Rissa
18/18 HP | 19/19 MP | 7/10 XP
Rissa was mildly shocked when Mr. Tries-too-hard called her name around his bullet cigar. For the time being, she ignored him; Barong would be there any second, and she only had her hammer made. Any longer, and...
"Hey!" Barong called, honing in on her like a crow on its shining prize. Rats, Rissa lamented as she hammered an ingot into his skinning knife. She wasn't ready. And this took way more concentration than she'd anticipated. "So, how did it go?" was his instant inquiry, of course. Rissa kept at her task, not willing to risk breaking it by replying. She could feel Barong growing more and more antsy while she delayed him--an eternity that lasted five seconds--so she couldn't help but tease him a little more.
When Barong turned to call out to Roland--their new party member whose name had appeared in Rissa's display earlier--the wolf girl quickly switched out the finished knife with the glowing ingot she had left prepping in the forge. She hammered it down into a dagger (a process the game simplified immensely), then started lighter taps along its edges to refine the blade (apparently the most difficult part of forging a weapon). When she was at last content with it, she carefully lowered the weapon into the cooling bucket, pulled it out, and applied the leather strips to it.
Finally Rissa turned to Barong with a wide smile. She held up the newly crafted dagger like a prize trophy. She so dearly wanted to use it now that she had it, but he was going to die if he didn't find out about his gun soon. Well, he'd either die or kill; she didn't know him well enough to say which just yet.
"Okay! That's a whole lot harder than I expected, but I'm getting the hang of it! Here's your skinning knife; the durability is a little low, but in my defense that was my first attempt at a cutting edge." Rissa sent him the knife, but paused just a moment longer before adding,
"Oh yeah, I bought this for you, too," and giving him the Basic Rifle from Skraps. Rissa did well to suppress her giggles, but she couldn't stop grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Then her eyes found Roland. Mr. Tries-too-hard himself stood there, bullet and all. Rissa's ears leaped straight up in surprise.
"Ah. Ah-ha. You must be Roland, then?" Rissa forced her ears down again and smiled--not wide like she always did for Barong, but the corners of her mouth were turned up around her fangs. The girl had to bite down all her thoughts about this guy, and quickly; they were stuck together now.
"Rissa. Sorry, I don't have a new pistol for you. You'll have to manage until we find someone with a spare."
Sir Lancelot
37/37 HP | 10/10 MP | 6/10 XP
Sir Lancelot trudged through the landing site alone. Nadia had turned down his offer. He wasn't surprised; after an introduction like that--collision, crash, and ear canals--anyone who would say, "Sure, I want you following me around," had to be crazy. Next time he would keep his mouth shut long enough for his brain to catch up.
The next time came quickly. He still needed a new pickaxe and shield. He was browsing the marketplace, even though he was totally broke, when an extremely pleased girl emerged from one of the workshops. The small girl with furry ears animatedly thanked whomever was inside before running off. It was worth a shot, Lance decided; a lot of shops had customers grumbling as they left, so a shop owner that was thanked for their deals had to be good. He made his way through the crowded street and slipped into the workshop.
Lance had been expecting a change from the hubbub of the street to a serene silence like in the Medical Tent. Instead he found a different kind of bustle. Tinkerers were bent over a dozen workbenches applying their craft. Guns took shape under deft fingers; bows were bent and strung; at the back he could see two men working on the beginnings of a ballista. The young man stopped and stared in stunned amazement.
One green-skinned girl near the front of the shop noticed him. She looked him up and down, then called over her shoulder, "Skraps! Ya got a kaannniggit!"
"Woohoo!" cried one man on the opposite wall. He thrust an arm in the air, then brought it down to point at the identical-looking man beside him. "That's a point..." He pulled his hand back and stuck his thumb to his own chest. "...for the Drew-man!"
"Oh lay off. Tally's still only twelve to nine. There will be more mages soon."
"Kid, ignore the twins," the girl who first called out advised. "That's the girl yer lookin' for." She pointed to a woman bent over a rifle three benches down.
"Ah, thanks... um?"
"Hah? Oh. Yana."
"Thanks, Yana."
"Whatever. Yer not payin' me, so get movin'." It sounded gruff, but the girl was smiling. Lance nodded, returned her smile, and walked past.
"So, um... Skraps?" Lance began hesitantly. He didn't receive any response, but he pressed on anyway.
"I need a pickaxe and a shield. I know you're not a smith, but... um..." His voice dwindled to nothing. She wasn't even listening to him. All her attention was on aligning the rifle's sight. He stood there in an awkward silence for several seconds, unsure of how to proceed.
Skraps sighed heavily and set down her tools. "Look, kid, if you want something then ask. Just standing there isn't going to get you anything, and you're so nervous it's putting
me on edge. A pickaxe is sixty cred. A buckler is eighty, a kite shield is one-twenty, and a tower is one-sixty. Are you buying?"
"Ah! Um, I don't... have money..." Lance explained weakly.
"Stop stammering and just say it. Then you have something to barter?" In comparison, everything Skraps said was clipped and direct. Her voice was commanding.
"Yes! I have twenty iron ore!" Lance stated a little too loudly. A few tinkerers nearby stifled laughs.
"Fifteen will get you the buckler, twelve will get you the pick. Which do you want?"
"Wha? But I need both!"
"You can't afford it. Which one?"
Lance was downcast, and his face showed it plainly. Which was more important? He needed the shield for protection, but the pick was his best chance to earn enough to buy a shield. So he needed the pick more. But if those forunn were still patrolling his iron vein, he couldn't use the pickaxe without a shield.
"Fine. Thirty ore for both," Skraps stated, to Lancelot's surprise.
"But I only have-"
"Credit. You'll bring me the other ten later."
"Okay!" Lance agreed happily. A trade notification appeared and he rapidly accepted, putting up his twenty ore for the iron pickaxe and buckler. The trade went through. A second later, another message appeared before his eyes saying Skraps wanted to trade mailing info. Of course she needed to be able to contact him to make sure he wouldn't welch. He agreed to that one as well--and actually felt a little happy that the woman was on his contact list. She was the first; that practically made her a friend.
"I'll get you that iron right away! Thank you!"
Sir Lancelot left that workshop a happy knight. He sprinted for the town's edge, toward the iron vein he'd left out on the plains. He wanted to show Skraps that he was a man of honor; he would give her the other ten iron within the hour!
Back in the shop, Yana sidled over to Skraps. She spoke despite the trader appearing engrossed in the rifle once again. "How bad did you take 'im fer?"
"Thirty for a ten-five."
Yana shook her head incredulously. "Ye ripped 'im off two-to-one and he's thankin' ya for it. I can't tell if he's stupid or yer brilliant."
"Both."
Yana chuckled. This woman wasn't one for false anything, be it kindness or modesty. "Think he's comin' back?"
"Definitely. Sir Lancelot is a good boy."
The name was almost enough to floor Yana, but she put her amazement to the side. "That's not what I meant. Think he'll survive out there?"
Incredibly, Skraps stopped working. She pondered that for several drawn-out moments. At length she answered, "Yes. He can play. He'll just be broke the whole time."
Yana laughed, nodding her head in agreement.
