A dirt road stretched into the horizon, a small cloud of dust rose up in the distance; it was the only sign left of the retreating garrison. The quartermaster had said three days, but it had taken them five to organize the nearly three-hundred strong battalion for an extended march. Brad and his father had baked non-stop, but it still hadn’t been enough to get through the entire stock of grain they’d been supplied. There were still sacks upon stacks in their warehouse that no longer served a purpose.
Shadowbane had been turned into a ghost-town. Save for a straggler here or there, still rushing out to try and catch up with the soldiers, the cobbled streets were completely empty. Not even a week ago, they’d been filled with the hustle and bustle of a normal border-town. Now, Brad could hear a window being smashed in two blocks over; the human vultures had set in.
It was pure chaos and yet, his father refused to let himself be influenced by it and continued to operate his store as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening; the sign was still flipped to ‘OPEN’ every morning at five am sharp. Brad would sometimes open his mouth to say something. He wanted to ask when they should start getting ready; he was worried about staying too long. He’d seen neighbors starting to turn against each other and didn’t want to be around as a potential target for any longer than he had to.
Casually, Brad started to gather his things. One day he put a bag to the side, the next he put away a couple blades, an extra pair of shoes, an extra pair of pants and two shirts his father had just purchased for him the week before, and so it went. It took two more days for them to work their way through all the supplied grains; in the end all of the farmers had wanted to exchange grain for bread and his father had refused to turn down a single person. Brad caught himself tapping his foot anxiously and jumping at any unexpected sounds; he was on edge.
His anxiety grew throughout the day and the next. He tried to keep as busy as he could, continuing to mill his way through the grain storage. They’d received barley from two years ago and wheat from the year before that. Had his skill in milling been any less, they would have lost most of the product. As it was, they were able to extract plenty of flour which he then stacked up into neat rows for bread he doubted would ever be baked. It served to keep him busy, but it wasn’t enough to keep his worries at bay; it was finally the day of the full moon.
Brad’s father was lighting the fire when he walked down into the bakery.
“Pa…” he said, announcing himself when the man finished the task, “…I don’t think we will be needing much of a fire today.”
His dad turned around to face him with a confused look on his face“And why d’ye gather that?”
“Well…” he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, “there aren’t any customers left for one… and we still have about five hundred loaves left from yesterday.”
“There are still people out there that need our help,” his father said.
“Yeah… Vagrants,” Brad said, “everyone who was anyone has already left. We’ve done our share Pa, we need to go if we want to survive tonight’s attack. Even the adventurer’s guild packed up shop and left.”
“You think leaving now will guarantee our safety? You think the monsters won’t take to the road when they notice us gone?”
“Well I… I don’t know,” Brad said, “but it sure as goblin meat beats sitting still. At least we will have safety in numbers.”
“Last of the garrison left yesterday,” his father said, “even if we leave now we won’t catch up to them.”
“We’ve got Edmund—”
“You think that old mule we been workin’ te death this week is going te be able to walk… or even stand in the foreseeable future? We’d be better off carrying it on our backs…”
“Well…” Brad said, running out of ideas, “What do you want then? Why are we still here!? Was it your intention to stay here on a suicide mission this whole time?!”
“Course not,” his father said, turning to his work-station already kneading a new batch of bread.
“Well then… then what!?” Brad demanded after a minute of continued silence.
“I’ma fight them of course,” his father said.
Brad stood there for a moment, not sure he’d heard his father right.
“You’re gonna what now?”
“I’m going te fight them, probably won’t be able to finish them off… but I’ll keep them busy enough te work off the full-moon’s aggro.”
“But…” Brad said, still not sure he was quite understanding what his father was saying, “you’re a baker! That’s the soldiers’ jobs.”
“Ye see any soldiers?” his father said, looking around at otherwise empty bakery, “I sure don’t.”
“How are you going to keep off an entire horde!? God knows how many dungeon breaks there will be in the Shadowforest. Last month there were over five hundred class C monsters and even a couple dozen class B monsters! Even the garrison didn’t have an easy time of it!”
“Bah!” his father said, “the Baron’s always used Shadowbane as a depository for his cast-offs. Ain’t no soldier worth his salt that ends up in these parts. When d’ya ever see it take five days for a retreat that should have been possible in hours?”
His father shook his head in seeming disappointment before turning around to look Brad straight in the eye.
“Might not seem like it, but I was once an A class adventurer, I’ll be fine as long as I only have to deal with B classes.”
Brad gaped.
“Now don’t be fish-mouthin’ me like that. Ye think a woman like yer Ma would be with a man such as meself if I did’na have at least some redeeming qualities?”
Brad swallowed, trying to process it all. He’d often heard about his mother being an S class mage, but he’d never even known his father had gotten a ranking to begin with.
“But—”
“Nah,” his father said, “no buts now. Gotta bake meself some good strengthenin’ bread fer tonight. Why don’t ye do us a favor and round up the rest of the town. Yer Ma left us with some good protective spells on the bakery, guess it’s time to finally put them to the test.”
----------------------------------------
“Old man Fergus… we got to go now,” Brad said, looking worriedly at the descending sun.
He’d been scouring the streets for people the whole day. It was usually the old, sick or poor that had been left behind for one reason or another. Out of the nearly thirty people he came across, twenty one were already in his basement. Most were happy to have some kind of shelter, even as untested as it was, but other had to be coaxed with bread. It had taken over one hundred loaves to get Westin, the cross-eyed homeless man of Rock Orc Street to join them, and it looked like it would take the remaining two hundred and fifty to get Fergus to join them.
“No,” Fergus said with surprising vehemence for such a spindly old man, “I got to stay with my beetles.”
“We really don’t have time for this Ferg,” Brad said, wondering why he was even bothering with the man, “the moon will be out in less than an hour!”
“I’m stayin’ right here, nothin’ you can do about it! You go crawl into your little den like the scaredy rattail you are.”
“Look old man…” Brad couldn’t help looking at the sun again, “you know what… fine.”
“Here,” Brad said, taking the remaining two hundred and eighty tree loaves out of his inventory, “give these to your beetles. Might give you a fighting chance for the night. Stay put you hear me? I’m gonna go hide in my den… I’ll try to come check on you in the morning.”
Brad turned and left before Fergus started ranting again, picking up his pace to check on things in the bakery. He’d overestimated how long it would take for the moon to come up and was lucky to make it back to the bakery as the moon’s round red globe crested the horizon.
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[+1 Agility]
“Was beginning to wonder if I’d have to chase you down,” his father said, strapping on gear Brad had never seen before. It was a full set of metal armor that had obviously seen better days, but Brad had never expected to see that kind of quality craftsmanship from a citizen of Shadowbane, much less his pacifist father.
“Old man Fergus…” Brad said as way of explanation between pants.
“I heard,” his father said nodding to the pair of orphaned twins beside him.
The pair was about his age, but because of a lifetime of malnourishment and neglect, they looked like a strong breeze could carry them and their rags away. They’d been one of his first ‘recruits’ of the day, running to the bakery at the suggestion of a free meal. The town had been abandoned, but one thing that no one had left behind was food. They knew they would starve if they stayed, but at the same time they weren’t capable of joining the train to Westfall. The rest of the refugees had been in similar if not identical situations, and Brad wondered how much of it had been expected by his father.
The silent man worked tirelessly all day, baking tray after tray, accepting and accommodating the refugees throughout the day. In order to occupy their minds his father had them carry out menial tasks, like transferring the few remains of the storage building into the bakery. It kept them busy and gave the prouder ones a peace of mind when it came to accepting charity. Brad himself barely saw his father that day.
When he finally had his breath back, the large man clasped the young man’s shoulder. Sensing a private moment, the twins retreated into the bakery, leaving the two Riversmith out in the dwindling evening light.
“Proud of ye son,” Vincent said with a rare smile, “ye did good today, real good. Yer ma’d have been proud too.”
Brad blinked at the unexpected words, “Hey, don’t go saying things like that. Makes it sound like you’re not coming back.”
“Well,” his father said, looking off into the forest that would most definitely spawn a horde of monsters, “I certainly plan on coming back. But battle is battle, and ye never know. And you have to be ready for that too.”
Brad crossed his arms defensively; he hadn’t let himself think past sundown throughout the whole day. He had wanted to trust in his father’s abilities. Where had that self-assuredness of this morning gone?! It had been the only thing keeping him going. One step at a time and suddenly they’d arrived, the sun was setting.
“Now don’t go gettin’ all worried,” his father said through a forced smile, “I’ll be back, and it won’t hurt ye none knowin’ how much I love ye boy.”
Suddenly they were hugging and then suddenly they weren’t; there was a far-off howl coming from the direction of the woods. Brad and his father both stiffened, but the older man immediately snapped out of it and opened his inventory. He took out a piece of bread and bit into it.
“Time for you to go inside now,” his father said between bites, “lock up like I showed you this morning and make sure no one leaves. Won’t be able to guarantee anyone’s life if they step out.”
His father took out a second loaf of bread and bit into it as well.
“B-be careful Pa…” Brad said as his father readied his gear and continued to scarf down bread, “I-I ah… I love you too,” he mumbled.
His father flashed him a grin before steeling his face and saying, “Come on now, git. Keep them fires burning for me till I get back.”
Brad nodded, not able to get any words through the lump he’d developed in his throat. More and more cries howled in the distance; they were getting closer, but Brad refused to go inside until his father had disappeared from sight.
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It had been hours since Brad had activated the spells. He wasn’t quite sure what powered them, but it didn’t look like they would be running out of power any time soon. In order to keep track of time, Brad baked. It was the only way in which he could accurately tell how much time had gone by outside. He never thought he’d be thankful for his Bakery Operations Skill Tree.
By the time his tenth batch of bread came out of the oven, he’d leveled his Kneading Skill by five percent. The bread was coming out as hard as bricks, but he didn’t care if he kneaded the dough to death, he needed to do something. Every time a muffled sound or shudder made it through the countless barriers of defensive and camouflage spells, he’d stiffen worried that it would be the time.
It was almost morning by the time he was finally able to relax. For some reason he’d expected the worst. He thought people would run rampant, wanting to claw their way out in sudden attacks of claustrophobia, but instead was met with the most subdued group of people he’d ever seen. He doubted any of them said a word to each other after sundown. He’d worried about the spells crashing down, but that didn’t happen either. He had no way of knowing what was happening outside, but it looked like they were going to survive the night. He was worried something would happen to his father, but so far nothing had; he would know if it did.
He was exhaling in relief when morning finally came around; he waited an hour after sunrise just to be sure before he released the spells. The moment he did, it was a communal release of pent up breaths. Brad looked out into the early morning sun and stretched, taking in a deep breath of fresh—
He coughed, and spit. The air was acrid and filled with pungent smoke. The miasma filled the entire city… or what used to be a city. It was leveled. The only building left in its entirety was the one they’d just walked out of. Brad’s eyes widened as he took in the extent of the destruction. There were only ruins where houses stood the day before; the ground was carpeted by hundreds of dead monsters… where was his father?
“Pa!?” he shouted hoping against all hope, “Paaaaaa!?” he shouted again and no answer.
The small chatter that he’d heard from the other refugees immediately died down with his yells and he listened, waiting for a response.
“PAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!?”
Nothing.
Tears were coming to his face and he was getting more and more frantic. His father had to be fine, he would know if he wasn’t! He had to!
Brad had started running aimlessly, shouting for his father when he finally heard something a couple destroyed buildings over.
It was a cough.
Brad was there in seconds.
“Pa!” he said, falling to his knees before his bloodied and ragged father.
The man coughed and opened his eyes a fraction.
“Oh,” he rasped, coughing, “good, you’re here.”
Brad nodded through tears; he’d never seen his father looking so feeble and worn.
“I’ve got to tell you something,”
Brad kept nodding, not sure what he was going to say. He already knew. They both did.
“That monster that killed me was no class B, full on class A to hear me down. Ye got that? Yer pa’s not weak.”
Brad croaked a laugh through his tears, “Never thought that Sir, never.”
“Good boy,” the dying man said through a bloody smile.
“Pa… I’m so sorry… I don’t—” Brad wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, there wasn’t enough time for all that had been left unsaid.
“Shhh.. Shhh… Tis okay. Not really my preferred method of death, but tis life. And I had a good one ye hear?”
He coughed, nearing his end.
“I had a real good one, and that’s what I want for you… so… so if you wanna go mess with them lil potions the robbies make… have at ‘em.”
Brad nodded, not knowing what to say.
“Just… take ShadowBane with ye if ye can,” he said with a complicated expression on his face, “I wanted to but—”
His bloody cough got worse, with streaks of crimson running down his face.
“Well… guess I won’t be able to explain it all now, but I left it all in the logs…”
The man smiled one last time.
“Just in case, you know...” he closed his eyes, as if gathering the strength to say more.
He never opened them again.
[You have inherited Vincent Riversmith’s legacy: ShadowBane Bakery]
[Do you wish to accept it as your birthright?]
[Yes/No]
[Rewards:
- Access to the Bakery Menu for full use of Bakery Operations.
- Access to the Bakery Logs of Vincent Riversmith.
- Access to all associated entities.
[Warning: Bakery and its associated entities will be tied to you until death.]
His father was dead.
Part of his brain was screaming for him to break down into tears, but the functioning side of him was numb. The sounds of the people around him were muffled and all he could see were the letters in the notification. He read them carefully, trying to prolong the action. As long as he focused on this, he wouldn’t have to deal with his father’s death.
He never wanted to be a baker, but that thought didn’t even enter his mind. The moment Brad saw he would have access to his father’s Bakery Logs… his father had mentioned them, he accepted.
[Congratulations! You have inherited Vincent Riversmith’s legacy: ShadowBane Bakery]
[You are now the owner of ShadowBane Bakery]
[You now have access to the Bakery Menu and full use of all Bakery Operations in regards to the ShadowBane Bakery.]
[You have access to the Bakery Logs of Vincent Riversmith. Level Restricted.]
[You have been bonded to the ShadowBane Bakery Dungeon Core!]
[Congratulations! You have become a Dungeon Master!]
[You have learned a new Skill Tree: Dungeon Operations [Novice 00.0%]]