Eve took a seat next to him. “They’re sending you free stuff now?”
“Yep.” Wes grinned. “As an incentive to ‘consider their offer.’ So far I’ve got an Initiate’s Ring from the Ruin Raiders, a pair of Resonance Cuffs from the Sojourners, and this Amulet of Lightning Attenuation from the Red Ravens.”
“That’s what we think he has,” Preston clarified. “Any one of these pieces could be enchanted to fool Appraise. We’d have to take them to an Enchanter to be sure.”
“Hello?” A youthful voice interrupted the conversation. “I have a parcel for the… um… the Disk-eye-pull of the Devouring Flame?”
Eve bit back laughter at the Messenger Boy’s mispronunciation of Wes’s class.
“That’s me.” Wes tipped the boy as he graciously accepted the paper-wrapped package, a wide grin fixed on his face as he read through the note.
Preston had the good grace to wait for the messenger to leave before cracking a smile of his own. “Disk-eye-pull, huh?”
“It suits you,” Eve said. “Some of your puns certainly make me want to pull out my eyes.”
Wes ignored her jape as he tore through the brown paper to reveal a folded garment of brilliant fiery red. He let out a whistle.
Hexweave Robes
Rarity: Rare
“Look at you,” Preston teased as Wes held the item in front of him, “mage’s got his first set of robes.”
“Hey, we can’t all get free Priestess robes from the church,” Wes countered.
Eve grabbed the letter that had fallen to the table. “No, some of us have to get free robes from… Hard Company?” She snorted. “Somebody actually named their mercenary group Hard Company? That has to be a joke, right?”
Preston’s eyes widened. “You got a note from Hard Company? Ayla’s tits. They’re the real deal.”
“You know them?” Wes asked.
“You don’t? They pretty much single-handedly stopped a leviathan from crushing Roathin. A fucking leviathan, Wes.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll add them to the shortlist.” He refolded the hexweave robes, setting them on the table.
“Gods, please,” Eve said. “Please join the Hard Company. I beg of you.”
Wes scowled. “You’re never going to get past that name, are you?”
“Wes, you have the opportunity to join the hardest mercenary company in the land. Do you think they’ll train you to be hard like the rest of them? Maybe there’s a special hard-ness skill.”
Wes sighed, crumpling up the offer letter from the Hard Company. “That’s a no, then. No amount of free gear is worth Eve making ‘hard’ jokes for the rest of my life.”
“Probably wise,” Preston admitted, “but you gotta admit that robe looks snazzy.”
Eve cocked an eyebrow. “Snazzy? Really?” She exhaled. “Anything’s better than that trash heap you’ve been wearing.”
“Hey, this trash heap's a priceless family heirloom.”
“If by priceless you mean worthless, then sure,” Eve laughed. “It’s no wonder half of Nowherested was happy to give away their heirlooms to you.”
Wes tugged at his ill-fitting, mismatched set of worn armor. “They were just excited that their town produced a legendary hero.”
Eve stuck her tongue out. “Yeah, it’s a pity they gave all that crap to you instead of to her.”
“It’s okay.” Preston placed a comforting—and somewhat patronizing—hand on Wes’s shoulder. “You’re Legendary to me.”
“And to them.” Wes jerked a thumb over his shoulder as the door swung open to admit three more messengers bearing letters and gifts.
The train of offerings continued throughout the afternoon as the party conversed over ales. More than anything, Eve found the variety of items truly astounding, as if the assorted companies had conspired to outfit the disk-eye-pull in a complete set of enchanted gear.
From a belt that could store fire Mana for later castings to shoes ensorcelled to never leave blisters, Wes one by one replaced every single family heirloom he’d worn since Nowherested. One group—Belter’s Brawlers—even sent him fireproof undergarments. Eve had a good laugh at that one.
Wes carefully tallied each gift, piling them neatly on the wooden table as Preston organized the stack of letters. Not a one of them mentioned the specific salary they offered, leaving Wes with the task of responding to each one to properly facilitate the bidding.
The longer the day went, the less Eve envied the mage’s position. Sure the growing heap of enchanted gear was nice, but she had the funds to purchase custom gear that would fit her skillset far better than any random gift.
The effort involved in negotiating the best possible offer felt more and more of a chore as the letters kept coming in, especially considering the sum of gold she’d obtained that very day. Hells, in Wes’s place she might’ve just picked the company with the coolest-sounding name. Or the silliest. She snorted again at ‘Hard Company.’
Eve’s mounting lack of envy peaked as a Messenger Girl stepped into the guild hall with a live goat in tow.
“We hope our gift will appease your great patron,” Wes read aloud from the attached note. “Signed, Occultists Incorporated. What in the hells does this mean?”
Preston blinked. “I… I think they want you to sacrifice the goat to the Devouring Flame.”
“They want me to what?” Wes shook his head. “Nope. Nope nope nope.” He tore up the letter. “The Devouring Flame isn’t getting shit from me.”
“Other than, you know, all those demons you burned. And the hydra. And the troll.” Eve smirked.
“Okay, okay.” Wes held up his hands. “The Devouring Flame only gets things that are trying to kill me.”
“So what are you going to do with… um… him?” Preston pointed at the goat as it munched on a mouthful of Wes’s brand new hexweave robes.
“Son of a—” Wes cursed, grabbing the beast by its snout as he tried to force its jaw open. It didn’t budge. A careful application of fire—paired with a few additional expletives for flavor—eventually prodded the creature to back off with a few angry bleats, but not before it managed to chew a fist-sized hole in the Rare garment. “You know what, maybe I will sacrifice it.”
“Yeah,” Eve laughed, “with any luck it’ll eat the Devouring Flame.”
“Goats will eat anything,” Preston added.
“Maybe that’s what the Devouring Flame is.” Eve said. “Just a goat who got really high-level and caught fire. Think about it. Goats eat everything. The Devouring Flame is all-consuming. They’re basically the same thing.”
Wes put his head in his hands. “What are you on about now?”
A sly grin spread across Eve’s face. “Maybe your real class is Disciple of the Fiery Goat.”
“No, no.” Preston wagged a finger. “It’s Disk-eye-pull of the Fiery Goat.”
Wes groaned, collapsing forward to land his head in his pile of swag.
Preston chuckled.
Eve outright laughed.
The goat happily returned to its meal, oblivious to the ongoing merriment being made in its name. As far as it was concerned, only one fact truly mattered in that moment: Hexweave, it’d discovered, was delicious.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Side Quest
“SO I UNDERSTAND why Wes has to be here to receive messages from the mercs, but why is it my job to sell this asshole?” Eve tugged tightly on the goat’s leash, jerking its head away before it could take a bite out of her shoulder pack. “You’re the one who can communicate with it.”
Preston exhaled. “Because my beast tamer license requires I don’t let the magical creatures out of my sight.”
“Then take them with you!”
“You know I can’t do that. Art’s psychic tutor will be here by midday.”
Eve scoffed. “It won’t take that long.”
“You don’t know that,” Preston insisted. “Just take the damn goat. What else were you gonna do today?”
&nb
sp; “Alright, alright,” Eve grumbled. She could do her shopping later. That was the advantage of not being trapped in a deadly wasteland—she could afford to waste time on nonessential tasks. Then again, given how much of Wes’s fancy hexweave robes the goat had eaten, maybe getting rid of it was essential.
Eve shook her head, leading the ill-mannered beast out into the busy streets of inner Ilvia. She’d expected the goat’s steadfast insistence on staying put, requiring her to force it along. She’d expected the curious looks passersby gave an Emissary leading around a live goat.
She hadn’t expected the notification that popped into view as she took her first step.
Tertiary Quest assigned: Sell the Goat
Sell the goat.
“What the hells is a tertiary quest?” Eve muttered. She had a life quest, and so far two secondary quests to go with it, but they were all grand, overarching goals that could feasibly take years to complete. This was… an errand.
Gods, she hoped it wasn’t another bread situation. Was she going to start burning down farms and slaughterhouses too, now? She cursed. Maybe the word ‘tertiary’ meant it would be easier. A tertiary quest couldn’t be as hard as a life quest, right?
Still, Eve had to wonder why this particular task was worth a quest at all. She hadn’t been assigned one for any of the guild commissions she’d accepted, nor any of the other miscellaneous goals she’d set for herself.
She forced the musings from her mind. “C’mon, goat,” she said, refusing to name the livestock as she tugged its stubborn legs forward.
As she and the goat strode down the avenues of the inner city, Eve quietly accepted the realization that if the quest meant anything, it was that selling this damned goat was going to be more of an endeavor than she would’ve liked. With a grimace, she resigned herself to the likelihood she wasn’t going to get her shopping in that day.
The bag at her back sat empty but for the three remaining scones from yesterday’s purchase. Her club, the rest of the loot, and all but a few dozen silver rested safely back at the guild hall. She kept her daggers with her, strapped to the belt she wore around her simple traveling pants. There was no need for armor in the safety of the city, after all.
Only three blocks into her errand found Eve at her obvious first stop—the butcher’s. There were, of course, no farms in the inner city, but even the wealthy needed meat.
Her hopes were not high as she stepped into the establishment. The servants in line to buy their masters’ evening meal looked down her noses at her, as if even the cooks and maids thought themselves above the lowly adventurer. Or at least above her goat.
“Oi,” a gruff voice shouted from behind the counter. “No pets. We keep it clean in ‘ere.” The butcher, whose bloodstained apron was anything but clean, scowled at her.
“I’m trying to sell it,” she answered. “Figured you could use it for meat.”
“This in’t a slaughterhouse.” The man scoffed, the superior look on his face contrasting sharply with the bits of intestine stuck to his sleeve. “We only take the finest sourced, ethically raised product from Ilvia’s top farmers. Gods know where that thing’s been.”
Eve batted at the goat, knocking out the chunk of its leash it had been chewing on. “Look, I’m just trying to get rid of this thing.”
“Then get rid of it somewhere else,” the butcher snapped.
“Alright,” Eve sighed. She’d known it wouldn’t be this easy. “You mentioned slaughterhouses? Where’s the nearest one?”
“I’m not a map, lass,” the man answered. “Now get yer filthy animal out of ‘ere.”
Eve conceded, silently nodding as she backed away from the butcher shop. The goat, for once, followed all too readily, happy to leave behind the stench of fresh meat.
“Okay,” Eve thought aloud as she paused on the tidy cobblestone street, “slaughterhouse, slaughterhouse, slaughterhouse.” Figuring such grisly work wouldn’t take place within the inner city, she picked a direction and started walking, settling in for a long trip.
In theory a slaughterhouse would be closer, but she knew the entirety of Ilvia was surrounded by farmland. If she just kept going, she’d be practically guaranteed to find a farm eventually. Farms kept goats, right? She assumed so. Where else would Occultists Incorporated have bought the thing?
Eve and her goat wandered the thoroughfares of inner Ilvia, each taking in the symphony of sounds and smells the city had to offer. Freshly baked pastries mingled with the cloying sweetness of perfume and flowers contrasted with the sharp bitterness of smoke from a nearby forge.
The autumn sun shined warmth on her back as Eve eyed the various patisseries and boutiques she passed, ever-frustrated at the realization that none would welcome the presence of a goat. Hells, the damn thing would probably eat the jewelry on display. She grimaced, making a note of each business she passed, determined to do her shopping later. What use was all this gold if she couldn’t spend it?
So enraptured was she in the luxury of her surroundings, Eve didn’t even notice in which direction she headed until the incline of the road made itself apparent. Looking up from her reverie, the massive stone tower ahead of her made her location clear.
The Great Crossing.
Far be it from her to understand why the citizens of Leshk had decided to build a bridge at the widest part of the river. The Great Crossing at Ilvia was a historic feat of engineering. Or was it a Legendary quest reward like the walls of Lynthia? Hells if Eve knew. She was just happy to see it.
Its stones bound together by enchantment, the arch stretched over half a mile long and wide enough for three wagons to ride abreast, not that they ever did. Instead, vendors set up stalls along the bridge’s sides, offering up all manner of sweets and souvenirs to visitors of the esteemed landmark.
The towers on either end served no structural purpose, built solely for the sake of keeping watch and for the immovable portcullis they each supported. Eve didn’t envy any hostile army that thought it could storm the Great Crossing.
Eve slowed as the slope evened out and eventually flattened out entirely as she reached the arch’s peak. She stopped, turning to gaze over the broad stone handrail. The goat joined her, jumping up to rest its front hooves on the barrier.
The view was magnificent.
Sunlight glimmered upon the ambling water, the barges and ferries floating upon it like so many ships sailing through a sea of stars. On either side docks and wharfs extended like fingers into the flow, each housing its own private hustle and bustle as harbor workers went about their daily tasks of loading and unloading the trading vessels that were the true lifeblood of Ilvia.
She watched with awe as a river schooner passed beneath her feet, the tip of its mast not so much as nearing the underside of the Great Crossing. Even directly below her, the sailors on deck appeared as little more than ants in the distance.
Several times as she stood upon the bridge’s peak did Eve turn to survey her surroundings. The city itself spread out before her, its tallest structures nothing compared to the majesty of the Crossing. She could just make out the ruined wall that marked the border between the inner city and the rest of the plebeian world.
Still, try as she might to mentally map out the metropolis from her vantage, Eve found her attention kept returning to the river itself, the sparkling sun and the ghostly glide of the ships mesmerizing.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
The goat bleated in agreement.
“Alright, then.” She stepped away, tugging at the animal’s leash to pull it from the handrail. “Let’s get you to a slaughterhouse.”
Eve set her course down the opposite side of the bridge, choosing the direction so that she might have another chance to enjoy the view on her way back. The goat proved reluctant to leave the Crossing behind, forcing Eve to exert some Strength to pull the thing along and keep it from nibbling on the clothes of passersby. Had Occultists Incorporated never fed the damn thing?
Probably no
t, she realized. Poor thing. Whatever Preston insisted about the Garaxian cultists being perfectly polite, Eve’s experiences told her the opposite. Those cultists had tried to kill them, and these cultists had expected Wes to sacrifice the goat. Just because he was a Disciple didn’t mean he was a cultist.
Unless he is, Eve realized. For all she knew, he’d earned his Rare class by making offerings to the Devouring Flame when nobody was looking. Acolyte and Disciple sure sounded cultist-y. Eve smiled at the idea of a cultist and a Priestess sharing a bed. Wes, with all his dumb jokes and bad ideas, had to be the least cult-like cultist she’d ever seen. Then again, Preston was the least priest-like Priestess she’d ever seen. The two really were a perfect match.
The silly musings kept Eve suitably distracted as she and the goat traversed eastern Ilvia, progressing first through the inner city and then through the ancient wall into the seedier outer city.
At first the buildings weren’t noticeably different than their inner-city counterparts. At second, Eve was simply too busy imagining Wes making offerings to some evil god of puns to notice the increasingly ramshackle state of her surroundings.
It wasn’t until she spared a thought for how readily the goat had been walking alongside her that she thought to actually look back at it, if only to confirm it hadn’t eaten a hole in her trousers when she wasn’t looking.
The leather leash dragged along the cobblestones, its tip frayed where a certain animal had chewed through it.
The goat was gone.
Eve’s immediate reaction was one of relief—she didn’t have to bother with selling the damn thing anymore. It was someone else’s problem. Whatever silver it might’ve been worth didn’t seem worth the effort compared to the gold she already had.
A panicked bleating rang out in the distance, sending Eve’s attention towards two hooded figures standing at the mouth of a dark alley. One held the goat under his arm.
This Class is Bonkers! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 2) Page 11
