With a groan, Jim stretched his arms over his head and arched his back in a stretch that he felt through his legs and back more than his shoulders and arms.

"Excuse me," he spoke to an Orcish woman pushing a food cart laden with grilled meat and vegetable skewers. "Can you tell me where I can buy more arrows? And how much for a skewer?"

"Not a clue," the woman said, offering a skewer to him. "Two Coppers."

With a shrug and a muttered thanks, Jim accepted the skewer and passed her the requested money without complaint. He stood there outside the Hunter's Guild for a moment, eating his new treat and feeling the hunger that began to claw more insistently at his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since entering the game. As he polished off the last of the food, he turned around and entered the Guild once more, making his way to an empty desk since Inkfingers was busy with another group.

"How can I help you?" the pretty Orcish secretary asked brightly as Jim approached her counter.

"I was just wondering if you could give me some directions," Jim said with an easy smile. "I'm looking for somewhere I can buy more arrows, and maybe a dagger, at the least. Anywhere come to mind?"

"Lot's of places," the secretary said with a smile that showed her extra incisors. "Did you have a particular part of the city in mind?"

"I guess somewhere close to the Barfing Minotaur tavern," Jim said after a moment. "I'm going to try meeting up with my friends there later."

"In that case, you'll want to try the smith's shop, Barnabus' Works," she said after a moment's thought. "Tell Barnabus that Grena sent you and he'll take good care of you."

"I'll remember that," Jim said with another smile. "Thanks for the help."

"Oh, I'm not done yet," the Orcish woman smiled sweetly at Jim as he turned away, prompting him to turn back to her. "Once you have a dagger and your armor repaired, go to Merrell's General Store and buy your arrows, rations, bedroll, tent, trapping wire, pack, and anything else you need there. Again, tell her Grena sent you and she'll take really good care of you."

"Do you get some sort of commision for sending me to those shops?" Jim asked warily as he eyed the woman that had seemed a little too enthusiastic to help him find the shops he needed.

"Kinda," she said happily. "Merry's my sister-in-law and Barny's my Dad's drinking buddy. I know they look out for quality so I send new Guild members to them and they treat me to drinks. Everyone wins."

"Well, drink them under the table for me," Jim said before turning to leave again. "And thanks for the help."

"No problem," she said with another smile as Jim left the Guild's building.

"And what exactly are you looking for in a dagger?" the gruff Dwarf demanded when Jim explained to him what he was looking for.

"Something that cuts," Jim said slowly as if there wasn't anything else a dagger could be used for.

"If you want something that cuts, then you're better off keeping that little skinning knife of yours," the Dwarf, undoubtedly Barnabus, spat as he jabbed a finger toward the three inch blade that hung at Jim's belt. "Daggers are more than just bigger knives, dammit! Some of them are better at cutting throats and some of them are for punching through armor. You need to know what kind of blade you're using for what job! I don't use my fucking sledgehammer to beat swords into shape and carve the delicate, little decorations all the twice-fucked nobles go batshit for! I use my sledge to help shape ore into metal and beat the everloving slag out of it. I use a forging hammer to shape swords, and you best believe I don't use that same hammer to shape different alloys and metals! I have tools and each one of the damned things has a purpose that they are made for. Just want something that cuts! Idiot-sucking shitstain."

"I didn't know there were multiple kinds of daggers," Jim tried to defend himself.

"And I suppose you use fucking butter knives to cut through steaks?" Barnabus demanded. "What about spreading creams and preserves over pastries? You use steak knives for those?"

"No," Jim said, trying to think of something else to say.

"It's the same slag-blasted thing!" the Dwarf thundered angrily as he waved his fist. "When people started making knives they were simple, now they've taken the damned things and specialized them! That's why you've got that tiny thing on your belt to take skins from beasts! It's what it's made for! It holds an edge well and it does the job without any problems. If you tried to use a fucking letter opener, you'd ruin the skins, but with that, you can keep the skins intact!"

"Now," Barnabus huffed angrily, "what kind of dagger are you looking for?"

Jim thought carefully for a moment before speaking, so as not to anger the smith further or insult him as much as to collect his thoughts.

"I want something with a longer blade than the skinning knife," he said. "I've had to use it when beasts have gotten too close and I know I need something better than it for that. I also want something that can cut through plants and wood as easily as it can a beast's hide. Maybe a serrated edge on one side and a single edge on the other side."

"Sounds like you want a survival knife," the Dwarf said after a moment of thought. "They're given to soldiers that go to war so the generals and the like can say that they gave them a better chance at living if they get lost. I hate survival knives."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Oh," Jim said, trying not to let surprise show on his face at the smith's words. He had indeed been thinking of a survival knife when he told the Dwarf what he wanted.

"I've got a better idea for you than one of those piece-of-shit Gnomish works," the smith said after a moment of thinking. "I'll have to make it custom for you, so it'll take about a day or so. Shouldn't cost more than five Irons all told. Can you make that?"

"I can," Jim nodded.

"Good," the Dwarf nodded before thrusting a hand out. "Payment upfront for this."

Sighing, Jim passed Barnabus the money and began to turn to leave the smith's shop as the Dwarf spoke up again.

"Come back by evening meal tomorrow and I'll have it done for you," the smith said as Jim opened the door and stepped out into the cobbled streets of Hero's Crypt.

"On to the General Store," he sighed to himself before moving across the road to the store in question.

"Welcome," the Orcish woman stocking the shelves greeted him as the bell over the door chimed merrily as Jim walked into the store. "Just a moment, and I'll be with you."

Jim nodded to the woman and moved to stand beside the counter separating the wall next to the door from the rest of the shelved room. As he waited, Jim looked around the room and noted the various items on sale throughout the shop. Jerky and travel rations rested in jars and boxes on shelves behind the counter while arrows filled quivers and barrels on the shop's floor. Leather bound books lined a shelf with a sign marking them as blank journals stood to the side. Canvas bags of varying sizes lined the far wall with rolled blankets and padded rests beneath them. Dotting the shop's floor were stands and shelves with cloaks, coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. Behind the counter securely locked away behind a collapsible steel cage were bottles filled with colorful fluids, each marked clearly as lesser, common,or greater.

"How can I help you?" the Orcish woman with more than a hint of Dwarf in her asked Jim as she took her position behind the counter.

"Grena sent me here for a few things," Jim told her with a smile. "Things like a tent, bedroll, trapping wire, arrows, there was more, but I don't remember it all. Guess I should have come here before I went to Barnabus."

"Barny's sweet enough," the Half-Orc woman said easily as she began to move around the counter to size Jim up carefully. "What's your budget like? If you've got less than eight Irons, you'll have to make sacrifices and pick and choose."

"I've got enough," Jim nodded to the shorter woman as he tried not to wince at the pain that began to radiate from his wallet.

"Wonderful," the woman said. "I'm sure you've already guessed but I'm Merrell. Please call me Merry."

"Jim," Jim said, extending a hand to the Half-Orc woman. "Thanks for all the help, Merry."

"No problem," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the shop before stopping in front of the arrows. "I notice you have an empty quiver, how many arrows can it hold?"

"I had twenty-five when I started out," Jim said. "I thought it was a little weird cause it looked like it could hold more arrows than that in it."

"Around two-thirds full?" Merry asked with a knowing smile.

"That's right," Jim nodded.

"You can't put any more than that in your quiver," Merry said. "Or rather, you shouldn't. If you stuff your quiver full of arrows then when you reach for one, you'll catch it on more of them and they'll all fall out. Additionally, the extra room from having fewer of them in your quiver allows them to move around if you accidentally fall on them. If they can't move, then more of them will break. Most unenchanted quivers can only hold so many and since yours is smaller than those, you can't hold as many as the average of sixty."

"Can I buy a new quiver?" Jim asked.

"Of course," Merry smiled. "In fact, it was something I was going to recommend. Would you prefer a quiver over your back or by your hip?"

"What do you recommend?" Jim asked after a moment of thinking.

"Do you plan to carry your entire pack whenever you're planning to use your quiver?" she asked.

"I won't discount it," Jim said a moment later.

"Do you naturally reach for your shoulder or for your waist in a fight?" Merry continued her questions.

"I guess neither," Jim told her. "I never really got into a fight before all this."

"All this?" Merry asked with a raised brow.

"Being a member of the Hunter's Guild," Jim explained.

"I see," Merry nodded. "In that case, since we're accounting for you potentially having a pack on in a fight or hunt, I recommend that you take a quiver that sits at your waist."

"Hold this," she said after grabbing one of the quivers on display and passing it to Jim. "On to the packs!"

What followed was an exhaustive interrogation by the small Half-Orc woman as she lead Jim through her shop stopping at each of the shelves and displays and asking him questions as she piled more and more things into his arms. To keep from dropping everything, Jim moved to the counter and deposited his items multiple times throughout the three hours he spent with the general store's owner before she finally led him back to the counter and began to mark the items in her receipt book carefully as she tallied the exact total she would charge him.

"All told it comes out to nine Irons and three Coppers," Merry eventually said. "A little higher than I said it would be, but better than I expected."

Wincing internally, Jim pulled his only Bronze coin out and passed it across the counter to the woman who happily took it and counted his Copper change.

"Thanks for coming by," she told him with a sweet smile that mirrored her sister-in-law's from earlier. "I hope to see you again soon!"

Offering only a nod at the woman's enthusiastic exuberance, Jim hefted his new large pack filled with clothes, utensils, extra bags, candles, a tinderbox and wire for traps he couldn't make and he didn't know how to use, rations, and a blank journal Merry had insisted he take with him as a gift, not to mention the all-weather, single-person, canvas tent, bedroll, and cloak she had attached expertly to the outside of the pack or the new quiver she had helped him attach to his belt.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jim told the shorter woman, "but I hope I don't have to come back for at least a few days. It would mean that I don't run through all my arrows as fast as I did my other ones."

"No worries about that," the Half-Orc nodded with a knowing smile. "Barny's cousin fletches all my arrows and their quality is assured by his wife. She'd twist his ear off if he tried to cheat anyone out of quality work."

"That sounds great," Jim said tiredly. "Have a good day."

"You too, Jim," she said happily. "Feel free to visit me anytime, even if you're not looking to restock on anything."

Offering one last tired grin at the woman, Jim exited her shop and tiredly turned toward the direction of the Barfing Minotaur.

"I hope the guys were able to make money for Pear's staff," he muttered to himself. "I'm getting hungry enough and I've been at this long enough to earn a break. I'd hate to be the only one to have the coin for Pear's debt."