In the apartment, Peter’s mother was still in the lounge. She was gesturing wildly, clearly working on something important so he left her alone and took a shower to wash off the sweat. After doing so, he felt a little refreshed and ready to put his rooftop epiphany to work. Namely, he was going to use The Age of Steam and Sorcery to get perfect marks on his test tomorrow. That meant shaking off the cobwebs clouding his mind and hunting down a carpenter in Averton to teach him everything there was to know about wood, or at least everything that could be taught before Dani turned up and they went hunting.

Checking once more on his mother to make sure she didn’t need anything and finding her in an animated discussion with someone filled with business jargon, Peter hung the virtual note stating that he was studying back on his door and closed it.

Peter made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again, took a deep breath and prayed to any deity watching that there wouldn't be a repeat of last time. Happily, someone upstairs was smiling because he simply faded in sitting on the couch in Bani’ house. Scooping up DB, who squeaked in surprise, Peter headed out the door on a quest of his own devising.

The first stop on his road to success was the smithy. Peter had managed to log in around lunch time in Averton, the sun was high overhead and everyone was taking a break from the heat. The smith himself sat on a tall stool just inside the building, eating a sandwich with one hand and sipping from a tankard in the other. Further in the back his apprentice was roasting a marshmallow over the forge fire, a look of innocent glee on his face.

Peter wandered casually over, giving the smith time to finish his food before interrupting. “Good sir, might I inquire as to whether there is a carpenter in town?”

The smith finished chewing and took a long pull from the tankard. “That there is.”

Peter smiled awkwardly. “Can you tell me where they are?”

Another long pull from the tankard. “That I can.”

Looking around the shop for inspiration, Peter found none. “Please tell me where to find the carpenter.”

The smith rested the tankard on a nearby workbench and harrumphed. “You seem to have your heart set on meeting our resident tree mangler, but be told, he’s a prickly personality to deal with. You might not be glad you did.”

“Please,” Peter begged, “he has knowledge I need for an upcoming test.”

“Fine, it’s your funeral,” the smith rubbed his bald head. “Her workshop is just down the way.” He gave Peter a short list of directions to follow that ended with “if you get lost, just listen for the swearing.”

Peter offered his thanks and began following the directions. Not what I’d call a promising start, he thought. But I need this training if I’m going to pull this off and get Billy expelled. The list wasn’t exactly hard to follow, and as promised, once he got closer it was easier to listen for the shouting and follow is ears.

“You lily-livered, slack-jawed, twiggy- armed wastrel!” A young, human, man in a leather jerkin smattered with variously hue paint flew backwards out the front door of the building Peter found himself in front of. The man windmilled his arms wildly in an attempt to regain his balance only to be foiled just on the verge of success by a wooden mallet that cannoned out from somewhere inside and struck him in the chest. He was lifted bodily into the air and landed in the middle of the street, narrowly missing the hooves of a passing horse and rider. Rather than appearing injured or even alarmed at this, the man picked himself up, dusted off his clothes, gathered up the mallet and charged back inside with his head held high and the mallet held higher. In the ensuing cacophony no actual words were discernible, but clearly there were some strong opinions, and stronger blows, being thrown around inside.

Peter leaned on the doorway and waited until the ruckus inside had died down. While he did so, he rubbed the party ring against his chin, hoping that was sufficient to activate the enchantment. The responding pulse suggested that it was.

Judging by the quiet coming from inside the building, Peter decided that it was time to make his entrance. Inside, the whole floor was dedicated to workbenches, racks of tools, wood shavings, sawdust and two people making out like teenagers. One of them was the young man from before, the other was a leather clad lady several years older than he. Peter let them go for a minute, in case they were going to stop on their own, but when the buttons and toggles on their clothes began being undone he cleared his throat loudly. Both of the entwined figures raised a finger in the universal ‘just give me a minute’ signal. They still didn’t part lips, but at least began doing up clothing instead of taking it off. Eventually, with one last peck on the lips, the young man was sent out through the back door with a smack on his butt and a smile on his face. The lady turned to Peter and he could see the high cheekbones that would suggest elven heritage, but her ears were as rounded as any human’s.

“Now, you.” The lady growled, in a marked departure from her previous mood. “What do you want?”

Taken aback, Peter stammered out an explanation. “I need to know the basics of woodworking, please.”

The lady picked up a hammer and waved it under Peter’s nose. “Do you know what this is?”

Trying to look down without moving, Peter tentatively identified it as a claw hammer. The process was repeated with a chisel, a spokeshave and a plane. Every correct answer seemed to infuriate the woman more, every item thrust at him in a more aggressive and threatening manner. Eventually, she slammed a scrub plane onto the wooden benchtop beside her and exclaimed “Fine, you’re not totally incompetent. Grale can teach you, I don’t have time. Now get out,” she pointed at the door, “we were in the middle of something. Grale!” The young man returned from out the back. “Take care of this,” she waved disinterestedly at Peter, “then you can get back to taking care of this,” she pointed at her face. “While you’re busy, I’m going to finish off the commission you’re too useless to be allowed near.” The lady stalked off, kicking cut-offs and piles of shavings out of her way.

Peter turned to Grale who stepped up to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Grale, heh, as you might have guessed. I’m mistress Kaylee’s apprentice.” He grinned shyly. “She’s very intense, but if you stand your ground and don’t muck about she’s actually pretty nice.” Grale wrung his hands nervously. Now that Kaylee the carpenter had left them alone, he was much less forthright. “So, how can I help you Defender?”

It took Peter a moment to realise that meant him. “Sorry, still getting used to that title, Grale,” he apologised. “I need to take the basic woodworking course available to Travellers. Can you do that?”

“I sure can,” Grale rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Right this way.” He led the way to the rack of tools first, and began running through the names and descriptions of everything on there.

Apparently woodwork is his jam, Peter mused as Grale showed him the proper handgrip for using a chisel.

“Don’t forget, these are really sharp,” Grale’s voice broke through Peter’s internal dialogue. “I don’t care what armour you’re wearing, if you drop a chisel, step back not towards, and if you like having fingers then for the love of the Avatars do not try to catch it.”

Peter held up his right hand like a student in class. “Question, does it matter if you’re not exactly flesh and blood?” He jiggled the hand to make the point.

Grale flushed a pale green and coughed uncomfortably. “Ugh. Travellers. Yes, you should still be careful. These are sharp enough to slice wood like butter. Bone isn’t much harder.”

Peter took the information under advisement and they moved on. He learned some fascinating facts about working with wood, like the fact that nails are considered a temporary joint, but glue is considered permanent. Although they re-covered some ground common between wood and metal working, screw heads for example, pan heads and countersunk heads were exactly the same shape no matter the material they were screwed into, Grale’s enthusiasm for the subject couldn’t be denied and made the whole lesson interesting and memorable. By the end of it, Peter didn’t want to leave, he was having such a good time. Only the repeated pulsing of his party ring pulled him away.

“Thanks Grale. You’ve been a huge help,” Peter gushed as he dashed out the door. “I don’t know how much of this will be on our test tomorrow, but every little bit helps.”

Tripping down the stairs, Peter heard “He’d better be gone, you limp-wristed excuse for a” and the rest was lost in a cloud of swearing and shavings. Those two have ISSUES, Peter exclaimed in his head, picking up the pace and putting as much distance as he could between himself and whatever the heck was going on in the workshop.

He found Dani standing near the steps of the church, fanning herself with a sheaf of papers. As Peter approached, she thrust them at him impatiently. “Get your mark on these, we’ve got work to do.”

Peter held out his right hand and mimed taking the pile from her with it. Dani slapped the flaccid appendage and held the sheets out again, this time fanning them out for Peter to press his functional thumb to. “That joke is getting old, and so am I. Hurry up, Mum wants me to take care of a bug infestation later this afternoon. I only get two hours off.”

“Do you live on a farm?” Peter asked. “It seems like you’re always working for your parents.”

Shuffling the sheets back into a single pile, rolling them up and stuffing them into one of her many pouches, Dani corrected Peter. “Just my Mum. Dad’s gone, remember?”

Chagrined, Peter apologised. “I’m sorry. I never see my Dad these days either, he might as well be gone. Mum’s always working too, but she works from home a lot so at least we get to have dinner together. Which one of those are we doing first?”

Dani pointed off to the north. “To the forest. We’re going mushroom hunting.”

“I thought we were looking for combat quests?” Peter followed as Dani took the lead towards the north gate, then a thought struck him. “Wait, is that the same forest near the farm where we killed that massive crow?”

“Nah,” Dani shook her head and pointed east, “not exactly. It’s all the same forest but up north is better patrolled by the King’s Guard to keep the roads clear for merchants and stuff. That farm was over there. And I know what you mean about Mum working from home. Mine never leaves the house unless she absolutely has to. Sometimes I wish she would take a day off and just live a bit.”

“I know, right?” Peter agreed. “Even when she’s there, she’s either working or on my ass to study. At least I got some done today before we met up. Sorry about that, by the way. The carpenter’s apprentice could talk the ears off a statue.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The pair waved to the guards as the left the village, neither one familiar looking. Dani punched Peter in the shoulder in a friendly manner. “Grale? Yeah, that guy has a weird fascination with wood. You could say that it gives him a woody.”

“I could, but I wood-n’t.” Peter punned. “I know it goes against the grain, but I try not to make fun something that someone is plane crazy about.” Both tried their hardest to maintain a straight face, then burst out laughing.

“Ok, you might be as funny as you think you are,” Dani allowed.

The two friends stepped quickly down the road, cognizant of Dani’s time limit, but happy to spend time with someone undemanding. The forest loomed in front of them and Peter felt a twinge of apprehension.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked with a slight quaver in his voice. “I had a bad experience with a mad bunny on my first day here. It sorta…”

“Ate your face?” Dani grinned. “It seems to be a pattern with you. Have you thought about buying a helmet?”

Peter punched Dani in the shoulder this time. “And cover all this?” He waved his hands around his face like a TV model showing off after applying the magic creme that reduces aging by a thousand years. “How could I deny my adoring public?”

“Your adoring public isn’t going to appreciate it much when your face matches your hand there.” Dani drew two plain iron daggers from the sheaths in her boots.

“Ouch, my ego.” Peter clasped his left hand to his chest. “Uh, what are those for?”

“Mushroom hunting, of course,” Dani twirled the blades expertly. “You said you wanted combat quests. You might want to take out your weapon too.”

Peter fumbled behind himself for the handle of his scythe. “I thought you meant mushroom picking. What the heck sort of mushrooms are we after that we need weapons?” He brandished the weapon one-handedly, narrowly missing his foot in the process. “Dang that’s heavy.”

Before Dani could reply, the answer presented itself in the form of a waist high fungus hopping furiously after a fleeing squirrel. It looked like a fugitive from a children’s animation, the stem a milk white, the red cap with white spots almost stereotypical of the genre. What set it apart was the face on the stem, which would be more at home in a horror movie. Eyes as red as the primary colour of the cap, a jagged maw of a mouth and a long prehensile tongue that it was using to lash out at the squirrel, forcing the animal to dodge left and right and preventing it from escaping up a tree. Every few hops the nightmarish freak would rear back and unleash a glob of acidic mucus that stuck to whatever it struck, turning green leaves black in an instant and tainting the ground where it pooled.

“That?” Peter exclaimed. “That’s what we’re hunting? Are you out of your mind?”

Presenting the very picture of innocence, Dani shrugged. “What? You wanted to learn how to fight better. Don’t be a big baby.” She crouched down next to a tree. “You might want to keep your voice down and come over here though. There’s more of them out there.”

Peter flung himself up against the tree, the bark scratchy against his back and squishing DB slightly. His companion gave a little squeak and climbed out of his nest, scaling the tree in seconds. “Oi,” Peter stage whispered in alarm, “get back down here. It’s not safe.”

DB perched on a branch and wrinkled his nose and began to wash himself.

“Fine, it’s not safe down here either,” Peter admitted. “Ow. What did you do that for?” He rubbed his knee where Dani had just rapped him with the hilt of her dagger.

“You know you talk to yourself too much, yeah?” She pointed to where the rampaging red cap had managed to glue the squirrel to a trunk with its toxic spit. As the furry body blackened several more fungi bounced out of the trees. The first mushroom, the one that had made the kill, used its monstrous tongue to peel the victim from the tree and laid it on the ground and bounced back. It joined its brethren in forming a loose circle around the body and they all settled down, seeming to shrink slightly. Roots rippled slowly out of the base of the base of each of the fungi snaking across the ground to cocoon the squirrel in white threads. The latecomers all bowed once to the original mushroom, then they all closed their eyes and mouths to leave their stem unblemished and becoming still. To the unknowing observer they would just be several slightly oversize fungi in a circle.

“Woah,” Peter breathed.

“Right,” Dani stood, readying the daggers, “you’ve been practicing moving quietly. Time to put it to use.”

Peter felt his stomach quaver as he tiptoed his way towards the circle. Every second he expected the nightmarish eyes to snap open, the maws to yawn wide with their disgusting tongues, a splash of toxic mucus across his chest. He glanced to his side, where Dani approached as though on velvet slippers with her blades raised in a protective stance. The mushrooms were absorbed in absorbing their meal, however and utterly failed to respond to the approaching danger.

Spots floating in Peter’s eyes reminded him to breathe, but that breath caught in his throat as movement in the centre of the circle nearly caused him to cry out. Firming his resolve, Peter swept out his leg in the stance he had learned earlier that day, spun the scythe as best he could with one hand and buried the blade deep in the cap of the closest mushroom. The weight and sharpness of the weapon as well as the softness of the target resulted in the scythe blade slipping right through the beast, cap, stem and all to lodge in the ground with a sound like ssshunk. On the other hand, Dani had managed to slip her hands up under the caps of two mushrooms before they woke, her iron daggers neatly clipping the cap off her targets virtually silently. She smiled and looked over to see how Peter was doing.

Cursing under his breath Peter struggled to retrieve his weapon as all around him the fungi began to stir. Their roots were retracting into the bases, leaving a stripped clean squirrel skeleton behind. One by one, the glowing red eyes blinked open and began searching for new prey. Two of them, the closest to Dani’s victims, responded to the death of their compatriots by bounding rapidly away, emitting a high-pitched scream. The two either side of Peter’s victim growled, a sound that should never come from a mushroom in his opinion. The fungi opened their mouths wide, mucus already pooling visibly in the back. Peter gave up on the scythe and threw himself forwards over the body of his fallen foe. He tried to roll the way the instructional AR program had taught, but it didn’t account for a floppy arm and Peter ended up flat out in the centre of the circle, the squirrel skeleton poking sharply into his back.

High above, DB had wedged himself into the fork of two branches and was preening himself in a “better you than me” way. Peter pulled a face at his companion and took the hand that Dani offered him to help him up. “Thanks,” he grimaced. “So, stealth is out. How do we do this now?”

Strafing left and pushing Peter right, Dai explained. “You go that way, I’ll go this. Don’t get bitten, don’t let it wrap the tongue around you.” She leaned aside as a glob of mucus was launched in their direction. “And don’t let that stuff touch you. It burns like the blazes.”

Peter wove back and forth, trying to maintain a steady footing on the uneven floor of the forest. It was nothing like what the instructional had implied it would be, but he was doing his best. In a break between flailing tongues and toxic spits, he found a moment to leap forward, grasp the scythe near the head and heave it out of the dirt. Now armed he went on the offensive.

With his grip so high on the shaft he was forced to adopt an unorthodox method of combat. When a mushroom reared back to spit he flicked the butt of the shaft up under the edge of its cap, tipping it over. Thinking it had found an opening, the mushroom next to the fallen flicked out a whip-like tongue. Peter caught the slimy attack on the blade of his scythe, slicing through it with a yank. The tongue shattered into voxels, leaving the mushroom without that mode of attack. While the tongueless mushroom reeled, Peter brought the butt of the scythe down on the stem of the fallen one as it rolled about trying to right itself again. Grinding the shaft into the soft flesh just above the furious red eyes. The weapon chewed through the mushroom’s stem, eventually crushing the last shred of life from its malevolent body.

Taking a chance while his remaining opponent reeled from the loss of its primary weapon, Peter checked on how Dani was doing. He could barely believe his eyes. She was dancing around the last remaining monster, slashing, ducking and probing. Most of all, she was grinning ear to ear. “Having fun over there?” he called.

“Surely am,” Dani twirled like a particularly well-armed ballerina, stepped lithely behind the mushroom and stabbed both daggers into the centre of the thing’s cap. It immediately collapsed on itself, the eyes and mouth closing for the last time. “You might want to watch your back there.”

Turning back, Peter found that the mushroom had recovered from its loss and was opening its mouth wide. Wider than any had before. Peter could see the entire inside of its mouth, but instead of toxic mucus pooling there in preparation of being spat, there was a whirling misty ball.

“Wha-?” Peter managed before the ball exploded in a cone of sonic destruction. It was like someone had suddenly flipped on a jet engine inside the mushroom’s mouth. He clapped his hand over his left ear and tried his best to jam his shoulder in the right one. The mushroom used its mouth to direct the cone, sweeping it back and forth between Peter and Dani, forcing them to hunker down, turn their backs, anything to get out of the blast. Dani dive rolled behind a tree, safe from the onslaught, but Peter was caught in the middle with no safe haven to be had. He just had to weather the storm as best he could.

Eventually the wall of sound faded away. Ringing silence replaced roaring wind and Peter could feel the anger rising in him. He checked to see that Dani was safe, she nodded to him and said something lost in the ringing of his ears.

“What?” Peter yelled.

Dani spoke again, and again it was drowned out.

“I can’t hear you, speak up!” Peter shouted, enunciating every word carefully.

Dani held up her arms in a cross, then pointed at him with both hands. Whatever she was yelling was clearly very important.

Pain blossomed out of Peter’s backside. He whipped around to see what had caused the injury but found nothing there. At all. Even the last mushroom had vanished. He turned back to Dani who was gesticulating wildly. The pain in his behind pulsed again, like multiple daggers being driven into his gluteus maximus. Turning again, Peter struggled to find his tormentor. Spinning around wildly Peter felt the pull of something alien attached to his body and throwing off his balance. He jammed the butt of his scythe down behind him, eliciting another round of agony and a tearing sensation. He fell to his knees, only saving himself from face planting by leaning on the scythe. Some sixth, or maybe eighth, sense made him dive to the right and roll over, supporting himself on his right elbow. Seeing the rapidly approaching maw of the final mushroom, Peter wedged the haft of the scythe in its jaws as they closed, the teeth just brushing his wrist.

Appearing like a guardian angel leaning over the cap of the mushroom, Dani grabbed the front edge with one hand and raised a dagger in the other. “Not today, Peter. Jacob’s got enough work to do without you interrupting his day.”

Peter had never been so glad to hear anyone’s voice, or any sound at all for that matter. “Hold that thought, please. There’s something I need to do.” Peter shoved himself to his feet with a grunt.

Straining to hold the struggling mushroom, Dani sheathed the dagger behind her back. “Make it quick. I can’t do this forever.”

“It won’t take long. I promise,” Peter assured her. He let the rage and pain drain away and the calm coldness rise. The sensation spread faster than before, filling his chest, then his limbs, then climbing to his head and colouring his vision. “YOU ARE MINE,” he intoned, slowly pushing the scythe blade through the mushroom’s cap.

All the colour drained out of the monster, appearing to be sucked up into the scythe blade. It was the first time Peter had been able to watch the effect of Bani’s Aspect of the Avatar on a mob. His Traveller’s Mark throbbed once and faded. “So that’s what it does.” Peter realised Dani was staring at him, her expression inscrutable. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, you just reminded me of… someone for a minute.” Releasing the rim of the mushroom’s cap she wandered off to loot the fallen.

As Peter watched, the now monochrome body on the ground turned to ash and floated away on a non-existent breeze. “Did you see that?” He pointed to where the body had been.

“See what?” Dani looked up from what she was doing.

“Nothing,” Peter gave up and went to loot the other mushrooms. He knelt by the closest one and poked it with a cautious finger, in case it came back to life and bit him. A sudden weight on his back caused Peter to flinch, but a snuffling in his ear heralded the return of DB, the rat running down his arm and jumping down onto the dead mushroom. “Whatcha got there, buddy?”

DB sniffed around the body, running up and down with his nose pressed to the flesh of the fungi. He stopped just up under the cap and pawed at the gill-like ridges. Peter chinned his Traveller’s Mark until his inventory opened and he pulled out the skinning knife he had made what felt like a lifetime ago. DB squeaked and ran up Peter’s chest, launching himself into the dimensional pocket from Peter’s shoulder. Emerging from the rift with the sickle’s handle held gently in his teeth, DB squeaked again.

“Oh, okay. Good call DB,” Peter took the tool and placed the knife back. “What would I do without you?”

With a look that said it all, DB bounded back down to the mushroom and started sniffing around again. Peter tried slicing the ridges out from the bottom of the cap, the first two attempts resulting in the ridge shattering into voxels as well, but the third came away neatly in his hand. Appraise identified them as Speckled Death-Cap lamellae. “Cool, check out what I got,” Peter waved the gills about in the air.

“Put those away, you daftie. They’re poisonous,” Dani warned him. “Quit messing about. We need the fangs for the quest, so pull ‘em and let’s get moving.” Dani tapped her arm. “I’m on the clock and we need twenty afore we can move on to the next quest.”