its pincers can lop a full-grown adult human in half. It moves at remarkable speed, using echolocation to hunt prey. The Crawfish has long been considered untamable, but in the past few decades, the Siren-folk of the western cave systems of Palima have been spotted using them as steeds. Adventurers are advised to avoid the Crawfish as much as possible. If one must face off against the creature, the weak spot is on the underside of the thorax.
Andy read the description with a mixture of astonishment, fear, and excitement. The bear he had encountered earlier that morning was larger than anything he had seen on Earth, but it paled in comparison to the monstrosity he saw on the page before him.
He closed the book and put it back on the shelf. He glanced at the atlas, the field guide, and the weapons guide. The shelf had few books, but they seemed promising.
This will be good reading material over the next few days.
He contemplated reading more, but realized he had grown drowsy. Perhaps reality-shifting twice in twenty-four hours was taking a toll on his mind and body.
Andy retreated downstairs, claiming a well-made bunk in the far corner. He laid down on his back and closed his eyes.
***
Percival folded up the rejection letter, reinserting it haphazardly in the envelope and placing it on the growing pile on his desk. He stroked his long beard in thought. After over twenty years of study, he had nearly reached his seventh class rank in Enchanter, but it didn’t seem to matter. The Enchanter’s College still wouldn’t hire him for a full-time position.
He was not a particularly athletic man, in fact he was what some would call pudgy, and he was rather short, so the life of an Enchanter suited him better than more combat-focused classes. But sometimes it felt that he was making no headway in his career.
“At least they give me an office,” he said, sighing and leaning back in his chair.
A knock came at the door. “Hello? Percy?”
He recognized the voice, even muffled through the door. It was Lilly, the Scholar from Dawnspring Cottage. She had visited him a few months ago to discuss feat-fixing, a phenomenon she was researching.
Percival had some experience with feat-fixing talismans. Every Enchanter in Cresthaven did… that’s how you earned a paycheck. If you crafted a talisman correctly, you’d almost guarantee that its user would gain legendary or even mythic feats when they received a title.
That was, of course, irresistible to the city’s nobility. Money wasn’t an issue for them, and they loved the fact that they could, for all intents and purposes, simply buy power.
Many other folks who followed more of a moral code found feat-fixing distasteful, but the way Percival saw it, it was work he’d hold his nose and do if it funded his other interests and allowed him to remain at the Enchanter’s College.
He opened the door, “Yes, Lilly, hello!” he said, gesturing for her to come in. “How can I help you today?”
The Scholar wore her embroidered robe and carried a satchel and a walking stick. “Hello Percival,” she said. “I’ve got that scroll you let me borrow to study. I wanted to return it to you.” She stepped into his office and pulled out a small tube, a protective scroll carrier.
“Ah, yes,” Percival said. “Thank you very much, Lilly! I trust it was helpful to you?”
“It was,” she said. “It took me a while to translate the runes, but I think I finally cracked it.”
“You Scholars,” Percival said, chuckling and sitting down across from her. “You never leave a stone unturned. The nice thing about being an Enchanter is you don’t need to know what incantations mean. You just speak them and it works!”
They both shared a laugh as Lilly reached into her bag. “And, as promised,” she said, producing a large object wrapped in butcher paper.
“Is that what I think it is?” Percival said, licking his lips.
“Yes,” Lilly said. “I stopped by Tobo’s for lunch on the way to pick it up for you. Their famous sandwich supreme, wrapped up in butcher paper enchanted with {preservation}.
“Oh, gods… its as good as fresh out of the oven, then.” Percival cleared off a section of his desk and took the sandwich, unwrapping it. The aroma of a cozy pub, apparently wrapped up with the enchanted butcher paper, quickly filled his office. He hardly ever made it to Tobston, so a sandwich supreme from Tobo’s Tavern was an utter treat. “Thank you, Lilly,” he said, grinning. “You are always welcome to borrow any of my materials, especially if you continue to repay me like this.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“I do have one more favor to ask you,” Lilly said.
“Yes,” said Percy, taking a messy bite of the sandwich. “Goodness heavens, pardon me,” he said in between bites as he brought a napkin to the sauce sliding down his chin.
Lilly chuckled. “If you’re available, I have a colleague who needs a sigil installed.”
“Ah, certainly,” said Percival. “I’d be happy to.”
They exchanged a few more details about the job before Lilly sent a {message carrier} spell to Morwen confirming the date and required materials for the sigil installation.
“Thank you, Percival,” she said.
“Anytime, dear Lilly.”
***
Andy woke up. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep, he had only meant to take a brief rest. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Looks like the lad’s awake,” came a gruff voice in the corner.
Two men and a humanoid rabbit were huddled in the corner around a shallow crate that rested on the floor.
A woman relaxed silently in the bunk across from him, reading a book. She had long, pitch-black hair and wore plain grey pants and a modest tunic. A white robe stitched with vibrant patterns hung beside her.
Andy got on his feet and moved across the room. The woman turned a page, lost in thought, and didn’t acknowledge his existence at all.
“Wager a dice throw, lad?” came the same gruff voice. It belonged to a man, probably in his mid-forties, with shadowy stubble, dressed in plain clothes. Another man in similar garb, but clean-shaven, stood next to him.
“Were you the archers from earlier?” Andy asked.
“Tryin’ to be,” said the clean-shaven man in a friendly tone.
Andy approached them.
“Name’s Pliny,” said the man with a gruff voice, extending his hand.
Andy shook it.
“And I’m Noel,” said the clean-shaven man, shaking dice and tossing them into the small crate. His expression shifted suddenly into a frown. “One, one…”
“That’ll be yer bejeweled dagger,” said the rabbitfolk, extending his paw.
Exasperated, Noel produced a dagger in an ornate sheath from his back pocket, placing it into the rabbit’s hand.
“This here is Andretti,” said Pliny. “He’s not with the Order, he just likes to gamble.”
“At yer service,” said Andretti with a deep, almost sarcastic bow. “Now, I believe we’re gettin’ to the final round, here,” he said.
“Well, lad, do you want in?” said Pliny.
“I, uh… I don’t have any money,” said Andy. “I’ll just watch.”
Pliny shrugged and pulled a few coins out of his pocket, placing them in the crate.
The rabbitfolk did the same and shook a pair of dice, releasing them. “Six, six,” he said matter-of-factly as he picked up all the coins and put them into a drawstring bag.
“Well Andretti you took all our money, we’re going to need to loot another dungeon before we can play with you again,” said Pliny.
“Any time,” said Andretti. “Ye know where to find me. Always a pleasure, boys. And good to meet ye, Andy,” he said, placing the dagger in the coin-filled satchel before fastening it to his belt. “I’ve got to get to the missus before nightfall, so if you’ll excuse me.” He exited the door and hopped at a magnificent speed into the forest, bouncing off the trunks of trees until he was no longer visible.
“I continue to suspect his dice are loaded,” said Noel. “Either that, or I’m just profoundly unlucky.”
“A real character,” said Pliny, staring off into the distance. “So, lad, you’re new to the Order?”
“I am,” said Andy. “Well, I don’t think I’m officially part of the Order yet. I’m beginning my training tomorrow.”
“Ah,” said the gruff man. “With Morwen, I take it.”
Andy nodded.
“She’s one of the best. Don’t take her instruction for granted and you’ll do well.”
“Are you a brawner or a dancer?” Noel asked.
“Uh… well I don’t really dance… what’s a brawner?” Andy said.
“They’re just slang terms, lad,” said Pliny. “A brawner is a fighter trained in [athletics], and a dancer is a fighter trained in [acrobatics].”
“Oh, yeah, I see,” Andy said. “I’m training in [athletics] tomorrow. So I suppose that makes me a brawner.”
“It surely does,” said Pliny. He produced a long churchwarden pipe and stuffed some fragrant, cut leaves into it, lighting a match. “You’re built like more of a dancer, but the muscle will come if you follow Morwen’s training.”
“The muscle’ll come,” said Noel.
Pliny took a puff on his pipe.
“Don’t smoke in here,” said the woman sternly. Her eyes didn’t leave the book.
Pliny sighed, shaking the match to extinguish it. “That’s Yarel,” he said. “She’s our current Cleric in residence… she runs a tight ship down here.” He moved toward the door and opened it. “Care to join me?”
Andy and Noel both followed Pliny out onto the veranda. There were comfortable wooden rockers. Andy sat in one, rocking gently as Pliny leaned against the banister, lighting a match and taking a draw on his fragrant pipe.
“So, boy, from where do you hail?” Pliny asked. “You look like an easterner.”
Andy didn’t know what an easterner was, but they were presumably pale-skinned with brown hair. “I came from the Dawnspring,” Andy said.
“Ah,” said Noel knowingly. “A Visitor, then?”
“Yes,” Andy said. “That’s what they say.
“Well, we’re lucky to have you in our midst,” said Pliny. “Visitors are hard to compete with. They tend to be… unusually driven, and everyone is eager to work with them. We’ve lost quite a few to the Wizard’s College and the Warlock’s Guild over the years. Been itching for a new Visitor recruit.”
“Yes, we’re very lucky,” said Noel.
“What do you guys do?” Andy asked. “I heard you talking about dungeons and loot.”
“Ha, well that’s just part of the job,” said Pliny, “and only a small part. In truth, we do whatever the Order requires. Sometimes that involves dungeoneering, sometimes it involves patrols, sometimes it involves a lot of down time. And when things get too boring, we can always complete jobs for hire.”
“A little of this and that,” said Noel.
“Why do you always do that?” Pliny said with an irritated frown, turning to Noel, “Always echoing me but you never have an original thought?”
“I just like to talk,” said Noel, shrugging, “but I don’t have much to say.”
Pliny looked pensively for a moment as he blew a smoke ring. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
The sun was setting behind the mountains in the west, casting brilliant orange light into a darkening twilight sky.
“See that?’ Pliny said, pointing toward the woods.
Andy peered, straining to see what he was gesturing toward.
“Those two green eyes,” he said.
Andy saw them. Green light twinkled as two eyes, tucked behind some brush in the woods peered at him. Andy pointed toward it, but as soon as he lifted his finger, they disappeared. “What was that?” he asked.
“Ratfolk. We’ve been getting more and more eyes on us lately,” said Pliny.
“Spies?” Andy asked. He didn’t mention the fact that he thought he had seen a rat watching him piss earlier.
“More like… surveillance,” said Pliny. “Someone in the city is keeping tabs on us. Just thought you should know. Don’t expect any privacy in these parts.”
Andy nodded. “Good to know,” he said. He peered back into the woods, where the emerald eyes had been moments earlier, right behind the stump he had used to chop wood that morning.
“Oh shoot,” Andy said. “I need to stoke the fire upstairs.”
“Ah, she’s got you on the perpetual stew, eh?” Pliny said.
“Yes,” said Andy, excusing himself.
He dashed through the bunks and up the spiral staircase, into the den.
Morwen sat in one of the den chairs, a few candles lit as she read through the Cresthaven Atlas.
Andy looked toward the fire. It was dying down, but wasn’t yet extinguished.
“Close call,” said Morwen, smiling as she closed the book.
Andy grabbed a few logs and placed them in the same pyramidal pattern he had earlier. They quickly caught fire and once again began licking the underside of the cast-iron pot. The stew continued simmering, intensifying into a modest boil.
Andy plopped down into an armchair across from Morwen.
“I trust you met my friends,” she said.
“Yes,” said Andy. “They speak very highly of you.”
“Do they?” she said with a chuckle. “That’s a bit of a surprise.” She lowered her eyes toward the fire. “They’re good people.”
Andy sat in silence.
“Tomorrow will be tough,” said Morwen. “It always is. I don’t want you to be discouraged.”
“What are we doing, exactly?” Andy asked. “I mean, I know you said [athletics] training, but what does the training consist of?”
“We’re going on a hike,” said Morwen. “I have some boots for you, actually.” She reached down by the armchair and produced a pair of heavy duty hiking boots with high-tops that sat halfway up the calf.
“Wow,” Andy said. “Those are huge.”
“Yes,” said Morwen, “and vital.” She handed them to Andy.
Andy took them and immediately noted their immense weight, probably twenty or more pounds. “I, uh…”
“Make sure they fit before you go to sleep tonight,” said Morwen.
Andy didn’t argue. He only nodded.
“Now, I’ve got to work on some plans upstairs. Remember to stoke the fire once more before you go to sleep. And do you remember the rule?”
“Don’t open the hatch unless it's an actual emergency?”
“Precisely. You catch on quick.”
Morwen got up, mounting the ladder. “Sleep well, and be ready to go tomorrow morning,” she said as she disappeared through the hatch in the ceiling, shutting it behind her.
Andy hoisted his new hiking boots, grasping them with both arms as he headed down the staircase.
When he arrived back in the bunk room, the double doors were slightly ajar. Noel and Pliny were still on the veranda, sitting in silence. Yarel, the Cleric, was stretched out on her bed with a wide-brimmed hat over her face, apparently already asleep.
Andy tip-toed past her.
“Ah the brawner boots,” Pliny said as Andy rejoined them outside.
Andy sat on the edge of a rocker and tried them on, lacing them all the way up. He stood up and began to walk. It wasn’t impossible, but it certainly wasn’t easy. Even just walking around the veranda, his thighs and calves began to burn.
“I remember my brawner training,” Pliny said. “Beautiful hike.”
“Beautiful indeed,” said Noel.
“Shut up, Noel, you’re a dancer, you wouldn’t know the first thing…”
“I’m just agreeing,” Noel said with an exasperated sigh.
The night wore on, largely in silence with intermittent commentary about the weather, about perpetual stew, and insinuations about the grueling hike that Andy was about to undergo.
Eventually, Noel and Pliny both retired.
Andy remained on the veranda, enjoying the refreshing cool air. He stayed silent, staring out into the woods, looking for green eyes…