Doc, who had been working in a blacksmiths’ shop all day, wiped her brow with a rag as she exited the forge. She’d given her robes to Burk to place back in her cell in the abbey and so was now wearing only her diving garments, thick leather boots, thick hide gloves, and a heavy apron covered in soot. Had she been allowed to work in the really hot forges, she’d also be wearing the cool dark goggles the real smithies got to wear, but she was happy with this for her first day working here for actual profit. She had worked these forges a number of times for charitable or artistic purposes, but until now had never crafter armor or weaponry. She pulled the gloves off her hands and picked up the small golden chain she’d accepted as part of her payment, looping it through a natural gap between two bulbs of the Coog Pearl, making it a simple necklace. She then counted her gold and turned to walk down the road towards the temple, only to be accosted by a young human and some… thing wearing Nessa’s robe.
“What is that?” Doc asked in a combination of legitimate intrigue and horror.
“This is your elf friend. She needs a doctor. She got stung by bees,” Tom explained rapidly. “Can you help her?”
“Once again, I am not a doctor,” Doc explained, calmly, but with a twinge of annoyance in her voice.
“I never said you were,” Tom replied, slightly confused. “I just thought you’d know more about where to go to get her help.”
“Oh, right, you weren’t there when the Paladin… never mind. In any case, thanks for bringing her to me, I’ll get her some help right away,” she was about to turn to leave, but she remembered that she hadn’t caught his name. “Sorry, I just realized, I should formally introduce myself. I’m Doc, and this is Nessa.”
“Lovely to meet both of you, I’m Tom,” the lad said, shaking the dwarf’s hand warmly before she led her friend back up through the temple to the abbey where Nessa would hopefully get the help she needed.
Tom began his trek back to his home near the eastern edge of town, opposite end from the mill, and thought about the insanity that today had brought and whether he actually enjoyed these changes or not. His musing were interrupted, however, by the faint sound of wet fabric dragging across the ground and dripping fluids. He looked to the ground and saw a trail of red drips leading towards an alley. Stupidly he followed the trail and peered around the corner. In the dimming light of the early evening he saw a half-naked creature bent double over a large wooden trough, pushing something down below the surface of the water inside. In the dim light of the setting sun, he could barely see the creature’s protruding spine, muscular limbs, and greasy black hair. It was too dark to see what tattered clothing the creature wore or what hues covered its skin aside from all the red liquid that dripped from its arms, face, and pants. It then turned its head straight toward Tom, revealing eyes that brilliantly reflected the yellow of the sky and that were streaming tears. Its small tusks glinted in the light and Tom recognized it.
“Burk?” Tom asked, afraid, taking a step back. “Burk, buddy, what happened? What did you do?” Burk just kept weeping quietly and moving his hands around in the water. “It’s okay, Burk, I won’t tell anybody, just… tell me what happened, okay?”
“They hated me,” He sobbed. “I went to the little stage,” here he sniffed loudly, trying unsuccessfully to control the flow of snot form his nose, “and-and I pulled out my saxophone,” another hard sniff, “and then I started playing, and nobody was listening, so, so…” another sniff, “I got really mad.”
“And then what happened, Burk?”
“I started playing louder, because that’s what I do when I’m angry, and, and, and,” he was now openly sobbing, the red running down his face freely alongside his tears.
“And?”
“They threw tomatoes at meee-he-heeee,” Burk groaned as he broke down crying on the edge of the trough. He was visibly distraught and Tom was emotionally shaken. His muscles loosened up a bit as he made his way over to the monk. He sat beside his weeping friend and wrapped an arm around his sticky shoulders, taking a deep breath through his nose, realizing yes, indeed, it was just tomato juice, and exhaled in relief.
“You just need some practice, Burk, that’s all,” Tom said, trying to comfort the poor, sticky musician. “Seems like we’ve all had a rough day. Nessa found out that Old Lady Beatrice is paying people to ship boxes full of bees to folks on the other side of the island.”
Burk snorted. “What? Bees? Seriously?”
“No joke, boxes of live bees. Nessa got stung, actually.”
“How do you know Nessa?”
“Saw her on the beach after I failed at fishing and kicked a rock at her head,” Tom absently replied.
“You did what?” Burk shouted in response. Tom hastily shooshed him.
“Not on purpose! I was just kicking a pebble around and I kicked it too hard and it hit her and then I tried to talk to her but I couldn’t because of the bee stings,” he blurted out. Burk seemed to accept this.
The sun was nearly set, so Burk rose to his feet and out of Tom’s loose hug. “Alright, thanks for calming my nerves a bit. I really have to head back to the abbey, though. See you around, Tom.”
“See you, Burk,” Tom replied, continuing down the road towards his home.
Oddly enough, Tom decided that he definitely liked these new changes to his life. There was a certain thrill to not quite knowing what the future held. He hoped he would wake tomorrow with a new perspective.
He did not.
He felt terrible the next morning.
Zib, on the other hand, felt fantastic. He awoke in his usual little hole in the ground, which was full of furniture he’d made from salvaged materials and small porcelain vases in which he hid his most precious treasure, nearly fifty-five whole gold coins. He counted them, as he often did on Friday mornings, and found himself pleasantly surprised to find fifty-eight gold. For a brief moment he’d forgotten that he’d spent the previous day doing work that actually paid well. He wondered why he hadn’t tried this line of work previously.
He was shortly made aware of the exact reason.
“Sorry, little fella, but nothing’s wrong with my ship today, I can’t pay you for a service I don’t need,” one of the fishermen said, shrugging apologetically with one foot on the dock and one in his boat. “Ya did such a good job yesterday, I’d bet none of us’ll need your help for another week or so,” he concluded, hopping into his little craft.
“Well this is fantastic,” Zib muttered agitatedly as the fisherman drifted out. He trudged off the docks and over towards the tavern to see if he might pick up on any other jobs that needed to be done around town. The large, half stone, half wood building had only five people within, a human sharpening his sword, a green thing with a saxophone, a gnome who had already started drinking before the work day had even begun, the bartender, and another human, smaller and skinnier than the first, wiping down tables in preparation for the breakfast rush.
“Hey, Tom,” Zib said to his former coworker and future crewmate after clambering up onto one of the stools. “Looks like you found a pretty nice gig.”
“It’s alright,” Tom replied. “I’m just working here until I overhear something useful from one of the patrons.”
“What a coincidence,” Zib replied, not particularly pleased by the instance, “I’m here to buy a plate of eggs and eat until I overhear something useful from one of the other patrons.”
“Well, Halfling,” Athastar interjected, “I have a task you could do while you wait for work that wouldn’t conflict with young Tom’s tasks.” For a man who was heavily inebriated less than twenty-four hours ago, the paladin seemed very coherent. “I need you to make an intentionally faulty wooden chest.”
“What’s in it for me?” Zib instinctively asked.
“I’ll put in a good word for you with anybody who needs a short fella to do some work for them,” Athastar offered confidently.
“Good enough. I’ll be back in two hours,” Zib said, waving to the humans as well as the green thing on his way out. He then nearly ran right into a dwarf, who was clad in heavy metal chains and carrying a hammer with a lightning bolt etched into the side. “Watch where you’re going, cleric!” He huffed as he scuttled around her and then bolted down the road.
“Good morrow, holy bro!” Doc called as she entered the establishment.
“Zib forgot his eggs,” Tom muttered, having just brought out a plate of scrambled and peppered seagull eggs.
“Ah, Doctor, so lovely to see you once more. Was yesterday profitable for you?” Athastar asked, his face lighting up at the recognition of his fellow Cooglaran adventurer.
“I’m not a doctor,” she corrected before proudly replying to his question: “and indeed it was, I earned quite a handsome sum and crafted several items for myself as well as your odd request.” She held up a particularly average looking padlock. “What is it you need this for?” she inquired, curious as to why he had requested an intentionally flawed device.
“You’ll see once the Halfling carpenter has come back with the chest I just requested of him,” the large man replied with a proud and somewhat ridiculous smile.
“I see,” Doc replied pensively. “Well, I suppose I should return to the forge. Is there anything else you require of me?”
“Indeed there is! I have noticed that our current entourage is somewhat lacking in its fighting capabilities. You are quite well equipped by your training and by the armaments of the abbey, but Tom here seems to have no weapons or armor to speak of.”
“Actually, I do have a longsword that belonged to my father,” he cut in. “It’s a bit dull but I could sharpen it on the ship.”
“Well in that case, just craft the lad some chain mail and perhaps a great sword for me. My old one is no longer in my possession, as you can see,” he gestured to his empty scabbard. Doc was curious as to the reason for this, but decided it best not to pry.
The armored dwarf then spun about and marched right out of the tavern to return to her duties in the smithing shop. As she left, a shiver ran down her spine due to the sound of a metal fork being scraped against a plate. Burk had tossed Tom a copper coin in return for Zib’s abandoned breakfast.
Doc then rounded the tavern’s broad wall and walked straight towards the smoking stone structure where the blacksmiths worked. She leaned her weapon against the leg of a work table and removed her armor down to her diving robe. The fires of the forge would not have mercy on one who insulated themselves or bore metal clothing. She took up her heavy but small crafting hammer and approached the burning coals with a handful of iron bars. Before she even plunged the first into the burning chamber to be softened, she felt the ground begin to quake beneath her. She dropped her materials and ran for the door to see what was transpiring outside.
Carl’s window above the magic shop was smoking. The warlock himself stumbled out form the door of the shop, coughing and hacking. Doc ran over to him immediately. He had a severe limp and was bleeding from several places on his body. He collapsed before she reached him.
Other residents of Loukusa were peeking out of their windows, either awoken by the sound or having felt the tremors as they were preparing for the day. They watched as a dwarf woman ran up to the fallen human and grabed her necklace in one hand as she extended the other to touch his wounded leg. A soft blue glow emanated from the space between her hand and his body and the wounds vanished from him.
During this brief moment, Doc felt a surge of energy like no other. It was the power of Cooglara herself, manifested through the Coog Pearl, up her arm, through her heart, and down into the warlock in order to heal him. She had researched healing spells in great depth during her training, but had never attempted to cast one. The flow of energy was like a tidal wave coursing through her body, flowing from the source of all her power to the object of her prayer. She had to take a moment to catch her breath form the experience before rising. Carl, too, rose, looking shocked at what had just transpired.
“What happened in there?” Doc asked after regaining her composure.
“I asked my patron for a spell that he thought I wasn’t ready for, and then he cast it directly into my face,” he replied numbly. He, too, was trying to understand the magic that had just been used on him by this cleric. He had no concept of holy power as all of his spells were obtained by making requests of an ancient creature he found living inside a book about the proper etiquette one must practice while attending balls hosted by elder gods.
“I don’t know what that means, but don’t do it again.” Doc said this with such finality that he felt as though he had been slapped, though that may have been residual energy from the horrifying feat of witchcraft he had just witnessed.
“Y-yes ma’am!” He replied, watching her walk back towards a building that was actually supposed to be smoking. He decided that he would need to look into these religious spells some time, though not now as he had to return to his shop. It was nearly time to open, after all.
Comments (0)
See all