How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok

by Damien Hanson

  The lead woman cocked her head.

  “Are you enough, Mr. Yenrab?”

  Her companions copied her cocky pose and expression, backup dancers to the rhythm of her attitude. Some of the men around them laughed in a bawdy fashion while others whistled. Yenrab grunted, with a sort of realization dawning within his brain.

  “I’m famous, or so I’ve come to understand out in the wilds. I mean, I’m not like, you know, famous famous, but people know of me. And it looks like I have tax enough to buy my way in here. I think, ya know, I’m more than enough. I might well be more than you all can handle,” the barbarian said, emphasizing the last with a tremendous smile, dirty canines exposed to the air.

  Yenrab relaxed, his formerly taut body loosened as he took charge of the situation.

  This is an encounter to be defeated, just like so many things in this world, Yenrab told himself, actually feeling excited to be in the midst of something he well understood. The way the men moved, chuckled, and hooted about them made it well-known to him that this was something akin to the tribal tales and poetry slams during Autumn Festival. He wasn’t the quickest wit, but he could hold his own.

  The woman smiled and shifted her hip to the side.

  “I’m happy to hear you say that, and I welcome you to the city, Mr. Yenrab of the tribes without. I’m the leader here, and you can call me Garnan Chaine, or just call me Myrrh as it is my first name, and I don’t care for titles. You aren’t the first barbarian to come on in, but you are the first to get my sense of humor, so I guess I like you. Here’s the rules. No weapons in hand unless the bell tower rings. While you are here, you are part of our garrison. You help defend this place, and I swear to the gods I’ll put a knife through that tough skin of yours if I see you running. If you want to join Gardit Chalna’s forces, I’ll give you a run-through and see if you are worth it. And if you are just passing through, well, I’ll buy you the first round.”

  “I don’t drink, Garnan Myrrh Chaine or Myrrh. But I’d appreciate the company all the same. What happened to all those other guys who didn’t impress you?” he asked in wonder.

  “I took their weapons until they left. Well, except for the one I married. That poor Otplainer got sentenced to life. I make him run the bar, so don’t get handsy,” the woman advised. “Though I bet you could take him, you’d still have me to deal with when you got finished.”

  “I appreciate the warning, Myrrh. Maybe if I’d come here a few years earlier . . .”

  “A few years earlier and you’d have been twelve by the looks of things.” The woman laughed. “You are damn handsome, and I appreciate the sight, but let’s be honest—you aren’t going to stay around, and I’m a married woman.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Plus, I’ve got a mission it would seem, though the Great Bear hasn’t told me directly. Just a book, a coin, and some disappearing older guy with a beer belly, so far, but all of those portents are telling me I need to get a job and go on an adventure. In order or at the same time, I’m not really sure.”

  Myrrh nodded.

  “Gods and quests, ruins and danger. Yeah, you do seem like the type to do such things, a god over your shoulder or not. Well, I don’t know of any ruins or legends about, but I can for sure get you a guide job at the tavern, and the rest, well, I suppose is prophecy.”

  “Or destiny?” the young man asked, a bit disturbed, as he pushed his platinum coin, the tax, into her hand.

  “Whatever it is,” she said, looking in fascination at the gleaming bear anus of her coin, the word Destiny engraved above and below it. “I bet that no matter what you do in the next month or so, you’ll end up with an adventuring party. And,” she noted thoughtfully, looking up to a single cloud floating through the light-blue sky, “I bet at the start of it all, it is going to stink.”

  The handsome and kindhearted monster man nodded in deep contemplation, and then simply accepted it all, smiling broadly. He joined Myrrh and her companions in heading off to the tavern, talking curiosities and pasts. The men of the town nodded and went back to their tasks, happy to be pioneers in this brave new world.

  Chapter 4: Meeting the Fellas

  Myrrh’s tavern was big, blocky, and dull on the outside, its walls made of roughly halved logs as if the settlers simply couldn’t wait long enough to make proper boards. Considering that this was where the booze was, they probably couldn’t.

  The door was a bit more homey, though, in that it was sewn flaps of treated animal skin. Just like the tents of his tribe.

  Myrrh and her friends slapped it aside as they entered, Yenrab right behind them. The interior was more crowded than he would have expected for this hour, but he wasn’t really sure how these things worked either. They had the booze tent in the tribe, but that was more of a festival thing, and it didn’t get dragged out too often.

  He sneezed a little, unused to musty indoor places.

  While her friends spread out to mingle, Myrrh sauntered up to the bar, a counter behind which a large orc with small tusks was busy serving food and alcohol, neither of which looked well-made.

  “Dunmer, meet Yenrab,” she beamed as her husband dutifully leaned over the bar to smooch her on the cheek. Yenrab turned his eyes away from that, feeling embarrassed but not sure why. He dropped his ruck to the floor and leaned it against the bar.

  “He’s out here from the Confederation of the Bear, just like you.”

  “That right?” he queried with a bit of thoughtful hesitation. “The Yenrab?”

  His common tongue was thick, slow, and garbled, but understandable.

  Yenrab nodded slowly, and switched to Orcish to better parley with the man.

  “Yeah, ya know, probably? Have you heard about me?”

  “Hells yes, I heard about ya!” Dunmer beamed. “Hey, Myrrh,” he continued in Orcish, to Yenrab’s surprise, “did you know this is the Yenrab!”

  “I gathered as much,” she said with a yawn and a sly grin. “I’m not much for hero worship though, and I kept my tongue. Besides, I’ve been saving that part for you,” she added to the bartender’s tremendous joy.

  “Gross,” Yenrab stated flatly. They both laughed.

  “Listen, Dunmer, Yenrab here has gotten himself involved with prophesy or destiny or some other gods-awful nonsense, and he is supposed to find an adventuring party. You got any leads?”

  Dunmer scratched under his armpits and sniffed his fingers. Yenrab felt relieved at knowing he could do that here, and so he did the same.

  “Nothing happening. We’ve got the lunch crowd in, and the hunting troupe is back in town which is why we’re so busy. They caught regular game meat but nothing special, so I bought their lot cheap, and I’m gonna grind it up tonight. Tough luck, Yenrab. Why adventuring anyways? Aren’t you all about saving people?”

  Yenrab sighed. A couple of patrons, a bit into their drinks despite this early hour, startled and fell off of their benches.

  “Oh my gods, Yenrab, that is one hell of a sound you make. Intimidating that is,” Myrrh observed.

  He smiled back at her.

  “Yeah, I can’t really help it. I guess that’s just how I am. Anyways, to your question, yeah, I am all about saving people. And I saved some lady who just ran off without even thanking me, and then I fought this guy that seemed to be possessed maybe, and he yelled a bunch of stuff about Gharag and me burning forever, and then I killed him and I found a magical book.”

  He began to reach into his pack.

  “Nope. No, no, no, and no,” she asserted.

  “But . . .”

  “No means no, Yenrab. I’m not about to get myself and my husband involved in your destiny anymore than we already have been. You already told me what the book said you need to do and that’s enough. You are a good man, I can see that, but we have a life right here, and we don’t need to be rolling around in dung fighting monsters and whatever the hells else so that your Great Bear can win a trophy or whatever those gods above get when they gain victory.”

&nb
sp; Dunmer looked at the young half-orc with sympathy.

  “Sorry, Yenrab, but she’s right. So, what can we do to help you along and move destiny away from us?”

  Myrrh busted in again. “He was told he needs to get a job. I figure we can find him some guide work here in Place for Ships. It isn’t adventuring, but it’ll get him some coin and send him to somewhere that has what he needs.”

  Dunmer beamed with excitement.

  “Ha! Imagine that—I’ve already been asked today if there wasn’t someone here who could guide a group to Gennopolis. They’ll be back later,” said the bartender elated as he scooped light-brown sludge out of a pot and plopped it into a bowl, sliding it in front of the barbarian. “Stick around, Yenrab, and have some meat slurry while you wait.”

  ***

  Night was darkening the sky, and he was beginning to wonder if the two men who had inquired about guides were going to actually come back. Yenrab had spent his time talking off and on again with Dunmer and Myrrh, and simply contemplating life when they were busy or that one longer period when they got all grabby with each other and left off for twenty or thirty minutes. Hardly the way to run a business, he had thought, feeling embarrassed all over again.

  He’d had time to really think about what was going to happen next. He really was going to help a couple of people get to Gennopolis, assuming a good interview with the two when or if they returned to the tavern. It was a journey of at least a month, maybe even two, depending on how hard they were, through a lot of untamed wilderness. He was, he assumed, going to pull them out of swampy mires, save them from drowning, get them out of pit traps and briars, just like he was always doing before with the settlers. He’d accompanied the tribe’s shaman on one such journey a year ago, to trade pelts at the edge of the great big city for tremendous amounts of metal goods and beautiful beads. They’d refused the blankets, though. He’d make sure to remember to do the same when he got there this time with his employers.

  “Yenrab!” Dunmer yelled, breaking him out of his reverie. “Your job just came in.”

  The barbarian turned and looked to the entrance. A face not much older than his own looked back, uncomfortable and nervous. Half-pointed ears and angular handsomeness marked him as a half-elf, much as the lute he carried marked him as a bard. Yenrab tried to look into the man’s eyes, but he was having none of that, averting his gaze and staring at the floor as he walked over to the bar.

  “Um . . . b-b-barkeep, sum . . . somethi . . . something strong. Whiskey!” the man shook out, his nerves well overcoming him. Yenrab imagined he’d need a few drinks before he was worth talking to, so he twiddled his thumbs and let him take his time.

  It didn’t take long. A few long draws from a battered pewter mug, and the bard was looking confident and ready for the world. He looked the barbarian in the eye, and Yenrab returned the gaze with a happy glint.

  “Hello, stranger. I am Yenrab, and I hear you are in need of a guide to Gennopolis.”

  The bard nodded, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He didn’t seem to know the first thing about what he was doing here.

  “Here, I can see you are uncomfortable. Let’s start with names. I am Yenrab,” the half-orc stated amiably, ready to let his fame do the talking for him.

  There was a silence. It grew longer and uncomfortable.

  “You know, the Yenrab? Rescuer of Settlers and all that? Folk Hero of the Western Reaches?” Yenrab asked with uncertainty.

  The bard finally answered.

  “Never heard of you. But, hey, if you say so.”

  The man’s speech was already a little slurred, his demeanor challenging.

  Just great! Yenrab exclaimed mentally.

  “Okay, I get it; I let my head get too big there, haha. I’m Yenrab, formerly of the Confederation of the Bear and ya know, I’m known around these parts for being a good guy to have around when you are in a bind. And who are you, if I can ask?”

  “I am Carric Smith, hailing from Chalnaharren,” he returned with spirit-laden breath. Seeing the lack of understanding on Yenrab’s face, he frowned and said, “Icegard. I’m from Icegard.”

  “Ah, yes, Icegard. So from the same place as most around here. You’re a settler!” Yenrab exclaimed. Then his face screwed up in confusion, looking Carric up and down. “But you don’t really look like one of the settlers. You’ve got such small arms and shoulders, and sticks for legs.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Carric Smith groused.

  “I look at you and find myself wondering how you can carry even your own body, let alone the gear for a journey. Have you been ill? My little sister has more substance. Good gods, man, you need to eat.”

  Carric looked flustered and angry, staring at the floor. Yenrab took note and felt immediate regret.

  “Listen, Carric, sorry about that. I’m just a dumb barbarian, okay? It’s just, the tales I heard back in my tribe of the land of Icegard, well, it is a place of constant fight and struggle. And heroes of such rugged nature and battle prowess. I was just confused,” he explained in a tone thick with apology. “If you need a guide, I’m happy to do it. A gold piece a day, one gold up front. And I promise that I’ll get you there safely. You have my word.”

  Carric looked up again, into Yenrab’s eyes. He wasn’t angry anymore, just looked hurt and shy, plus a little drunk.

  “I’m going to be an entertainer, Mr. Yenrab. I’m going to be successful and famous, and when I do, I’ll remember that you were the one who took me there to that great stage in Gennopolis,” he exuberated, seeming to talk to himself more than to the barbarian in front of him.

  “Hey, barkeep!” he shouted over his shoulder, surprising Yenrab with his sudden onslaught of confidence. “Dwarven spirits for me and my new guide!”

  Dunmer nodded, swiping up two grubby mugs of pewter and pouring foul spirits in from a tap in a keg.

  “None for me, Mr. Smith, though thank you for the offer. I have to keep a clear head for our trip. We set off tomorrow.” He winked. Carric nodded and tossed him a gold coin. The throw was erratic, but Yenrab picked it out of the air anyways without difficulty.

  “There’s your other one,” said Dunmer, pointing with his chin to a new stranger entering the bar as he plopped two mugs of dwarven spirits in front of the bard with doubtful eyes. Carric, though, did not shy away from the challenge, slugging down half of one mug as if challenging his consciousness to a duel.

  Looking at the entrance, he saw a man in mismatched clothing, none of which seemed to fit him well.

  “He’s a strange bugger, that one,” Dunmer confided. “His name is Tracy Riley, and as the story goes, he came up here to Place for Ships along the coast via some fancy elven sea vessels, all decked out with ribbons and streamers. Some of the dock workers told me after he came that his arrival surprised the heck out of them. They’d never seen such a fancy ship, right, so they all bowed and kowtowed when the ship docked. They were all expecting royalty because, well, it was as fancy a ship as has ever been built, and so they expected some elven king or prince or something to walk on out. But, instead, a few elven sailors came down the plank with Tracy here, shoved him to the ground, and another elf threw his trunk of things overboard, and then they all left in a huff.”

  Yenrab chuckled.

  “Tough luck that. He must have slept with someone he shouldn’t have,” Yenrab suggested, feeling blood rise to his cheeks as he thought of it.

  “No, I seriously doubt that,” Dunmer replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just meet him. He’s weird. Heck, the dock workers said that, as the ship pulled off, Tracy there looked happy as a horse in hay, yelling thanks to the ship and then stripping down and jumping into the sea to get his stuff.”

  “He wasn’t sarcastic?” Yenrab asked for clarity.

  “He was not sarcastic. And, when he was here earlier, he was just moving from table to table asking the most bizarre questions and doing some strange things. He’s not dangerous. I don’t think,” Dunmer reassured him, �
��but he sure is odd.”

  Yenrab looked Tracy over as he approached. He could see immediately that he was a half-elf, like Carric. Also, he looked thin and weak, like Carric, and he was dashingly handsome. But that is where their similarities ended. Tracy was confident, and as he walked, he spoke to himself in a noble and refined timbre of voice that might well cast confidence if it weren’t currently being used to talk to himself.

  “Are you Yenrab?” Tracy Riley asked, a half-smile frozen in place. It looked eerie.

  “Uh,” Yenrab answered, a bit taken aback, “yes?”

  “You should know your own name,” Tracy chided. “Study it tonight so you can remember it better next time.”

  Yenrab was confused and surprised. Did Tracy just insult him, joke with him, or was he serious?

  “Oh, and I’m in,” Tracy Riley said, throwing him a platinum piece and strolling up to the bar.

  “Beerman!” he yelled, before starting to pick slivers out of the bar with wide-eyed wonder.

  “Yeah?” Dunmer asked, moving over to him.

  “Three beers,” he yelled in a loud and joyful voice. “Two for myself and one for that monster who is gonna maul me in the woods in a week or so.”

  Chapter 5: A Snoop and a Journey

  When Yenrab had found out he was going to be a guide, he had been positive that this was where and how he was going to meet his quest mates. He had been counting on the Great Bear to provide his necessary future adventuring companions for him at the tavern, this tavern, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

  While Carric drank himself too confident, Tracy seemed to become more sober as he downed beer after beer, waxing poetic and giving lectures on things nonsensical.

  Enough of this, Yenrab said to himself as he got up from the bench and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going, handsome?” Myrrh asked, a bit into her own cups with cheeks flushed red in merriment.

  “I’ve gotta poop,” he lied. The way he said it, without shame or idiom, made the woman from Icegard snort and guffaw.