Strolling through the adventurer’s guild at Argat’s side, I was struck by how empty it seemed. Most of those I saw gave a friendly wave or greeting which I sheepishly returned. Given the sounds of construction outside, and how new - and in a few cases, unfinished - everything looked, I was guessing this guild building hadn’t been here long, despite the variety of tools available in my workshop.
Passing through what I presumed was the main hall of the building; the ceiling double height with stairs to a balcony above and a thick counter dividing a large section of the space, behind which, a lady leaning on cane was sorting some boxes. I was about to stop and offer to help when with a mutter, a jab of her cane, and something turning to powder in her hand, the boxes all jumped to spots on nearby shelving like children hopping into line.
“That’s Sarala. You should probably have a chat with her before you try any enchanting.” Argat advised.
Most of the wall opposite the counter was covered in rudimentary hangers, a few of which bore little wooden placards of greatly varying quality. Some were finely carved flat sheets with inked velum stretched across them, while others looked like a hacked to size section of bamboo with information crudely carved onto its curved face. Even without touching the bamboo-like plant, I could feel the pull of another series of vivid visions, so I hastily averted my gaze. I wanted to know a bit more about skills before anything else trippy happened. Besides, I doubted that one was intended to be used while walking and the sage beside me hadn’t slowed. Dozens of questions were buzzing around my head, but before I could interrogate him, we passed through a pair of saloon doors and a woman almost half again my size ran forward to wrap me in a hug.
“Oh Vaul! I heard you were hurt.” She loosened her smothering hold to set me down and look at me squarely, while I was rather dazed. “You always work too hard. We’ll get a good meal into you and that’ll help get you fighting fit.” Turning to Argat, “If you’d told me he was up, I’da gotten one of the boys run a meal up to him. Ah well, we’ll get you into a seat for now and I’ll have something out in a jiffy. I think we have some of that broth left that you like so much...”
Her barrage of words and motherly concern showed no signs of stopping, and had me quite overwhelmed. Particularly as the woman seemed around my own age. Though, I should probably add asking about dwarven aging and finding a mirror to my ever-growing to-do list. A quick glance at Argat garnered a helpless shrug in return. It took me a second to piece it together, he couldn’t say anything without breaking confidentiality.
Awkwardly cutting in mid-flow of well-intentioned concern as she practically bundled me into a booth in what I now recognised was a tavern or inn, “Umm, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude miss but-”
“What’s all this miss nonsense? And a polite gent like you could never be rude Vaul.” Realisation seemed to strike, “Oh don’t tell me you overdid things with yer historical? Yer always workin’ too hard I’m tellin’ ye. Well, I’m Eimer, and just you wait right there and I’ll get my husband to whip ya up somethin’ that’ll have ye back te normal in two shakes of a blitzgon’s tail.”
She was behind the bar and into the back by the time I fully processed what she said. The woman was a heap of motherly caring and several kegs of caffeine shaken vigorously inside a chatterbox.
Turning to Argat he smiled, “Yes, that’s just how Eimer is. Though your recent injury and penchant for fixing whatever get broken in here helps.” Sure enough, a quick glance around the room showed that in contrast to the pristine newness of the rest of the building, several chairs and windows showed signs of repeated repair. “I don’t expect this to suddenly fix your memory, though I suspect it will help. Her husband is a very good cook.”
“I have so many questions, but first things first; I officially permit you to tell people about my memory loss. That should help avoid some awkward situations in future.”
Argat chuckled, “I suspect Eimer will pass the word to the few who truly need to know regardless, but thank you. Now I believe you wanted to discuss classes? Or has something else caught your attention?”
My desires warred within me, it felt like there was so much to learn. Classes and skills seemed really important, but after what just happened there was something I realised I’d better check.
“Do I have family here? Or am I in some sort of romantic relationship that you’re aware of?”
“Ah, no. Apologies, I probably should have covered that. I’m not sure of your relationship with your family, but to my knowledge you have none nearby. Dwarves are fairly rare this far into the Empire, though the guildmaster likely knows something of your origins. Even learning more of your name would provide you some answers, or at least a place to start looking. And to my limited knowledge you were not intimate with anyone. Though I’ll admit that’s an area where I try to be an understanding ear waiting in sanctuary rather than a nose sniffing around.”
Honestly, I felt a little relieved. That was a level of weirdness I didn’t need to deal with right now. Though I felt kinda bad that I might be somewhat estranged. But given Eimer’s reaction, and Argat’s general helpfulness, it seemed like I wasn’t exactly short of a support system.
“Thanks, we should probably talk about classes then.”
“The first thing you need to know is that classes and skills are the sort of thing people can be quite private about, though it varies from person to person, class to class and even country to country. There are unwritten rules people generally learn as they grow up, so in the short-term exercise caution about what you ask or share. Most people will understand given context, or will assume it’s a dwarven thing, but adventurers in particular tend to be a prickly bunch with this. Some want to share just enough information to get hired or join a group and coordinate effectively, while giving away as few of their tricks as possible. Others want to shout their every accomplishment from the heavens, and will be offended if you don’t know of them and their mighty skills.”
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“And I’m guessing there’s everything in between those two extremes?”
“Indeed, but don’t worry, most other cases are simpler. Sages almost always share their class, while someone with a bandit class almost never will for obvious reasons. Soldiers are an example that sits somewhere in the middle. Hiding their class from civilians, sharing their general capabilities with their companions, and disclosing their exact class to superior officers who keep it in confidence. Though of course in that case there is also training to consider, which can help mould a class towards a desired goal.”
While I understood his broad points, it felt like every answer lead to more questions.
“You mentioned class progression earlier, does that relate to training shaping classes? And what’s the general practice for craftspeople regarding sharing classes or skills?”
“What you do, and how you do it, shapes your class and your skills. Over time one gets better at undertaking whatever their class is about, a craftsman improves at a variety of crafts for example. In that case the class grows to fit the new ability, the craftsman might become a veteran craftsman or even a master craftsman. The class helps them do the same thing they have always done, just better, rewarding their dedication. This is commonly referred to as a progression. If that same craftsman decided to only work on smithing projects, then their class might change from craftsman to smith, or even blacksmith. This would make them much better at smithing, but they would get worse at other crafts. So overall the quality of their class could be said to be about the same, it’s just a shift in focus, weighing more of the benefits towards the activities they complete most regularly. This is generally referred to as a side-grade.”
“So, if you spend too much time doing something your whole class could just shift on you? Can classes regress too?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it; side-grades are at a minimum beneficial in the short term, and it’s often easy enough to get another side-grade back to your original direction if that’s what you really want. If class regression is possible, it’s vanishingly rare. However, it’s not uncommon for skills to shift or consolidate after a class change. But I think we’re getting a little off topic, you are known as a craftsman. Most craftspeople keep their skills a secret unless they are needed to advertise a particular service, a tailor might offer rapid resizing for instance. Generally, in the Kaltaran Empire, upgrades and even some side-grades are widely celebrated by craftspeople. Though I should note, I believe the culture in some dwarven holds is to announce and celebrate a new class only when greybeards acknowledge the change in quality of the work. It’s rather like how adventurer grades work now that I think about it.”
This was starting to feel like quite a lot to process, thankfully Eimer chose that moment to return with a small mountain of food. A heady mix of savoury scents washed over me as she deftly unloaded a staggering series of small bowls filled to the brim: mushrooms gleaming in a dark sauce, noodles swimming in a broth that smelt of the sea, rice where every grain seemed individually fluffed, strips of pickled root vegetables promising a satisfying snap, and so much more I cannot do it justice.
“There you go. There’s a little bit of a lot of things, but they should all help. If ye need anythin’, or want any more, just let me know, alright?”
She slipped away to help a few other customers who had wandered in before I could even thank her. Argat was fervently digging into a bowl of stew, so I felt no need to hold back. Thankfully the muscle memory for the pair of wooden sticks she’d left me was almost as familiar as my hammer. It all tasted as good as it looked, the mushrooms in particular bursting with flavour as I bit into them that offset the saltiness of their sauce. I only slowed down when, finding everything delicious, I devoured beans coated in a red oil which set my mouth ablaze like the forge.
Argat couldn’t contain his chuckle as heat spread across my face. I felt drops of sweat begin to bead on my forehead and could swear part of my tongue was going numb. A mouthful of cold tea soothed it for only a moment. Yet, it was enough for me to appreciate a pleasant citrusy taste beneath the sharp heat and as I moved to the fishy broth in desperation to quench the fire, I found it was like approaching the dish with a completely new set of taste buds. Satisfying, but in a completely different way. I looked at all the little bowls I’d been sampling from with new fervour.
“Like I said, he’s a very good cook” Argat commented from behind his empty bowl with a hand resting on his stomach. “How are you feeling by the way?”
I hadn’t slowed down as he began to talk, but as I crunched through what seemed like a pickled root which went from earthy and savoury with a sharp bitter snap, to something close to an aniseed flavour, I tried to shift my mind away from how that might now pair with the fishy broth to analyse how I was feeling. My memory wasn’t fixed, but where once there was a giant void where nothing remained, now it felt like there was some cloudiness. Like there were things I knew, I just couldn’t quite bring them to mind. More oddly, I just felt better in about a dozen different ways I hadn’t even noticed were wrong: my shoulder blades felt looser, my breathing felt easier, my eyes felt sharper. No one area was a drastic improvement, but together it had me feeling pretty fantastic, like I could wrestle a troll.
When I told Argat he nodded sagely (I wonder if they get a skill for that?), “That’s the power of a good cook. There’s a saying that an army marches on its stomach. Not only is good food great for morale, but the buffs a good chef can give across an army can have almost as much impact as a good commander. The same can be said for adventurers of course. Tiring slower, improved night vision, better managing extremes of temperature are all reasons many adventurers take a cook with them on their travels. But give a skilled cook access to a wide range of ingredients and a full kitchen?” Argat shook his head, “I’m not surprised if anything made a difference it was this. You might find the fuzziness fades as you encounter things, but don’t try to force it and keep eating here until you feel better. Not that I think that will be a burden to you.”
Polishing off the last of the delicious food, while somehow feeling just shy of overfull, I couldn’t help but laugh. Seeing Eimer seat a pair of what looked like soldiers, through the haze of my mind the faces of her kids came into focus. I remembered her scolding them, praising them, boasting about their achievements and basking proudly as others complimented them. If my mind was an empty jigsaw puzzle, it felt like I’d just stumbled upon a single piece.
After taking the pair’s order Eimer came up beside us, “Feelin’ any better?”
“Definitely better than I was, that was delicious too. I can’t say I remember everything, but the little bits I did remember were important.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“The glue should be ready to fix the stool that got broken the other night.”