“See, if we had jumped first and then shot, it would have gotten away. We’ll do our best work if we can sneak up on the frogs. They’re tough, so if you even get one shot on a frog before they die you might level up. But we have to be quiet about it.” The scout showed Max how to work the arrow out of the goose and then cleaned it before putting it in his backpack.
They followed the river north and were surprised how cold the water was. The river wasn’t wide, but it was surprisingly deep. A startlingly large fish took a bite at Eric while he drank and a hit from his walking stick drove it back to the deeper water.
“Shhhhhh. Listen.” The scout’s voice was hardly understandable over the sound of the river, but in the silence Steve could hear the frog song. Not the obnoxiously loud croaking at night that he had heard in videos. This had meter and repeated sounds. This was frogs using a language.
“Those sound big.” Eric spoke quietly and the whole group began to creep closer as quietly as possible.
The frogs had widened the river in several places, making a series of pools connected by the river below a large ox-bow pond. The large toads, with plant fiber harness to make it easier to stay on, relaxed in these pools and in the mud around them. The frog people were a dark green that made them stand out against the toads’ yellow and orange skin. They wandered near the water with barbed spears and one attracted attention by spearing a large fish. Several others gathered to help haul the fish into the shallows. The successful hunters began cutting it up with jagged stone knives and eating it raw.
The scout gestured to one of the villagers who didn’t run to the fishy feast. It was still tending to one toad, feeding it large bugs one at a time with soft, burping words of comfort.
The scout indicated to Max that he should shoot the toad and that she would shoot the frogman. They both readied arrows and Steve looked for a path to get to the riverbank. One arrow was not going to be enough to end this frogman in Steve’s experience, so he wanted to be ready to meet the counter attack.
Max’s arrow hit first, getting a deep squeal from the toad before the frogman had its own reaction to being shot. The arrow logged high in its chest near the shoulder. The frogman snapped the arrow shaft, grabbed its barbed spear, and leaped entirely over the river.
“Ew.” The scout said on seeing the frogman approach so quickly. Steve was ready though. He jammed his shield against the spear before its thrust could really get going and then slammed his mace against the frog’s leg. The knee buckled and the frogman staggered back.
Green light snapped into being next to Steve and he was distracted long enough to look over at it. Three of the toads had come to help the frogman and the tongues of all three had hit a wall of green light, failing to hit Steve.
The scout’s second arrow hit a toad in the head and Max shot the first, injured toad a second time. Eric struck the frogman with his walking stick and it resulted in a much louder crack than Steve expected.
Steve hit the frogman on the face and breathed a sigh of relief when it went limp. He hadn’t gotten this far before and he was clearly not poisoned yet. An announcement crossed his vision.
Congratulations, you have achieved level 5 and can choose your prime class.
Fighter is most aligned with your actions as a Militia. You will receive 100% of the class benefits from selecting fighter
A second choice is Champion. You will receive 60% of the class benefits upon selecting Champion and not receive the remaining 40% until you are a Champion level 3.
“Fighter.” Steve said to himself and the words faded. The label in the corner changed from 4 Soldier, 4 Militia, to 5 Soldier, 1 Fighter. Steve’s heart rate slowed and the mace in his hand felt lighter.
With two hard hits, he ended two of the toads and the scout ended the third. The other toads scrambled to get away, flinging mud in the air with the sudden need to get away. The frogmen in the village were not so panicked and sent a hail of spears at the small group. Eric’s shield spell again protected the group.
“That is the last time I can cast that spell for a while. I’ve only got healing off of cooldown right now.” Eric announced when the shield came down and the frogs charged the group.
Three hours later the frogs were gone. Steve was numbly continuing to walk in the direction the map indicated. The scout was not in much better shape and also suffering the numbing effects of the poison. Eric was already back in Davtown and Max was probably close to respawning too. The trail left the river and went into a series of hills that were gladly devoid of more hostile monsters. Steve dropped his mace and then slumped to the ground and the scout leaned against an elm trunk.
“Hey, you look horrible.” A gruff voice interrupted Steve’s final moments of being poisoned.
He struggled to sit upright and found himself face to face with an upright standing dog. Sitting, this slender dog was taller than him, but if he stood he would only stand as high as Steve’s belly button.
“Who are you? Do we fight?” Steve asked and heard the scout fall to the ground. The poison had gotten her. He started leaning and couldn’t keep himself upright.
“If you’re my first student, then we’ll fight plenty. Don’t come back with those boards on your arm pretending they’re a shield. I’ll wait for you chum.” The dog helped Steve to the ground and then Steve went to the floating place while he waited to respawn.
****
The sheep were not so bad anymore. They were more comfortable being sheared after months of being sheared every two weeks. And Nigel was much better with the sheep and not taking damage whenever he grabbed the sheep. Garret had left the shearing to Nigel a long time ago and the wool processing business in Bent Spoon was humming.
Nigel’s velvet coat was gone and irreplaceable as far as the merchants were concerned. Metal buttons were impossible to find and dye came only in brown, red, and rarely green. So a navy blue, velvet coat was still the proper attire of a fine gentleman’s servant, but Nigel wore a brown, knit poncho over his linen shirt.
And he liked it. He was warm and reasonably dry in the rain. It was easy to take off for work and easy to keep clean. It was made from fleece he had provided to turn into yarn and there was a satisfaction to wearing it that he hadn’t felt before.
The supply of potatoes had disappeared, but as long as he didn’t get injured he could survive on half a meal each day. The food issue had gotten worse when large, herbivore monsters had moved into the area. They looked like oversized cows with massively floppy ears and the guards called them Aurochs. They ate entire plots worth of plants each day and traveled in herds.
No one could actually kill the Aurochs yet and the best that could be managed is chasing them off. But larger predators didn’t have the same trouble. Griffins and stone sloths made traveling outside the town incredibly dangerous.
“Nigel! Leave those sheep and get out here. Ironically, I need you.” Mr. Fulton’s shout made Nigel drop the shears and nearly cut his foot.
“Coming sir!” Nigel left his current ram ?’s sheared and grabbed his poncho. Mr. Fulton hadn’t come to the livestock quarter since he introduced Nigel to this job.
“You are familiar with my requests to relocate to the Capital and into a more fitting setting.” Mr. Fulton was fuming with a letter crumpled in one hand.
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“I can only presume you were denied again.” Nigel took a discrete half-step away from Mr. Fulton.
“Not yet, but an associate who I pay a significant amount to stay apprised of what happens in the Prime Minister’s office sent me this letter with a copy of my letter.” Mr. Fulton waved the letter angrily in Nigel’s face until he took it.
The original letter was acidic. Mr. Fulton was not just rough, but caustic. Demanding a corporation, demanding a house with wait staff, and an escort to the Capital. Punctuated with fairly direct threats of magical retribution should his demands fall through.
“Sir, did you write this letter to the Prime Minister?” Nigel asked despite his better judgement.
“Of course I did. Writing to the Ministry was getting me nowhere and this ridiculously named backwater is ready to collapse. The Prime Minister is not a reasonable woman it seems and my associate thinks she may try to punish me.” Mr. Fulton said the last sentence with the highest disbelief.
“This could be very serious. She could send guards, you could spend weeks in the stocks.” Nigel tried to read the second letter, but Mr. Fulton was not done.
“How dare you imply I should spend even a moment in the stocks. We are leaving if this woman thinks she can punish a shareholder for exercising their rights. I have an insurance policy to enact, you are going to get us supplies and an escort. Strong escort, a ranger and a fighter at least. They will have to come with us two days east and we can renegotiate then. Waste no time, buy food and a tent and then the mercenaries. Do not displease me, your punishment will be unique if you waste my time.” Mr. Fulton slapped Nigel, snatched back the letter, and shoved a heavy purse at Nigel’s chest.
Then he left. Turned and left with his angry stormcloud making people avoid him in the street.
The purse was heavy in Nigel’s hands. It was much bigger than Nigel’s own purse, but that only held a silver and a few bronze pieces. Mr. Fulton seemed scarily serious and this seemed scarily close to fleeing from the cops.
Nigel pulled on his poncho to free up his hand and ran back into the sheep pen. He had to finish that shearing before he left, that fleece was dangling off the ewe and dragging in the dirt.
The large pack he would need to carry supplies and the tent were not hard to find and they weren’t terribly expensive either. A new blanket, which Mr. Fulton wouldn’t think of but appreciate silently, was a little more expensive. And then Nigel stood outside the blacksmith for a while to get up the nerve to get her attention.
“If you’re not here to pay what that scum owes me, you better walk right back out.” Tina had a heavy hammer in her hand which gave her demand some weight.
“I am here to pay off the debt,” Nigel cringed inwardly. “And I need to buy a large knife as well.”
“In that case, I have a knife that might suit you. Anything bigger is considered a short sword and those go to the guard.” Tina set down the hammer and seemed genuinely surprised.
“A knife is fine. I can’t spend Mr. Fulton’s money on it. How much for it?” Nigel counted out the money for the debt. Two gold, ten silver, and eight bronze.
“Nigel, I can’t charge you for it. I didn’t expect to be paid this back. You should just take it, for the effort it must have taken to get that miser to pay me back.” Tina held her hand out for the money Nigel had clearly counted out.
Nigel hesitated as he went to turn over the payment. He anticipated the pain he was going to feel doing this against Mr. Fulton’s express order. He took a deep breath, held it in, and then quickly dropped the money into Tina’s hand. He was not wrong. It was as bad as breaking a bone in his hand had been as a young man.
“Are you ok? Is Mr. Fulton doing something to you? Has he found a way to curse you?” Tina asked with genuine concern.
“I’m fine, it’s some bruises from the ram. He snuck up behind me again. And the knife, how much?” Nigel rubbed his hand even though it didn’t help. The pain faded in its own time and not a moment before.
“Nine bronze.” Tina didn’t look like she believed Nigel’s explanation.
“Wonderful, I have enough for a tip then. You do good work, those shears haven’t needed sharpening in weeks.” Nigel emptied his purse and gladly handed over the silver piece and two bronze rectangles.
“Nigel, I can’t take this. You get paid so little as it is.” Tina thrust the money back at Nigel.
“No, I couldn’t take it for free. It wouldn’t be right. Things are turning around. Big things are coming. Mr. Fulton is almost a wizard and then we’ll go adventuring. That’ll be big money. You’ll see.” Nigel could breathe easier now that the pain was starting to fade. He winked and took the knife. He fed his belt through the knife’s sheath and fast walked to the mercenary office. It wasn’t so much of an office as it was an open air food court where the mercenaries sat at tables, waiting for employers to approach them. None of them worked alone, with the largest group being six people.
“And what’s the worm come to discuss this time? What does Mr. Fulton want this time?” A large man in chainmail asked as soon as Nigel sat down. Unfortunately, Mr. Fulton had tried to convince several mercenaries to act as his personal guard and it hadn’t gone well.
“Mr. Fulton wants to employ both of you for two days escort going east. He said you could renegotiate further at that point.” Nigel kept the still heavy money pouch in his lap and out of sight.
“Two days is very expensive. The Magistrate has requested no one go further than they could return in one day with the auroch herd in the area. That’d be six eight-hour shifts with a premium for disobeying the Magistrate.” The heavy man’s partner spoke up. This second man had a tall bow. Simon and Ethan had both gotten their prime class and were good in them already. They were worth the money and they knew it.
“That’s fine. We will have to leave right away. Take your payment and the money for supplies. You know our house, be there in two hours. We’ll be ready to leave and waiting for you.” Nigel set the right amount on the table and slid it over to the pair. They didn’t even count the gold and silver, but got up even faster than Nigel.
Nigel heard Mr. Fulton’s shouts before he came around the corner to the house. It wasn’t unexpected to hear Mr. Fulton shouting, especially outside of the house, but with circumstances as they were, it was concerning. Nigel sped up to see if he needed to intervene again.
“Mr. Gregory Fulton, is your name Gregory Fulton?” A man in full armor asked and it sounded like this wasn’t the first time this question had been asked.
“I don’t have to answer any of your strong-arming questions. I’m a shareholder, not one of these exile patsies.” Mr. Fulton spit as he shouted.
“Shareholders no longer have special rights and it is a very reasonable request for you to identify yourself if you are Mr. Gregory Fulton.” The second man in armor was clearly trying to speak in a calm way.
“You have no right to use my first name. You can’t come here and intimidate me into giving up my rights. You should both be in prison for impertinence.” Mr. Fulton snarled and stuck a finger in the face of the first guard.
Nigel, not yelling or being questioned, could plainly see these were not Bent Spoon guards. Chainmail was expensive, but both of these men had breastplates and chainmail. Their shields were painted with the Prime Minister’s coat of arms.
“We were only sent to respond to a series of letters sent by Gregory Fulton. We have a message for Gregory Fulton.” The second guard explained carefully.
“Well then deliver it moron.” Mr. Fulton leaned back in an attempt to appear casual.
“Then you are Mr. Gregory Fulton? We have orders to only deliver this message to him.” The first guard asked again.
“I’m sure your mother will be so proud to hear that you deduced that the person in Greg Fulton’s house is actually Greg Fulton.” Mr. Fulton had at least lowered his voice below a shout for the insult.
“The Prime Minister regrets to inform you, Mr. Fulton, that there are no openings currently in the Capital and asks that you use your organizational skills to address the food shortages in this quarter of the land. Keeping your fellow citizens fed is crucial to the defense of the kingdom. Please stop writing letters to the Prime Minister and do the work available in Bent Spoon. Thank you for your cooperation.” The second guard read off a small slip of parchment before holding it out to Mr. Fulton.
“I don’t take things from peasants. Nigel! Take this so these men can stop stinking up our stoop!” Mr. Fulton looked away from the guards, saw Nigel, and did what he instinctively wanted to do. Nigel hurried the last dozen steps to the guards and attempted to take the parchment in a way that wouldn’t upset either party. Mr. Fulton went inside and slammed the door behind him.
“Your employer’s letters are a lot more serious than that letter implies. If it was up to me, we’d march that guy to the Capital for a week in the stocks. See what you can do to talk some sense into him.” The first guard grabbed Nigel’s arm firmly before he could open the door.
“I would ask you to unhand me. I have my own work to do.” Nigel said and the guard released him. They walked away and Nigel hurried inside.
“I hope you dealt with those morons efficiently.” Mr. Fulton said angrily as Nigel passed to pack his things to leave.
“Yes, the guards are gone.” Nigel answered, stopping in the hall with the pack half-way off.
“I meant the mercenaries, you idiot. They didn’t bleed me dry, did they?” Mr. Fulton snarled and was suddenly furious and in the doorway.
“No, they accepted standard rates with a premium for the rush. I gave them five percent.” Nigel held out the purse with a shaking hand.
“And that knife. How much did it cost me?” Mr. Fulton took the purse without losing eye contact with Nigel.
“I paid for it out of my wages. It cost nine bronze.” Nigel’s hand didn’t stop shaking now that it was empty.
“Nine? That’s not everything you had.” Mr. Fulton turned and went up the stairs from his sitting room to his workroom. "Good."
Nigel took three deep breaths in the hallway before his hands stopped shaking. Another four before he could continue to the servants quarter and pack.
