I change quickly and meet my father out in the living space.

“Long night?” he asks, his eyes look tired.

"Good morning," my voice is still a little rough from sleep.

He gestures to the table, where two cups of tea are steaming. I sit on the cushioned chair and take a slurping sip off the top, it's still too hot. He sits across from me and clasps his hands on the table, leaning forward and looking at me.

"So," he says.

"So…" I reply, we both chuckle, dispelling the awkward tension a little. "What do we do now?" I ask.

“How are you feeling?”

"Excited mostly ... and nervous. I've never been away from home--away from you."

"You will be safe the whole time, that's my part of the deal and I will do what I can to ensure it! You won't enter a dungeon or the wilds -- this is a good road, well traveled. You'll be protected by some of the best guards that money can buy on the way to the capital, courtesy of the nobles you're traveling with. Still, you need to be careful, and we will kit you out as though you were going to brave a Crucible. You should be home again in six weeks, eight if you run into trouble."

“Thanks, Dad." I don't know what else to say.

"You're welcome, and don't worry about me. It will be scary for both of us, but I trust you. I think you will do great, and you'll come back in two months with many stories to tell and a little bit of dirt under your nails. Then we can sit together and discuss the future," he grins. "I've got something for you, I've had it for a while actually. A part of me has suspected this day would come since you were a small girl, you were a handful then."

He places a bundle on the table between us. It is the size of a bird's egg, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. I look up at him and squint.

“Is this a prank?” I ask.

"No," he scoffs, "that you would think so little of me." He shakes his head. "Open it"

I pull the knot apart and peel back the paper. It's a stone, no, a gem. It’s roughhewn and has a faint glow. I give my dad a questioning look.

"Appraise it," he directs me.

Ability Stone – Map (Uncommon)

“This is –“ I start

"Not cheap," he interrupts me. "Absorb it now, before I change my mind," he jokes.

I am speechless; this stone is worth more than my mind can currently process. It would cost a small fortune for sure. I look at him, how did he get this?

"Years ago, a trader offered it to clear his tab with the shop. I don't think he knew what it was at the time." he says. "It was the same year you stole that foal from the Graysons, you rode it all the way across town and walked it straight into the shop while I was talking to a customer." He shakes his head at the memory. "I figured then that you might be able to use this someday. Turns out, I'm always right. Go on." He gestures to the stone.

I absorb it, and the gem flashes brightly and disappears. I pull up my status.

Noelle Starborne

Race: Human

Age: 16

Profession: Shopkeeper -- Level 8

Class: None

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)

Map (Uncommon)

I activate the Ability and feel a sharp pain behind my eyes as a small fuzzy circle pops up at the top of my vision. I blink, and the edges come into focus. The circle is entirely dark except for a small light area surrounding us; I see a green dot representing myself and a blue dot representing my dad. As I explore the world, the Ability will automatically collect information, including accurate labels and details within a location. It collects them as though I am perpetually note-taking.

"This is incredible, thank you." I feel like crying again, but I manage to tamp it down.

"I'm glad you like it," he says. "I have one other surprise."

“Not sure I can handle another” I say laughing and wiping at my eyes with the heel of my hand. He smiles.

“When you arrive at the capital, before worrying about Bengt and the shipment, you will go to the adventurer's guild and ask for Stella Springstone. She is an old friend and a newbie trainer who owes me a few favors. She will help you unlock your Class. It might take a few days, but you should be able to get up to level three with her help.”

"I am going to scream," I say, focusing all my attention on remaining calm, but my body is full of anticipatory energy.

“Don’t you do it!" he admonishes me warmly.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I stand and begin swiping at imaginary foes with an air-sword. I shoot imaginary spells from my hands and throw jabs in my father’s direction. He groans, then pulls me back to my seat.

“This week is going to fly by. We still have some selling to do, but Ferra says the nobles won’t come down to the shops until tomorrow morning. So today, the shop stays closed; we have some important errands to run.”

"Okay," I say, standing up again, "I'm ready." I start to walk to the door where my boots are.

“Noelle!” he says grabbing my wrist and laughing at my unbridled excitement, “your tea, and your clothes, you can’t go out like that! Slow down, we have all day. Come, come” He guides me back to my seat.

“Ah” he says after taking a sip of the sweet frostmint tea “wait, no, slow down, don’t chug it! Noelle! Okay, well I still have to finish my tea, I put an outfit for you over on the dresser, get changed and—WE ARENT LEAVING TILL I’M DONE SO DON’T FORGET ANYTHING!! Sweet phoenix, what have I done?”

----------------------------------------

We set out together, walking on the cobbled street that leads to Godfreys Metal N'Stuff. I've been in a few times to drop off or pick up items for our shop. My dad and Godfrey are friendly and like doing business together, often helping each other at no cost.

I shrug my shoulders. My new outfit is strange, it fits well but the added padding around the joints makes movement feel restricted. They are combat clothes, a base layer that is worn beneath armor to provide a layer of leather protection at the joints, where the armor is often weakest. The shirt is padded under the armpits, around the collar, and on the ribs. The pants are padded around the knees and ankles.

When we arrive, we stop briefly in the store itself – where the weapons are displayed for purchase. There is a man talking to customers out on the floor and an apprentice who is polishing spearheads at the counter.

Salesman – Level 8

Inventive Blacksmith – Level 12

A few people are scattered throughout the shop, some alone and others in small groups. Adventuring parties, maybe?

One group looks like a noble family – they must have peeled off from the others to get a jump on their scholastic preparation. The student is a girl, about my age. Her father and her are browsing different shields and arguing about whether a tower-shield or leaf-shield would be the best fit for her class. While her mother is kneeling by a younger child, trying to get her to wear her scarf, the little girl is adamantly against it.

Lightfoot Shieldmaiden – Level 11

Swiftstep Mountain – Level 23

Scattershot Mage – Level 21

Scholar – Level 2

I smile at the scene, finding my usual resentment toward nobility overshadowed by the warmth and familiarity they share. My dad approaches the Inventive Blacksmith at the counter, and says a few words. The young woman nods us through, pointing to the workshop before turning back to her task.

The noise greets us first, a cacophony of tapping and slamming sounds, the ringing of metal and a grunt. We walk past four forges before arriving at Godfreys workspace.

The tools are lined carefully on the wall; clean and oiled but worn. Godfrey is focused on the shimmering sheet of steel resting on his anvil, his eyes skim over it, he adjusts his grip on the hammer and taps it quickly in two spots. He tilts it and looks again before rotating the hammer to the flat side and hitting it once more.

He nods and uses the tongs to guide it into a wide vat of dark liquid, steam and heat pour out of it as the metal cools with a steady hissing sound. He notices us then and gives a quick smile, he removes his project from the quench and sets it on the anvil again.

"Earl, good to see you. And you must be Noelle, I've heard bad things." He chuckles, removing the thick gloves from his big hands. "You are a real pain in the ass, eh?" he smiles.

“What?!” I exclaim, looking over at my dad. He raises his hands defensively.

“I should lie?” he asks in his defense.

Godfrey laughs and waves us to another room in the back of the workshop. A large room, with a single long table, rough and chipped. A wool blanket bundle lies on the near side of the surface. The rest of the room is open space, with a few dummies set up on the edges of the room and one in the center with an arrow in its fake eye.

“These new apprentices never clean up after themselves. Noelle, would you pull that arrow out and bring the mannequin over here?” He asks me.

I bob my head and jog over. The arrow is deep in the figures head, and I have to step my foot into its gut and pull with both hands to remove it. Then I drag the leather body over. It's heavy, probably as heavy as a real man of that size. I have to move it slowly, and I can feel their eyes on me as they chat. Their voices carry in the empty room.

“How’s the family?” Dad asks.

"Helga is good. She is with her people for the harvest. She brought baby Morris over with her… it's been quiet."

“Ah, I could go for some quiet right about now – been exciting at our place."

"Ha," he barks gruffly. "No, when the quiet comes, you will take those words back." there is a pensive silence, which is punctured by my fathers soft voice.

"I imagine you're right," my dad responds. Then he raises his voice in my direction, "YOU NEED A HAND, YOUNG HERO?" Mocking me again.

“Fuckkk," I grit my teeth and mumble into the mannequin as I tug it along. It is getting intimate; I feel I should name it. I’m thinking Assface the Bedraggled.

Soon, I am huffing a little and standing around the table with the two older family men in front of the blanket bundle. Godfrey pulls back the edge of the rough wool and exposes three strange, sturdy spikes. They have rough leather wrapped handles, and overall they are not pretty. In fact, they look like ugly, simple tools.

“The merchant’s dagger,” my dad says, picking one up and tossing it from hand to hand. He looks familiar with it, though we haven’t had a weapon in the house since I was a kid. My mother’s spear used to hang over the mantle, red and black and oozing craftmanship. I kept climbing up, trying to reach it. One day it fell and struck the ground tip first, my dad came downstairs to see me trying to pull it out of the floorboards. I never saw it again.

“I need to measure you," Godfrey says, pulling a leash of notched leather from the table. He stands with arms out and nods at me to assume the stance. "Right-handed?" He asks.

I nod, “I can use my left if I have to.”

He measures the distance from my shoulder to elbow and from elbow to wrist.

“Really?” He frowns, “how did you learn that?” He is focused on the hand now, measuring from wrist to fingertip, and the distance across my spread hand.

“Broke my right arm” I say, looking at my dad over his shoulder.

“I know! A horse did it," he guesses confidently.

"No," I look at him. "It was a tree."

“How did a tree break your arm?”

"I fell out of it" I say, barely following this peculiar line of questioning.

"Oh, so the ground broke your arm, the tree just helped"

"I guess?" I look over at my dad, who is smiling knowingly.

“That makes since, the ground has been a scoundrel since I was a small boy. It broke my nose once,” he ran a grease-stained pinky over the bridge of his nose, leaving a dark streak. “It was a boy who forced our meeting though, not a tree. Just scrawny little boy, dark-hair, dirty, kind of ugly. Never liked the ground much after that. Or the boy for that matter” He stands and shoots a wink back at my dad, who is red-faced and shaking his head ruefully.

“Try this one,” he says, flipping one of the daggers in his hand and offering it to me. Handle first.

I grasp the leather handle, and the sharp tip begins to fall when Godfrey releases it. It’s heavy, solid all the way through, and almost as long as my forearm.

"It looks big for her," my dad chimes in.

"Good eye; it is a little long but fine for testing purposes."

"It has no edge" I say

"No," Godfrey replies.

"What do you think," my dad asks.

"It's not what I expected, it looks—" I start.

"Not like a fancy sword or a great axe?” Godfrey cuts in. “Just a spike? And an ugly one at that?”

“No,” I say hurriedly, "I wasn't going to say that." I look to my dad for help.

"It's okay, Noelle, he is messing with you. It is for your protection on the road; when you get to the guild at the capital, Stella will evaluate you and fit you for your weapon. This doesn't cut. It stabs. Merchants have been carrying these for hundreds of years. It is small, easy to conceal, and can kill a knight in full steel plate if you know where to strike. It is a good friend to have."

I nod and go to hand it back to Godfrey.

"No," he says and gestures to the dummy.

“Oh, I don’t –”

"This was built specifically to simulate stabbing a person,” Godfrey says encouragingly. "The skin, the muscle, even the bone mimics the real thing. Go for a weak point," he waves me forward again.

My hands tremble a little, though the spike is heavy enough that the tremor doesn’t show in the weapon. I don't really want to stab a person. Shouldn't I be trying this against a fake monster or something?

They must be able to see my thoughts play out on my face.

"There are bandits on the roads, too; you don't get to choose what tries to kill you. Your goal should be to strike hard, hit vitals and gaps in the armor. Go for the eyes, the pits, the groin, the neck."

At his words, my stomach drops, and my tongue feels thick and dry. I fortify myself; I might need to kill to survive. I face the mannequin. Enough thinking, Noelle.

I step closer, "okay, Assface, here we go." It's just a dummy, leather and wood.

I twist my body and stab sideways into the armpit, yelling a little as I try to put my weight behind the blow. The weapon sinks halfway in, about a hand deep. I try to pull it out, but it’s stuck. I can feel it scrape against fake bone. Nope. I step back, leaving it in. My hands fall to my sides.

"Good, that’s a good start." Godfrey walks over to the mannequin. "The blade length is right, but it’s too heavy. It might be a little more than you should use right now. But you will grow into it fast. Your strike entered a great spot, remember to angle the blade to go for the vitals, you aimed too far up and into the shoulder. You should aim lower, towards the heart and lungs." He pushes up on the handle, and the dagger starts to tear down so that it points into the chest cavity. "That is how you stop a man." He wrenches the weapon out in a smooth motion. “Your strike would incapacitate one arm, but would not end the fight.”

"You alright, Noelle?" My dad is standing next to me, one hand on my shoulder. It feel steadying. "You did good, better than I expected. How do you feel?"

"Yeah, it's good," I say. "I'm good." I hold my hands together in front of me. My wrist aches. My dads eyes are searching mine, then he turns to Godfrey.

"Good, thanks, Godfrey. Anything we can do to help?"

"Nope, it should be straightforward from here. Hardness, Sharpness, and Self-repair?"

“how long do you need?”

“Two days?”

“We’ll be back at the end of the week. The sheath?”

"Once it is done, I will send the measurements to Laney; you going there now?" Godfrey asks; my dad looks over to me, assessing.

"Yeah, but I think we will get some lunch first." he puts a hand on my shoulder, and we begin walking out together.

"Bye, Noelle," I hear as we are walking out.

I turn and see him smiling a kind smile; he seems almost apologetic. "bye," I reply.

"Come," my dad turns me back, "we will get some stew from the Sunset Inn and maybe some pie. Mmm, pie," he rubs his stomach eagerly.

The fresh air hits me and I bend over and lose my breakfast on the cobbles. My dad's hands hold my hair.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"All good, kiddo, you're just making more room for pie," he says, trying to lighten the mood.

The thought of eating a sweet slice of pie makes me return to my previous activity of emptying my stomach on the edge of the cobblestone road.

"oh, sorry," dad says "ANYONE HAVE A TOWEL?"

"DAD!!!"