“Around back, Yenrab,” she sighed as she wiped spilt beer from her tunic. Then she turned and left, distracted by some other friend who was no doubt ready to turn in for the night.
Yenrab pulled back the curtain of a door and went around back. He didn’t actually have to use the bathroom, but rather, he needed somewhere to think. And read. There were a couple of outhouses here, tall and slender, looking almost skeletal in the moonlit night. He chose the one on his right.
Getting in, he locked the door with a rusty hook-and-nail apparatus, then threw the book open. It cast its own dim glow into the darkness.
Alright, Yenrab, let’s figure this all out. Right here, right now.
He thumbed back to the table of contents, and let out a soft and unpleasant gasp when he saw a heading on Freemeetian culture, underneath new entries for Tracy and Carric.
He closed the book.
No, no, no, no, no!
He opened the book, then closed it again, then sighed and opened it. He had to see what it said. There was no turning back from this mystery. Finding the entry on Freemeetian culture again in the table of contents, he thumbed to the desired page, making a mental note to check out Tracy and Carric themselves afterward.
Freemeetians—Sentient beings of mostly human and elvish heritage that hail from often buildingless and naked communes nestled within the idyllically soft forests and hills of Elfsmeet.
Well, as life cheats went, this book wasn’t exactly the best of them. Yenrab sighed a bit in frustration, his orcish bellow rocking the outhouse he was privileged enough to be pooping in.
“Yeah, buddy, give it hells!” a drunken man from the pub encouraged in a slur from the outside. He rapped on the structure in brotherly support, threw up, and dropped to the mucky soil with a loud and drawn out belch.
Alright. Time to look at his companions, Yenrab thought.
Carric Smith—Being a half-elf in the land of ice, humans, and ogres is not a great way to spend one’s childhood. Carric stood out as a child for his gangly weakness and pointed ears and saw a lot of suffering at the hands of non-elven peers. He is kind but wary of strangers and prone to emotional pain.
Great. A sad sack. He turned the page to read on about Tracy.
Tracy Riley—Curious and often confused, Tracy is usually kind but can be equally malevolent if things and situations are misunderstood. A being from a culture that is drastically different from, say, that of a backwoods barbarian who finds spying on new people an acceptable outhouse activity.
Yenrab dropped the book, which closed of its own accord after landing very lightly in apparent mockery of his dropping skills. The half-human gave it a look and then sighed and picked it back up. There had been more underneath the heading of Tracy, and the gods be damned if he wasn’t going to use this book to its fullest. Paging through he saw that his own entry had been elongated.
Well, the gods be praised, I guess.
Underneath the original entry was a new bit of information pertaining to the barbarian.
A metagamer and a notorious snoop.
“You know what, Jerold Frey? You can go to the abyss,” the half-orc said aloud, chuckling. What a damn cheeky book this had turned out to be. He glimpsed back down at it, not surprised to see another addition.
And a blasphemer besides.
Haha, well, fair enough. The barbarian decided to move on, deliberately not looking at the book until the page numbers aligned with the spot for Tracy’s page. Then he ambushed it with his gaze. The text and page wavered a bit, showing him strange letter and number combinations in the margin, like Str 12 and Dex 14. Surprising the book had yielded some mystery and that was certainly worth pursuing later. For the time being, though, he focused on the task at hand.
A good person to have in a fight as Tracy is very tactical and sees things from a very different perspective.
Alright. As useful goes, that is pretty useful. It’s a hell of a game you’ve set up for me, Great Bear. I accept your challenge.
***
The morning was a bit cool and scant with fog. Dew lay lightly upon the packed earth of the village proper, whispering a bit into the morning silence as first Carric and then Tracy shuffled over, faces puffy and eyes bloodshot.
Yenrab looked them over.
“Are you two alright?” he asked, remembering well the drinking and carousing both had gotten up to the night before.
Carric Smith fixed him a stare, his angular face looking diseased, and his jutting goatee doing nothing to help with that as he struggled with the contents of his stomach. Then, balling up one fist, he hunched over and tried to stifle a long and juicy belch.
“That is disgusting,” stated Yenrab fondly, thinking of his mother. Carric was good at it, he had to admit, but she was so much better.
Tracy, meanwhile, tore into his backpack, bringing out a vial of red liquid that seemed full of tiny stars. They twinkled, cavorted, and played with one another inside the crystal sheen of their home. The half-elf ended them in one gulp and then sighed, looking refreshed.
Yenrab cleared his throat and spat on the ground.
“Hey, guys. Um, welcome to the guide service. We’re gonna be going for a while, so I hope you packed enough.” He looked at their dainty pack frames. “Uh, you did pack enough, yeah?”
“The forest will be my backpack,” Tracy Riley said, his shimmering robes casting small rainbows about him as he embraced himself.
Yenrab stared, as did Carric.
“Yeah, okay, it looks like I was smart to pack extra. And you, Carric, are you set?”
Small dark pouches haunted the underside of his eyes as he looked on at the half-orc.
“Kill me,” he requested, rubbing his temples vigorously.
“Right. Uh, so ya know, we’re at least a month’s journey from Gennopolis. And if I remember right, there is a tax to get in, so make sure right now that you have the money needed to pay me out at the finish and to pay your way in as well.” He paused, rolling his fingers about as he tried to puzzle through something, and then he sighed.
“Well, unless we all end up as an adventuring party together, but that’d be silly, right?” he forced himself to laugh as he said it. The other two just gave him a distant and strange look. The look made him feel a bit betrayed coming from Tracy. That guy was a certified fruitloop.
“Yes, well, anyways, uh, so I’ve got months of food in my pack, trapping gear, hunting gear, no tent, but we don’t need one yet this time of year, and well, I think everything is set. I’m, ya know, a little nervous since this is my first time doing this job sort of thing,” he sort of belted out, clearly uncomfortable and unsure on this first day of the job.
“You’ll be fine. Just believe in yourself!” Tracy said with enthusiasm, swinging his arms up and out into his own arc of happiness. Yenrab was feeling less sure of this all by the moment.
Time to get going, Yenrab! It’s prophesied destiny with Ghost Dad at the helm. I don’t want to disappoint Ghost Dad!
Those thoughts cheered him up, and he afforded himself an internal giggle.
Breathing in deeply, he let out an orcish huff of air, scattering song birds for miles and jolting Carric Smith into a scared defensive position.
“Yes, we are going to be fine. If we need to fight, I haven’t killed anyone, well, except for that one time, but I’ve proven myself well able to intimidate and scare away most beasts. And I can pack a helluva whack with my axes if it comes down to it,” he confided to them in reassurement.
“I can fight as well,” Carric maintained. He did carry weapons, though none of his gear inspired confidence. He had buckled and strapped on a set of studded leather armor and by his side hung a rapier of apparently good quality, in a scabbard that bore his name in glittering rhinestones surrounded by hearts. The words “Momma’s Little Dumpling” were woven into its edges. Yenrab groaned. There was also a genuine, metal and oak, exceptionally manufactured hand crossbow hanging from his waist. The words “Lil Sunshine” h
ad been carved and painted, quite expertly, into its outward arc. This time Yenrab swore, though quietly since he was a mannered fellow. He carried a lute in his hands, and a singular tunic pouch on his left breast kept some strange, exotic musical instrument. It had a name, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember it. All he knew was that it was small, handheld, and full of square holes.
“Right,” Yenrab affirmed, not wanting to hurt the apparent minstrel’s feelings.
Tracy looked Carric over and spoke out to them both in a theatrical voice.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Yenrab. The lanky great cats of the mountains and forests, after all, are a lot tougher than they look.”
The half-orc grunted and nodded. There was wisdom in those words. He looked over Tracy, trying to get a feel for the man. Tracy wore robes instead of armor. Colorful robes that were probably of his peculiar Freemeetian culture. They shone and sparkled, dazzling the eye whenever he turned or twirled. And he didn’t seem to have any weapons to speak of. Despite his apparent wisdom, the man looked to be a tourist with a death wish.
The journey they were to start was going to be a long one. Maybe it was going to even be a dangerous one. And, if chapter one of that bizarre adventurer’s guide was to be believed, these were going to be his adventuring fellows. He shuddered a bit. Perhaps the Bear is challenging me, he thought grimly, as he shifted his frame to a more comfortable position upon his enormous back. Sometimes, at night, he dreamed that it was that other being, the Gamer, that gave him his path. It was his avatar and it was different from the Great Bear, whose powerful hide and might gave his followers a path and a means but never dictated the way. The Gamer was something else. He was something more like a conscience with personality and he tried to let Yenrab know the ups and downs of the world. And this all felt right. The Gamer, whoever and whatever it was, this was what that being wanted him to do. He was sure of it. This trip, this guidance, it would provide time enough for the spirit above him to show him a sign or to otherwise guide him to where they, the party, would need to go. And if that didn’t work there was always Ghost Dad.
“Alright, guys, let’s get a move on,” the youth commanded, starting them on their long trek.
Chapter 6: A Quest?
“Ma lowds! Ma lowds! Tank da gods you’ve been come!”
The dirty man smiled with a wide and open mouth, showing off stumps rotted from a local pipe and a great lack of hygiene. His filthy tunic hung off his scrawny frame and hopped about, left and right, shoulder to shoulder, as the peasant jigged about in jubilation. The few other villagers and farmers gaped up in stupefied wonder at the wealth and power apparent in the fresh-faced youth before them. It pulled at Yenrab’s heartstrings to see such ignorant confidence.
Carric Smith strung a bit at his lute, looking about with shy trepidation, but making a concerted effort to be confident and cool.
“I, um, well, I am Carric, a bard of Icegard. I can see that, well, you know. You have a problem here.” He broke off, quite uncertain with his words. “Um, you do have a problem here, right?” The man nodded his assent. “Right, well, and I assume you have sent off for help?” He looked back at Yenrab and Tracy, his eyes pleading to be relieved from this duty. But they had all drawn straws, and his had been the shortest.
Carric looked a bit unsure. His face had a pained expression as he looked over the poor folk before him. He really wanted to help these people. He didn’t really know why, but he did. And he was also very uncertain that he could actually help them.
Speaking again, this time with more confidence, Carric spoke smoothly and in a more convincing manner. “I know that you have been waiting, perhaps months, for help. But that isn’t us. We weren’t sent here by anybody. We’re just passing through,” Carric continued and then looked back at his traveling mates for support.
Yenrab shook his head a bit to the negative and then stopped himself. New life, he thought. A life of adventuring, into ruins, looking for treasure, and fighting monsters. Not this. This is not my problem. But he couldn’t shake it, and his doubts persisted. Plus, he couldn’t disappoint Ghost Dad.
He let out a massive, very orcish, sigh. It howled more than a little and spooked the peasants a bit, making them cringe as they backed up slightly. Every bird in the vicinity flocked and fled, excepting those trapped in pens.
Fortunately, the good name of Yenrab, Folk Hero of the Reaches and Helper to those in Need, was known by song and description. His years of good deeds during his time with his tribe had become the stuff of legend. Everyone was slowly coming to accept the idea of the neutral orc who’d help you build a barn for the right coin. But a good orc? A man who helped just because it was right? That was something the people of Freehold, otherwise known as the Freeholder’s Republic, ate up from corner to corner and pole to pole. Indeed, somehow, many more people had been helped by him than he had actually ever helped.
An optimist might surmise that, perhaps, a wave of benevolence had swept the barbarians of the north and all the orcs and half-orcs were following his lead. A pessimist would probably explain that people just liked to pretend they’d met and been helped by him. After all, just a few decades ago, the nation had broken away from the Nemedian Empire to its south over the principle of racial equality and an end to their human-centered castes. The rise of the good orc, in a nation based on such unique idealism, was something grand and well worth mentioning indeed. And so, the nerdy pessimist with too much time on his hands might drone on, he had become the land’s token good orc. And it didn’t hurt that he was quite handsome, intelligent, and kind as well. A Freeholder might well gain fame and a reputation for raceless acumen simply through using such a grand mention.
“What are you thinking, Yenrab?” Tracy asked, stifling a yawn. A small flock of children were slowly creeping up on her and the fabulousness of her robes. Their eyes shone with mischief as they pleaded to touch such wonderfulness.
Tracy Riley was an odd one. She had been a he until yesterday, which confused the heck out of Yenrab though Carric seemed accepting enough. All Yenrab could say for sure now was that the half-elf was of indeterminate gender. Carric spent some time trying to teach Yenrab about the phenomenon the night before after the half-orc had emerged naked from his bath in the river to an attractive half-elven Freemeetian woman studying him curiously. His high-pitched squeak of pubescent embarrassment in front of the other sex had roused Carric into coming to his aid, and then the Icegarditian minstrel had laughed with tremendous mirth after he realized what was happening.
He spent the night explaining that the people of Coraellon were sometimes genderless, or genderful, or a different gender every day. It was certainly complicated. Yenrab soon realized, though, that he didn’t need to care about it. The whole thing probably served those elves quite well. They lived lives measured in multiple centuries, so it’d get boring being just one sex all the time. Heck, he didn’t even know if elves could die the normal way. They certainly didn’t sleep the normal way. He knew that. The most common cause of elvish death, as far as he could tell, was orcish axe. It certainly wasn’t old age.
“I think I don’t have a choice, Mr. Riley. I definitely want to hear what these good people have to say and, ya know, what is bothering them,” he stated and then paused for a second, his eyes cast skyward in thought.
“Mr. Smith, Mr. Riley,” Yenrab continued on, “you have paid me to deliver you halfway across Athatia to Gennopolis. But, ya know, I have to be honest. I really, really feel like stopping here for a bit and seeing what is bothering these fine folks. If you think this is a breach of our agreement, I happily accept that you can leave my services, and I will return the coin you have given me.”
Carric looked a mixture of relieved and nervous. Tracy Riley just looked at him without expression while Carric nodded with assent.
“I’m good with whatever, really.” Tracy yawned. “Just so long as the bard comes with us.”
Carric certainly had conflicting thoughts. A young
ling outcast of a land in constant conflict, Carric sought a different life—one with a different kind of danger than perpetual war, and instead, one with adoring crowds of accepting people and, occasionally, a lithe yet bountiful body to warm his bed.
Still, he thought, perhaps this would help win those crowds. And part of his heart went out to them. They looked so happy to have help. They were so poor and so luckless. Now here they were broadcasting power, station, and rescue. What the hell, he thought. Might as well see what we can do.
“Good people of, well, whatever this place is, maybe we can help you out. What, exactly, is your problem, and how can a man of song, some weirdo half-elf with fancy robes, and Yenrab the Animal Chief help?” Carric asked.
Tracy Riley interrupted him, “I am a sorcerer.”
Both Yenrab and Carric turned to look at him in disbelief.
“What?!”
“Yeah, I harness wild magic and turn it into, well, stuff. Like this!”
The growing mass of villagers oohed and aahed as the spectral image of a nude and embarrassed Yenrab flashed into existence beside him. The real Yenrab’s face began to pinken, and then yellow.
Forgetting his shy demeanor for the moment, Carric spoke with a bit of an edge to his voice.
“Do you mean to tell me that a few days ago, when it was pissing down freezing rain and we were all trying to dry off in that cave, and we were all as cold as the frosts of Nordenverft, you could have warmed us?”
Tracy, apparently a half-elf wild mage, smiled. “Sure, man. All you had to do was ask.” Then, in a loud but conspiratorial tone, she said, “Us half-elves need to stick together.”
The dirty villagers sat beaming and smiling as the conversation went on and began to applaud as Tracy finished her statement of support. Yenrab looked to the sky for signs that he was stuck in some sort of cruel and cosmic joke.
Carric just looked at Tracy in disbelief, turned that look onto the villagers as they applauded the mad woman, and then cleared his voice, deciding to ignore insanity in favor of progressing the plot.
How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 4
