"Noelle, can you help me with this?”
I put my book down and step out from behind the counter. Working in my family’s shop gives me plenty of time to read the stories I love. Every now and then, though, I am needed to help move a roll of furs or fabrics.
We move the rugs off the rack and down to where the customers can feel the quality. My father does this work without breaking a sweat, but I sweat plenty. As we finish, I groan and walk back to my book, my arms swinging limply at my sides.
“Too much work, already? Your life is hard. I pity you.”
I hear his steady footsteps walking behind me as he continues his mockery.
“The brave warrior gathers her courage and stands from the soft cushy chair, she braves the dangerous depths of the dusty store and climbs heroically up the three harrowing rungs of the stepladder, only to find that the blight, the scourge of her nightmares, is larger than she ever imagined” his voice rises and gains gravitas as the story progresses. I turn to him and cross my arms, raising my eyebrows. Really?
“HAH," he shouts, picking up a broom from the corner and crouching. He holds it like a blade in front of him and slowly moves it back and forth like tracking a great beast. "The rug may be fierce, but Noelle Starborne has never backed down from a challenge in her life, and SHE WILL NOT FALTER HERE." He shouts the final words right in my face; I frown and bite the tip of his nose. Hard.
“YAOW, what was that?" He drops the character entirely: "You bit me."
"You were being an ass."
“An ass?” he places the hand that is not holding his reddening nose his on his chest, dramatically, greatly affronted. “I thought you loved a tale of good versus evil?” he says feigning innocence.
“Is that what that was?”
"I tried, but your foe was only a woven run. When are you going to do something worth writing a song about?"
“Well ... I might be doing something great right now if you would let me –”
“Nooo," he interrupts, shaking his head.
“—enter the academy. WHY NOT?!” I shout. The familiar denial is no less heartbreaking, even though it is predictable. This argument goes the same way every time. I wish he would stop treating me like a little kid.
“If you want to help people, join the guards. I'll not stop you--”
"Yeah, right. I know." I hunch my shoulders, frustrated at hearing the same argument over and over. "If you want to fight and help, join the guard. Adventurers are no good, they only fight for themselves. They only care about money. The guards protect the people, they keep us safe." I regurgitate the rhetoric that he has spewed my whole life. I wish he would really listen to me, instead of just shutting it down with the exact same shit each time.
"Oh, so you have been listening?" He picks up a small, candied nut from the bowl on the desk. "You know I'm right," he says, pointing at my leatherbound book. "Those stories are fun, and they are certainly entertaining. But there is no truth in those pages."
"Yea, yea, yea, trolls don't ask riddles. They just eat your face." I retort. "Pretty sure I've heard it all at this point." He doesn't understand, I need more than this. I am old enough now to take the test on my own, without his approval, I could go to the Adventurers guild tonight and finally earn my Class by the end of the week.
“That's what I sound like, huh?” he pops another nut in his mouth, considering. “I sound wise beyond my years.”
“Fuck you.” I say. I know he'll take it as a joke, but I mean it... a little.
He barks a laugh. "You have fire; I'll give you that, young hero." He turns back and walks towards the front of the shop, signaling the end of this battle in our ongoing war.
"I'm closing early today," he shouts without turning. "Ferra is coming by soon and wants the place to herself. It's probably better if you're not around for this," he says, waving me over to the door.
"Oh, now, who's the hero? sacrificing yourself for useless old me?" I ask bitterly. Ferra is kind enough, but she is a Summerhall noble, and I don't get along well with nobility.
"You are not useless, bright one, no, no. You fought the rug admirably earlier," his voice transforms again, becoming that of a dramatic fireside storyteller, "and though you were injured deeply in your battle, the people of – hheeerg."
I jab him in the gut as I pass, and his breath leaves him in a sudden gust. He swats at me feebly, slightly hunched from my precise blow, but he misses as I swerve past him and out the door. I only look back to stick my tongue out before disappearing into the swirling chaos of the trade thoroughfare.
The smile is slow to leave my face. How does he do that? Every time we fight, he manages to be charming enough that I can never be mad at him for long. I try to set my face in a scowl, some things take practice. I resolve myself to be belligerent the next time we speak.
I go to the bakery at the edge of the market and buy a sweet tart and a bottle of cow's milk. I walk over to the fountain in the town square and sit on the rim. I spin my body so my sandaled feet rest in the cool water, and it reaches up past my ankles. The fountain is a monument to the adventurers who established this town nearly ten generations ago. How can I not want to be an adventurer?! The tales and legends are everywhere. I listen to the water feature as I eat my mixed berry treat.
Occasionally, I see a licensed adventurer from my perch on the fountain. They are rare, and most are new to the trade, with shiny, clean armor and heavy weapons. My Dad says that this is because so few can survive the trade for years on end – they hope to strike it rich before they lose a limb or their life. This is how he sees it, like gambling. An unhealthy habit.
It's a habit that sounds pretty freaking good to me right now. My gaze drifts to the people in the market; my world is so tiny. I cannot remember being anywhere but here, Summerhall. A small town in the North of the Talor Guardlands, famous for its adventuring academy and for being right at the edge of the wilds. the town walls are old and tall; nothing has breached them in living memory. However, one of the walls on the north side has a massive, patched hole. You can still see a charred circle where newer stones were placed, and the hole is bigger than even the guild hall. It is a clear reminder to all citizens of the danger posed by the wilds surrounding us.
Dad should understand, he left home to see the world when he was my age. He trained in this towns guildhall, delved a dungeon, and met my mom!! I wouldn't even be here if he hadn't become an adventurer. His issues with the lifestyle are because of what happened afterwards. They settled down to become dungeon-farmers, then without warning, the dungeon broke. Hundreds of canines swarmed the small village and Mom was killed in the escape -- protecting me. We moved here in the aftermath, just the two of us.
"The guards keep us safe, blah," I mumble with a mouth full of my sweet treat. I need to speak with him about it again. I am not backing down.
Looking over the market now, I can see a few guards. They stand in simple, maroon-dyed leather armor with standard swords on their waists. One has a great sword slung over his back and a longsword on his belt. They don't stand at attention; they look loose and relaxed. They move among the people, chatting about the upcoming tournament and the weather on the road. They smile and laugh; I watch one buy a buttered roll for a small kid. The guard leans down to hand it to her, and she says something quickly before spinning around and running away, laughing. He pretends to chase, his hands raised up like a bear as he lumbers after her. The merchants and customers smile at their antics.
The bear guard looks to be in his early 20's. Out of curiosity, I used my Identity skill on the man.
Guerilla Swordsman – Level 14
That is definitely a Class. This young man is surprisingly strong. He has already broken through and gotten his blue Class. I wonder what my Class will look like. I look self-consciously at my own character screen.
Noelle Starborne
Race: Human
Age: 16
Profession: Shopkeeper -- Level 7
Class: None
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Skills: all skills upgrade at blue
Skills: unlock class to access skills
Appraise (Common)
N/A
Determines the name and grade of an item, weapon, consumable, or magical artifact.
Read Emotions (Common)
N/A
Obtain an impression of a person or creature's general intent or interest.
Shroud Intent (Uncommon)
N/A
Obscure your general intent and interest more effectively.
Abilities:
Identify (Common)
Working with my father has given me a profession of my own, Shopkeeper. I am essentially his apprentice. But I can feel the hollow space where my Class should sit. I am lucky enough to have a great job and a comfortable living that many people would kill for. Maybe it is just a ‘grass is greener on the other side’ feeling, but I am too jealous of those with actual combat classes to appreciate my good fortune. Their lives seem so exciting from my boring-ass position.
I reassure myself with the knowledge that I will receive my own blue Profession in three levels. I'll learn a new Skill and boost my other Profession Skills. My dad is a level 19 Trustworthy Merchant – he has been on the edge of a green class for a long time. When I ask him about becoming green-ranked, he gets earnest and tells me it takes a "great act" to bridge the gap from blue to green. I wonder how big a sale he would have to close to become a green-ranked merchant. I wonder how his Skills would change.
I wonder how business would change! He already benefits significantly from having the 'trustworthy' title. People from across town know they will receive a fair deal on all their trades and purchases. I can only imagine how people might travel from other towns to shop at our store if we had a level 20 owner. Only two merchants in Summerhall have green classes, and both are incredibly sought after. The Arcane Weaponsmith, Godfrey Bearsbane, has so many customers that he has over half a dozen apprentices, some of whom already have their own blue Class!
A group of kids running by my perch on the fountain pulls me from my idle thoughts. They kick up dust as they pass; one of them looks back after they've passed and cups his hands around his mouth.
“Caravan comin’ up the south road” he shouts, pulling me and a few other kids and teens with nothing better to do. Most adults don’t stop what they are doing for more than a second or two. Some of them wave their kids along who are pulling at their aprons asking if they can go see the caravan.
I don't have anywhere else to be. I rush over with slightly more decorum than the dusty children. As I travel, I see more little ones and some older kids pouring out of alleys and buildings, and my excitement gets ahead of me. Soon, I am just another kid in the river of smiling, laughing, yelling, snotty faces running toward the southern ramparts.
Just for fun, I use my Read Emotions skill on the crowd. Suddenly, I am blinded by my sixth sense. Joy and excitement are the most prevalent emotions in the crowd. There is fear from the littlest ones, concern from their siblings, amusement from the adults, and some pain as toes are stomped on carelessly. It is infectious, and I feel my excitement rise with the tide.
I smile and whoop with the others when we arrive at the steps, we race up them, bumping walls and kids while trying not to do any real damage to either. When we reach the top, we spread out along the wall, the bigger kids get the spots closer to the gates, and I am definitely in the top ten.
There is nothing to see yet, but the guards at the gate are active, and they are working hard to reduce the number of people looking to enter the city. They speed up their questions, scratch frantically at their documents, and try to log every person and their wares.
A small girl wearing pigtails pulls at my shirt from behind. I still have my Read Emotions skill active, so I can feel her sadness and frustration. She is too small to see over the wall without help. While the big kids get the good spots, they are also responsible for looking out for the little guys. I smile and kneel in front of her.
“do you want to sit on my shoulders?”
She nods frantically, and I try to hide my smile.
"Are you sure?" I ask seriously. "It's pretty high up," I peek dramatically over the edge, "It's quite a drop," I whisper.
She pulls harder at my shirt, bouncing on her toes, and I let out the laugh I had been hiding.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
"Sue," she blurts quickly, her eyes looking up at my hair.
"Well, Sue, hold on tight." I scoop her up and place her firmly on my shoulders. She yelps and laughs loudly, braying as she wobbles and grabs my hair in both fists. She is so light it is hardly any work at all to hold her up.
I still have some of my pastry left, I pull it out of my pocket and unwrap half of it. I reach up and hold it in front of Sue. I try to angle it so she grabs the wrapped half. I don't want to get gooey crumbs all over my head and neck. She smiles and grabs it carefully, saying 'thank you' reflexively.
Shopkeeper Level 7 --> Shopkeeper Level 8
Wait, what?! I just leveled up? But I am nowhere near the shop! I didn't even sell anything. Was it just so close to leveling that the exchange of goods with Sue kicked it over the edge? I know that motivation and drive can impact experience gain. Was I more invested in getting a treat to an unknown child than selling a nice coat for coins in the shop? I'll have to ask my Dad later.
The noise on my left rises suddenly as the kids furthest from the gate get the first glance at the convoy heading our way. The kids near the entrance will get the best view, but the ones further out are better positioned to see around the bend in the road.
As soon as I see the convoy, the excitement from my crowd of children picks up even more. Knights are riding in the front! They are wearing full suits of emerald armor. It's the royal guardsmen. They ride big warhorses clad in dark plate armor on their chests and forelegs; they strike a regal image.
Stoneshield Sentry – Level 22
Hawkeye Survivalist – Level 24
Suddenly, pastry crumbs start to rain down my hair and onto my neck.
"Horshies!!" Sue shrieks, and I laugh. She points to the horses riding guard in front of the caravan and then to all the other horses carrying the carts. As they get closer, we see they are genuinely of incredible stock. Sue has an excellent eye for 'horshies.' The warhorses in the front are at a higher level than I am.
Surefoot Warhorse – Level 13
Windstep Strider – Level 16
I can now see that the survivalist's steed is not a warhorse. It stands nearly as tall but is much more slender in the shoulders and has longer legs. The Windstep Strider has body proportions similar to the greyhounds raised by the Summerhall royalty. And the armor it wears is different, too, lighter. It is made of dyed leather with straps that hang and wave as it canters.
I am so busy identifying the horses that I almost miss the most critical revelation.
“Royal Guards mean that the King is here!” says one of the older boys on my right.
Troublemaker – level 4
Ha! A troublemaker profession – I wonder what skills he has. Wait. Is that true, the King of Talor is here? I scan the caravan closely, watching cart after cart ride by; there seem to be many noble families whose carts have their banners raised. This is an annual event in our town; at the beginning of spring, the nobles send their children off to school in the North. It always brings an influx of buyers to my father's shop. But, I have never heard of the royal family sending their young ones here. I thought they were trained privately in the capital.
"That's the Brahman clan and the Renstats… over there, the Narst Family. They are poison users, scary people."
Scribe – level 7
He certainly seems to know his banners. Then I see them. The queen and her oldest son, Queen Rhin and Prince Bran, ride their horses towards the back of the convoy. They cut a picturesque image as they ride gracefully, speaking to each other and gesturing with their hands. They are not armored like the guards in the front. They both wear simple white robes with green accents. She wears a thin band of silver on the crown of her head; he wears silver earrings that dangle nearly to his shoulders. They look regal. The cut and color of their layered fabrics are a level above anything I have ever seen. I wish my father could examine them. I Identify the two.
Insightful Tactician – Level 28
Flameheart Duelist – Level 16
I have never seen so many green classes in one place. I look around myself at the wide eyes of the children. These are my peers, and there is no blue Class or Profession in sight.
Clerk – Level 3
Smith – Level 5
Carver – Level 2
Thief – Level 4
Pickpocket – Level 4
Painter – Level 5
Trapper – Level 2
None of us are even half the level of the Princeling; he is a year younger than I am. And his class is Flameheart Duelist; so cool.
Behind the two is a final figure, cloaked and riding a dark horse.
Mistwalker – Level 32
Shadowstep Impaler – Level 24
I stare at the rider and steed with an open mouth and hear a hush fall over the kids.
"Violet Rider"
“Purple?”
“His horse is fucking green!”
Suddenly, the rider looks up at us, the first to acknowledge our presence. It feels as though his eyes meet mine. His gaze is sharp; it flits over us all before returning to the gates ahead of him. When his gaze skirts us, I felt a blanket of gentle pressure settle around me. I use my Shroud Intent skill out of instinct and step back till the rampart blocks his sightline. I look around and see that a few children have stepped back. Yet, others seem oblivious to the sense of unease brought on by the riders' momentary attention.
Many kids are turning now and running back to their parents and families. The adults didn't stop their work to see a random caravan, but the arrival of the Queen and the Prince will bring significant change to the town. And a legendary purple class fighter; people will be talking about this for their whole lives. My books in school talked about the long life granted to those who reach purple; many strive their entire lives and never achieve it. Rumor says that the king has a few purple-classed warriors in his ranks. I have never even seen someone as powerful as the queen before today. This caravan is not like the last. Everyone will be invested in the news delivered by the dusty, gray-ranked children. Things are about to change.