“-t we need…” Charley came back slowly.
He was in his bed, his sheet thrown over him. “Wait.” It was morning. He had passed out again sometime last night. He thought warmly of his new business partner, who surely must have dragged him to the bed.
Heck, he’d even taken his sandals off.
That was getting down right embarrassing at this point.
He felt pretty good. All things considered. More than good, actually.
Leveling up was AMAZING.
Better than sex.
Feeling a rush of empowerment on a deep, personal level. Having knowledge and skills written into the source code of your soul.
It was beyond heady. It was pure bliss. He suddenly understood anyone who went out and dungeon delved, pursuing this feeling.
And maybe it was worth walking through the mud, afterall. Hunting down goblins, kicking in doors.
Breaking every piece of ceramic pottery in peoples’ homes.
He blinked. “Does this mean adventurer’s are addicts?”
Probably.
He made a note to himself to buy shoes at the earliest convenience. He was sick of his goblin sandals.
He stretched and meandered out of bed. His eyes fell to the table and he saw his baby laying there. Again, Brand had delivered. The chisel sat in a simple leather belt and sheath. With a few more empty pouches for various odds and ends.
“Ah, he does like me. Knew that brash, money seeking exterior was just emotional armor.”
He rushed over and ran his hands over her frame.
She was beautiful. He pulled her from the sheath.
[Fiona. Runes: Origin, Flow. Increases the likelihood of discovering new runes].
Which meant his skill in [Corvus Enca] was probably tied directly to his understanding of the language, and that language was some type of expression of the world. And this chisel helped make that process..simpler? More Direct?
Talk about mainlining the universe.
Cool.
“Oh, who’s a good chisel?” Charley crooned in a golem voice, “my *precious.*”
“I’ll just come back later, maybe.” And there Brand was again. Charley wondered if his entire family line had a knack for it.
“Jesus don’t any of you ever knock?!?” Charley threw himself down on a cushion.
“Heard you stomping around.” He hummed to himself as he walked in. Brand popped a dark bottle, and a rich, loamy smell immediately filled the room.
He knocked two glasses down onto the table and poured out something brown and malty.
A glass went to each of them, and Brand tapped his against the other. “We’re going to be rich. You know that, right?”
Charley chortled, rolling his eyes at the same time. And then choked a little on the swill he was drinking. Politely. Barely even coughed. “Smooth.” He suppressed a gag. “I’m going to need a whole bunch of stuff if we’re going to get serious about this.”
“Whatever man. Whatever.” Brand gestured to indicate it was an open ticket.
Charley raised his glass. “The Yellow Wall rises.”
Brand poured them full. And then raised his own. It wasn’t as bad the second time.
“Yes she does.”
--
It was pretty foul the fourth.
Flush with success, The two decided on an outing to see the town.
“Come on, Peace, my loyal lackey! To the Market!” Brand brandished the empty bottle as a weapon, and Charley bravely charged forth behind him.
Brand was hilarious when he was drinking. He should get him drunk more often.
It was noon.
And the market was awesome. Awesomer.
--
They called it the goblin market. It was a series of tents that merchants set up, and then overnight they would shift, change, or in some cases completely disappear.
Charley said a small prayer for Christina Rossetti. “How fair the vine must grow whose grapes are so luscious; how warm the wind must blow, through those fruit-”
“No, no no no. No bard words. Not drunk enough yet!”
The tents were riotous. There was only the suggestion of a thoroughfare and order. People of all shapes and sizes. Spices of red and yellow and black hue.
There was a man who sold nothing but things made of leather. Another booth where there were shields of all depths and dimensions.
Now that was a weapon Charley could get behind.
Literally. He hiccupped.
They passed a construction site, a large party hammering away. Charley slowed, enraptured by the work of the crew.
It looked like they had rough logs that they were splitting into lengths of wood, and then splitting those against into size by dropping them into molds.
There was something in the way the axes moved. Rhythmically. They shone in the sun, and hung for a moment.
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Charley frowned. He Leaned forward and swayed on his feet. “What are they building?”
Brand raised an eyebrow, “The Cotton guildsh. S’a new hall. Lots of business running through. Soon, hopefully.” Brand closed his eyes, enjoying the sun and the buzz.
There was something about those axes that Charley couldn’t leave alone.
There weren’t enchanted. That was clear. But there was something about the way that the workers just picked up the blades and dropped them with economy at their targets.
Charley was sure they were doing it wrong.
They were experienced men. Doing a job that they had been clearly doing for a while. But they weren’t aiming the cuts for the lines in the wood -- they were just letting them fall blind. Maybe. He was drunk, sure.
That was actually helpful in this case. He wasn’t letting reality to close to his chest. Hiccups, yes. Reality, no.
The moment left him and the two flowed onwards into the crowd.
But he had an idea he wanted to explore later.
--
Charley stepped into a tree. It happened suddenly. It wasn’t as hard as he was expecting, and he’d been getting a lot of practice smacking his face into wood, lately.
“That’s a pretty soft tree.” He looked up.
“What have we here?” A six foot tall woman with long black hair up in a bun looked down from on high. She was wearing an obvious red and black uniform, with the Chimeric banner on its face. “Because it looks like drunk in public.” Her eyes flicked to the other offender, “on a twosday. At noon.”
Brand stepped forward, exuding as much charm as he was able to muster, “excuse my friend, officish..offic..ma'am. He's not familiar with constabularies.” Brand exaggerated vexation, “On account of him being stupid.”
“And blind,” Charley offered helpfully.
The officer cracked a legitimate smile before she could get her mask in place.
Charley jumped into the lull, “say, would you mind answering a technical question about the ballistae...ballista..the sharp pointy stick throwers?”
The officer cocked her head at this man, studying his intentions. Finally she nodded, “shoot.”
Brand groaned, mumbling about the puns hurting his face.
Charley launched into it, “with as much draw strength and tension you have to keep in the device, whats the replacement rate like for components? And what's the accuracy like at range to a moving aerial target?”
The female officer blew out a hum. “Welllll. You’re actually asking the right person. Did a shift on the wall recently and was one of the gunners over the entry gate.”
She nodded, “Upkeep and replacement isn’t as big of a problem as you’d think, we use wooden arms and torsion spring over classical tension bows.” She paused. “You still with me?”
Brand moaned in mock despair. He was ignored by all parties.
Charley nodded, “So you get the power and you get it cheap. But you lose accuracy over distance. Which is bad.” He paused for a moment, summoning sobriety, “because we’re aiming at aerial, fast moving targets at distance. And power is secondary to aim when even a glancing blow will probably maul a wing enough to drop a flier, we don’t need a kill. So what's the Guard’s solution?”
The sergeant, who had been casual before, was carefully, forcefully interested. “I don’t think we’ve met. [Sergeant] Mellis, Chimeric Guard.”
“Charley Peace, [Inscriptor]. Enchantments and stuff.”
Mellis raised both eyebrows, “Well. We train the gunners to wait until the last possible moment to fire, and use them more as a deterrent than a solution. No one likes being shot at. It usually takes a month before they get hungry enough to forget and try again.” She winced. “They are smart, too. We have to move the ballista around occasionally, so they don’t learn which ones aren’t defended.”
Charley frowned for a moment. “Why not use spring steel for the bow? You’d get better range, power, and accuracy. Probably be able to build them smaller, too.”
“You mean Arrish Steel?” She laughed. “Good luck getting your hands on that. One nation I know of makes it, and her smiths go for more money than Chimera can muster.”
Well now, that was *very* interesting. He’d put a pin in that one for now.
“Has the guard considered enchanting for accuracy?”
She was all smiles now, “If we couldn’t afford the steel, we definitely couldn’t afford the specialty enchantment. I don’t even personally know of one that would work. Cheaper to put a mage on the wall periodically, Even if frequently they are outranged.” She paused with a challenge, “Unless you’d like to do one for us.”
“Shure, no problem.” Charley felt the buzz coming back on.
Both the [Sergeant] and the [Trader] blinked at that. “Hey now, hold up. Rents are not free, and mmmMMMMMph--” without breaking eye contact Mellis stuck a hand out, clamping it firmly over the [Trader]’s face.
“You’d do that?” Mellis watched his features sharply.
The mumbles from underneath her palm reached a small crescendo, and she shook her hand back and forth in a tug. They quieted again.
“Yeah.” Charley nodded enthusiastically.
She seemed taken back. “..If you’re serious, you can come find me at Guard HQ. when you’re less..” She made a drink motion with her free hand.
Brand made horrible choking sounds. Mellis dropped him, and he gasped air in gulps.
Charley had a last thought before he surrendered back into his altered state, “why not just put the ballishta on wagons? Raise a clear platform up high. Hitch it to a thing. Gods fuck knows what you call beastsh of burden around here.”
Brand slowly recovered, looking between the guard and his enchanter with strain.
“Why not indeed.” Beaming a huge smile. “It is my very great pleasure to meet you, Peace. On your way then.” She shooed them away, softly. “Try not to puke on anyone important.”
Charley raised an eyebrow, “But I thought we were being arreshted?”
Brand shushed him immediately, “He means, ‘thank you officer.’ Bye!” Brand threw an arm around his [Inscriptionist] and jackbooted away at speed.
Charley called over his shoulder, “Kay Bye!”
A powerful look of consideration crossed the sergeants face. “Wagons.” She mumbled softly. “Peace. Will not be forgetting that name.”
--
“Relax, geez. Probably they’ll forget all about us.” Charley gestured expansively.
Brand had a complete look of disdain on his face. “And your generoush offer. Of my time and money.” He had an accusing look on his face, and massaged his jawline.
“MY time,” Charley corrected, “YOUR money. And we must have been like the fiftieth drunk persons the tree saw. Today!” Charley offered an olive branch, “It gets our name out, helps the city. And would it be bad to have the guard be friendsh?”
Brand nodded, more mollified. “MY money.” After a moment, he brandished the bottle in his hands high, “To Money!”
“To hot tubs!” Charley raised his own.
Brand crinkled his nose. “This again. What in the lower hell is a ‘hot-tub?’ ”
Charley explained.
Brand held the bottle up again, “To hot tubs!”
They stumbled down the cobblestones, arm in arm.
Brand offered, “You know there's a heated bath like three blocks from my shop, right?”
“You’re a bad person, and no one named Anders likes you.” Charley ruined it by chuckling.
Brand laughed with him. “Ah, thanksh, employee.”
“Die in a fire.”
A female officer watched the pair critically as they receded.
--
Charley luxuriated in warm water, the sun kissing his arms. His feet blobed up and down on the wooden tub beneath him.
He let out a happy sigh, listening to the sounds of a family of four soaking next to him, and Brand across the giant tub. There had been a strong moment where he had felt nervous being naked in present company, but wasn’t that just one more thing that you had to get used to on the other side of an interdimensional fuckup?
Embracing new cultural values was an expanding experience.
Plus there were totally naked girls in the pool.
The staff had made him scrub down in a small wooden tub first with a large block of lye soap. Brand had tossed down a full 5 copper and he knew on the other end of the bath there would be clean clothes waiting for him.
He was only too happy to comply; the water he left in the lukewarm tub was brown when he had left it.
The drink had left his system, in more ways than one, about an hour ago. All he had in him was surrender.
He floated in bubbles, his muscles unspooling and creaking out their pleasure.
The design on the tub itself was ingenious. Even now, drained and blissful, his mind puzzled out the ingenuity the bath house had deployed in service to laziness.
This establishment used a pumping well that had what appeared to be a wooden pipe that spilled water directly into this giant tub -- saving time and energy for the carry. A clever idea.
Which he would absolutely steal.
Below him the rocks under the wooden panels were heated from a small coal furnace. The wooden pool sat on a raised platform to give the thing room to do its lordly work.
And there was even a thick cork in the bottom on the pool on his side, so that they could drain it easily, and several wooden boards put down for a spillway to take the water away.
And he had another idea. He was seriously going to have to start writing these things down.
He had like three new ones worth pursuing, and it was only twosday. Whatever the fuck that was. He made another note to buy a calendar.
Soon. He slid back into the warmth.