Troy hummed to himself as he walked down the streets of Shallowcoast, empty package in hand. “Finally got that last delivery done, so I can get that sweet payment early!” Troy commented to himself, tossing the loose bundles up and down in the air. While he had taken two quests like he had grown accustomed to, the locations were thankfully right next to each other.
With Alcydes trailing behind him, Troy walked up to the guild and stepped up to the door. As the guild doors swung open, Troy was greeted with the sound of raucous celebrating. Troy raised an eyebrow at the noise as he looked around, the high emotion a high jump up from the normal activity. Nearly every table was full of folks chatting, drinking, or in the case of the eastern wall, listening to a blonde man recall an epic monster he had dealt with.
When a drunken orc stumbled past with a mug in hand, he stifled his curiosity and walked up to the guild counter. Despite the heavy activity, Troy was able to easily approach an open spot. Troy barely had to pull out the bundles before a familiar attendant walked over to him.
“Welcome back, Troy!” Yvalyn chirped as she took the bundles back from him, “I take it your deliveries went well?”
“Yeah, Rikter and Celvin got it a half-hour ago,” Troy responded, and smirked slightly as he added, “Of course, it helps that they both opened so early, so I could go from one to the other.”
Yvalyn nodded along to his words, then pressed the unwrapped cloth up to the white panel on the counter. When a flash of gold passed underneath, she set the cloth sacks on the counter. “Well, the confirmation came through, so that’s your quests all taken care of!” she commented and began to process the details on a floating screen.
Troy grinned at the statement and looked around the tavern speculatively. “So, what’s brought about the change in attitude today?” he asked as two burly dwarves clashed heads together, “Is there a festival coming up?”
“Nothing that exciting, unfortunately,” she sighed, then glanced around at the raucous environment, “The yearly monster migration has finally arrived to the east of here, so all the able adventurers are gearing up to hunt some cheap EXP. We’ll likely see more folks arriving over the next few weeks.” With her answer given, she tapped on the panel then stated, “Anyways, with the two quests complete, your payment for today is 46 krams…”
As she looked the details over on her personal screen, Yvalyn’s eyes widened at a notice on the bottom. “And it looks like that’s your fifteenth quest already!” she commented in surprise, earning a conscious shuffle from Troy.
“That’s not too drastic, is it?” he asked, a hand coming up to rub his neck, “Since Glass quests are the bare minimum, I figured that I could double-up to speed up my familiarity with the area.”
“Oh, no! There’s no problem at all!” Yvalyn quickly refuted, waving her hands in front of her, “It’s just that, normally, we don’t see folks rush it so far like this, so it’s a real surprise.” As soon as she said that she soon frowned and added, “Then again, with how few folks are actually Glass-ranked, I suppose that it’s easy to do them en masse.” The elven guild worker pondered the topic for a few minutes, then looked back at Troy. “Anyways, since you completed fifteen quests as a Glass Rank, you are eligible for having your guild rank raised to Brick-Rank. Would you like to get your Rank raised now?”
Troy stared at her in shock, then finally gave a slow nod. “I won’t say no to the free promotion if I’m already able to get it,” he commented, then wondered aloud, “Does that mean I’ll only need fifteen Brick quests for the next rank?”
“No, it’ll be twenty quests from here on out,” Yvalyn corrected, then tapped something on the floating menu, “It’s only lower for Porcelain-ranked members to help them learn the process faster, like you said earlier.” When the screen flashed gold, she held a hand out and asked, “Could I have your guild tag for the rank-up, please?”
Troy handed his guild tag over once he took it off, then watched as she placed it on the countertop. In contrast to her paper-filing, Yvalyn only needed a few seconds before she finally returned his pendant. “There you go. Your new rank is now active,” she stated, then reached under the table. Troy was quick to put his tag back on, glancing away from the counter. As his arms came back down, a sudden clank made him glance up to find a small bag in front of him.
“And there’s your guild-provided Rank-Up Bag,” Yvalyn told him, then pointed at the bag as she mechanically recited, “Your new Rank includes sixty krams, along with a voucher for basic armor and any one-star Skill from the guild’s armory.”
Troy grinned at the unexpected bonus and snatched up the gift bag. “Thanks, Yvalyn! I’ll be sure to get good use out of these!” he told her, then began to feed the package into his pendant. When the bundle vanished, he looked at her expectantly and asked, “So, what kind of Quests can I take now? Exploration? Craftsman jobs?”
“Monster hunting?” Alcydes asked from beside Troy, causing him to spin around in shock.
“Jeez, Alcydes! Give a guy some warning before you appear out of nowhere!” Troy begged, lowering his arms while Alcydes looked at him silently. However, as the two began the latest round in their Staring Contest Championship, a small giggle came from the desk.
After a few seconds, Troy finally looked away to find Yvalyn covering her mouth with a hand. “I-I’m afraid they aren’t that volatile,” she commented, then reached for the activation panel again. “If Glass quests are meant to be ‘delivery’ jobs as you’ve put them, then Brick-ranks will be helping the local community by supplementing needed positions.”
With a faint snicker, she pulled up the screen and tapped on the quests list. After a few taps, she finally pulled up an option and commented, “In fact, I think this quest should be a great starter for you.” Troy eagerly leaned forward and looked down at the floating menu for the details. For all he knew, even a simple job hauling crates should help speed things up!
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“Alright, lad, be sure to put your back into it!”
Troy let out a grunt as he hauled up a heaping pitchfork of seaweed, then tossed it into the barrel-sized woven basket next to him. While the clouds thankfully kept most of the sunlight off him, the potent combo of rotting fish and salty spray ensured the seaside odor was hitting him at full force.
Troy took a few more unsteady steps forward, his ankles sinking into the water and silt, only to shove the pitchfork into the beached seaweed again. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting the Brick-Rank quests to be this… messy.” Troy griped, his hands slipping on the pole.
A bark of laughter echoed behind him, and Troy tossed the seaweed in the basket before he looked at his supervisor.
“Yeah, you city-folk tend to be pretty narrow minded when it comes to actually working,” The sun-tanned orc commented, his wide-brimmed hat hanging low over his eyes to show ‘VITKOR’ woven into the top. Vitkor chewed on his toothpick, then spat in the water before he continued, “Anyways, it’s not like you’re just hauling shit back and forth. Having ya help load up this seaweed means we’ll be able to make plenty of soap for the rush of adventurers coming in.”
Troy paused at that comment, then turned to the man in surprise. “Wait, you can make soap with seaweed?” he asked, surprised at the concept.
“Eeyup,” Vitkor popped out, then shoved his own shovel under the beached anchors, “Granted, it was a star hero who came up with the formula. But all it takes is just some seaweed, some ground up shells, and some proper brewing from a tanner or alchemist, so it’s been a real boon the last few years.” He tossed the scoopful into his own basket, then barked out, “Anyways, don’t get your head lost in the clouds! We still have seven more baskets to fill up today!”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Troy habitually grumbled at the reminder but got back to wading around for seaweed. As he scooped up the next armful of seaweed though, Troy glanced towards the shore. With the quest only being for Brick-Ranks, Alcydes was left sitting on the sidelines again. However, with the job being outside the town walls, he had plenty to explore and poke out. Troy only had to turn away with a heaping scoopful only to find the kid had darted another twenty feet down the coast. When Alcydes picked up a massive shell fragment the size of his head, Troy shuddered and immediately went back to work to stem off thoughts of what it came from (or what broke it off)...
The next several minutes passed in silence, with Troy scooping up seaweed and dumping it in the basket. When the woven bin finally finished, Troy stuck his pitchfork in the pile and began to haul it back to the boat. As he unclipped its tether from his belt however, the sound of mocking laughter came from the shore. Troy grabbed an empty basket, then looked around to find three men and a woman standing on the public path. While the elven lady and two dwarven men simply snickered, the blonde, lanky man in a metal chestplate continued to laugh openly at Troy. The man was rather plain-looking in terms of facial features. His hair was pulled back in a mullet, while his ruffled outfit seemed fit for a Shakespearean play.
“You gotta be kidding me. Some adventurers are still taking Brick-rank quests?” the blonde man mocked, his hand on his head in dramatic disbelief. Troy could only scowl when the man pointed at him, and exclaimed, “How about you put a paper bag on to hide your ineptitude, you half-rate halfwit?”
At the flagrant insult, Troy tossed the basket in the water and glared at the heckler. “Newsflash, dumbass - Not everyone starts their adventuring at the same time!” he shot back, then pointed at the other watchers, “Besides, I think you’re throwing stones in a glass house, given how you look like you need three others to carry you through your quests!”
The man bristled at the comment, then stomped closer to the beach. “Like hell I do!” the man said, and jerked a thumb at himself, “I’ve been a Marble-Rank for over six months and have killed an adult Swamp Turtle! What do you have to say to that?!” While Troy didn’t know how big an adult Swamp Turtle was, he scowled and turned back to his work.
However, while Troy was intent on completing the quest, the heckler continued to call out, “Oh, what’s the matter? Can’t think of anything like that you’ve done? I bet you can’t even kill a gellkin, you muckraker!” Troy clenched down on the staff’s handle and stabbed a massive clump of seaweed. The heckling continued on for several minutes, only to suddenly die off.
As Troy filled his basket up to the brim, the sound of rushing water below made him freeze. Troy hastily stumbled back, and accidentally knocked the basket over before a sudden pithole opened in front of him. The hole quickly filled up with the low tide, and Troy stared in disbelief before he glared at his heckler.
“Pay attention to me, damnit!” The man hissed, his hand clutching the air in Troy’s direction. As he began to mutter under his breath again, Troy prepared to jump away again when his manager cut in from the sidelines.
“Oh, shut up, you puffed-up braggart!”
A ball of mud slammed into the man’s face, and Troy couldn’t help but laugh at the man scrambling back. As the man sputtered and wiped his face, Vitkor paddled over and glared at the interfering person. “He’s at least working here! What are you doing, mocking people for your own jollies? The bar holds amatuer’s hour for bards tomorrow night, so fuck off!”
The blonde glared with a loathing fury under his muddy facemask, but as he reached for the metal club on his back, a booming voice made him freeze. “I’d listen to Vitkor if I was you,” the captain of the guard stated as he trudged over, two guards at his sides. The orc glared at the man, then told him, “You’re already on thin ice for your grandstanding last night, Maxwell. If you attack other folks, you’ll find yourself telling tales from a jail cell.”
The now-named Maxwell gave a silent snarl at the comment, then turned away from Troy and Vitkor. As he trudged back to his crew, Troy broke out his horrid French mock-accent to fire off one last taunt. “I fart in your general direction!” Troy taunted, “Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!” The man froze at the insult and gave Troy a scrutinizing look before he walked back to town with his crew.
With the bard and the others now walking away, Troy heard Vitkor chuckle before the orc finally looked over to the captain. “Gotta say, you made good time, Ogir!” The seaweed farmer praised, then glanced down at the pithole still left behind, “I’ll admit, I was a bit worried when he started attacking my temp-worker.”
“Trust me, we’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Ogir snorted at that, then pointed at the departing party, “He came flaunting into town two nights ago, talking about how he was the hottest thing since stainless metal. So when he walked out of town without a quest after several drinks, I had Stel watch him from the watchtower.”
Vitkor made a small noise at that, and Ogir turned back to town. “Stay safe, brother!” Vitkor called out, earning a short thumbs-up from the captain.
Troy watched in amusement, then shook his head at the commentary. “Geez, even among orcs they give preference to family members,” he joked, and turned back to his work. However, while Troy was quick to continue, both Ogir and Vitkor froze and glared at Troy.
“Excuse me?” Ogir asked with vitriol, stomping over to Troy. The wayward man was spun around, making Troy look straight at his enraged expression. “What the hell did you just call us?” Ogir demanded, his face contorted in a snarl.
Troy flinched when spittle hit his face and held his hands up apologetically. “Hey, I just called you guys orcs,” he repeated, trying to keep from panicking, “T-that’s what you are, right?”
Vitkor snarled at the comment and hefted his wooden shovel up like a bat. However, while Ogir was quick to snarl again, his glare turned contemplative. He looked Troy up and down for a few seconds, then finally loosened his grip. “You’re a Star Hero as well, aren’t you?” He bluntly asked, his voice dropping the anger in favor of consideration.
When Troy’s face paled, he let out a grunt of disgust and shoved Troy into the mud. “I swear, all you fuckers have the same ideas,” he grumbled, and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Troy scrambled in the mud, and sat up in time to see Ogir point down at him with a meaty finger. “I’ll only going to tell you once,” Ogir growled through gritted teeth, “We’re called oruks, not orcs. Understood?” Troy frantically nodded and Ogir spat on the ground
His point made, he walked past a now-alert Alcydes and stomped away with curses and mutters of ‘giving the man who coined the term nine layers of hell’. Once Ogir had left, Troy finally peeled himself out of the mud with a grunt. “Okay, that was definitely the wrong thing to say,” he grumbled, wiping his hands on his pants. As he picked his pitchfork back up, Troy glanced at the hole and cautiously asked, “Should we worry about the hole causing any problems?”
“Nah, just leave it be,” Vitkor responded, already on his way back to his boat, “Just walk around it, and it’ll fill in by the next tide. For now, just focus on finishing up the seven loads, then you can turn in for the day.”
Troy nodded along to the words, only to pause when he registered what Vitkor just said. “Wait, don’t you mean six baskets?” he asked, pointing at the full basket he had tethered to him. However, he scowled in frustration when he saw the basket had spilled onto the coastal ground. Vitkor let out a snort at his realization and knocked it on its side with a single sweep of his tool. Troy let out a curse when some of the seaweed spilled out on his feet, and Vitkor chuckled ruefully before he hopped on his dinghy.
As Vitkor pushed his way further down the shore, Alcydes gave him a concerned look then pointed at the leaving oruk captain while his main hand stayed on his sword. Rather than verbally answer, Troy simply shook his head and began to refill his basket. Thankfully, with the seaweed all being in one pile, Troy quickly got most of the contents back into it. As he scooped a final load up though, he paused when a low scraping sound echoed through the air.
Troy froze at the sound, then scooped up the seaweed to reveal a long, rippled surface that ran perpendicular to the coastline. Troy tilted his curiosity, then tugged the basket away for more space. The next several minutes saw Troy work to clear the odd surface, filling up his basket with all the seaweed that covered it. When the bottom was finally cleared, Troy let out a low whistle when he saw the notched end of the shell. “No way this is real,” he commented to himself, and grabbed the object on both sides.
Troy groaned as he hefted the object up, his back straining to lift it up. With a drawn-out pop from the silt, he finally pulled it out to reveal a long, narrow clam shell that stretched nearly six feet tall yet held together by a literal thread of muscle. Troy looked it up and down in amazement, then looked contemplative as he held one side up parallel to him. The shell nearly covered his body, almost covering him like a barrier…
Troy paused at the thought, and then held it up. While he knew the boar tusk was naturally sharp, did the same apply for other animals? Troy knocked on the shell experimentally, earning a low gonging sound from the material. He lifted the shell up and down a few times, then looked over to his current boss. “Hey Vitkor, do I need to turn in the clam shells, too? Or can I keep this?” Troy asked, holding it up by the part.
Vitkor looked up from his basket as he loaded it up, only to start at what Troy was holding. “By Morrin’s hammer, that’s a real high-grade shell you got there!” he commented, then looked around with curiosity, “To be honest, the clam farmers should be bringing in enough, so just leave one half for the haul. The bonus alone should help cover the costs.”
Troy nodded along to Vitkor’s words, then pulled out a switchblade before he knelt down. With a sharp cut, he severed the last connection between the two halves, then tossed the cracked half on top of the basket. Now with the stronger shell left for himself, Troy held up his guild tag and fought down a giggle as he began to store it in the pendant. If it was as strong as he suspected, Troy hoped the guild knew how to preserve this for being an adventurer!