Part I - Never Work for Free
001 - CHANGING MARKET CONDITIONS
Conrad stood facing the door as it shuddered. The windows shook in their frames and the unrolled, iron shutters rattled precariously. There was no telling how many of the things were outside, so incessant were the staccato thumps of fists, weapons, and bodies against the iron-studded planks of the shopfront.
The noise paused and an eerie silence filled the shop as his family tilted their heads for signs that, maybe, the monsters had moved on.
Conrad released some of the tension he had been holding in his posture, though he still kept his metal-banded wooden shield and short sword ready. They were heavy and awkward in his inexperienced hands, and the ache beginning in his shoulders was causing him to question if learning to use the things was really something he wanted at all.
But he was learning. Despite his mother’s disapproval, he had taken to training with his grandfather - in what capacity the one-legged, former adventurer could. And it was this flimsy barrier, a few collected hours of practice and a disabled old man, that Conrad had to bolster his courage against what waited outside.
The fortified shop was crowded with shelves, tables, and weapon stands displaying adventuring wares and left little room for maneuvering if or when monsters broke through. The thing was they weren’t supposed to be able to. The shop was built to be a fortress against Chaos. But if today that wasn’t enough… if today was different, then somebody had to be first to face anything that broke through.
His grandfather would have relished the opportunity. For the last couple of years since the man had returned, minus one leg, all his friends, and the last of his wealth, he had filled Conrad’s ears with stories of facing down monsters and plundering dungeons.
The tales had ignited something deep inside Conrad, something his mother had worked hard to keep him from. It was a restless hunger that gnawed at him and only grew with each new adventurer that passed through the shop. It was a thin veil cast over everything he used to enjoy, somehow making it all less interesting and taking away any promise for a future beyond standing behind a counter and cutting deals, which now seemed like pure drudgery.
Despite his grandfather's ignominious return to their family after years of intermittent absence., his tales of adventure had infected Conrad to his core. And when he tried to put a name to the hunger or at least to what seemed the only thing capable of satisfying it the only word that came to mind was glory.
“Con, I can take the lead,” his grandfather said, “We didn’t expect this. Swap with me.”
Conrad glanced back and saw his grandfather attempting to move forward.
The old man raised himself at the center of the shop - scarred, ancient, tottering as he held himself steady with the counter as support, but with a broad shortsword unsheathed and ready, the last weapon he had held onto since his adventuring days.
Conrad forced steel into his voice as he said, “I’ve got this,” completely ignoring his sweaty palms. His grandfather liked to say that there were two enemies in every fight - there was the enemy itself, sure, but then there was also fear. And fear was always tougher. He gripped his sword and shield tighter and breathed deep, pushing harder against the fear that threatened to defeat him before he even encountered the creatures outside.
Still further back in the shop and moving from window to window was his mother. At each vantage point, she stood on tiptoes and peered out the narrow, high-set windows that looked out on all sides of the shop. It wasn’t a job she usually did, that any of them did. Checking to see where the enemy might be coming from was something people who intended to fight did - and that was not his mother. But as the screeching of monsters, scratching, and pounding all around the shop had grown in intensity she had seized on the task like a lifeline when his grandfather had suggested it, clear as it was that it was simply something to keep herself busy.
The front of the shop, though, was the only place with lower, wider windows for patrons to look inside. They were shuttered against exactly this kind of ‘attention’, rolled metal grates having been released and fastened into position over the glass facing the outside. In normal times it seemed like enough - bars over the windows would have hurt the view available to passing adventuring bands. The shutters rattled noisily, bringing to mind all the tiny rivets and chain links that held them together and how it was actually those small pieces that made the strength - or weakness - of the whole mechanism.
Conrad fidgeted with his short sword, trying to hold it and maintain a guarded position while simultaneously wiping the sweat from his palms on the cloth of his pants. He was ready - part of him was fantasizing about lopping heads from shoulders, but there was also that other part, the part that came with sweaty palms and a desire to just be comfortable. It was just this damn cloth. That was what had him edgy, that was all. He was wearing a hastily thrown-on chainmail shirt, and despite the quality of protection it provided, for some reason it just made him feel naked everywhere it wasn’t covering. Adventurers rarely went out with so little protection, but as a shopkeeper and Merchant, even the mail shirt had felt excessive. Till now, at least.
And today, when the sounds of monsters screeching and skittering through the streets had come along with the first of the warning bells of the townspeople on watch, there hadn’t been any additional need to gear up. Only to finalize any transactions, unfasten the releases on the shutters, bar the door, and sit around the hearth snacking or reading until they moved on. The sort of small monster attacks they got out here tended to just be excuses to take a break.
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His mother’s philosophy in coming out here to the Chaos Lands was to be over-cautious in defense and prioritize longevity. Most homesteaders were killed or had to return to the nearest Node of Order because their shelter failed, not because they were untrained or unable to fight.
“If you don’t need to fight,” she had been fond of saying as they spent every penny on more building materials, locks, and defenses instead of new inventory, “You don’t have to fight.”
And silly as it sounded, that had been the mantra that they had followed and which had kept them safe since they first joined a homesteading group. Being one shop among many in Edge meant fierce competition. It was a genius move, frankly, putting the shop on one of the most traveled roads toward Edge but more than a day outside the Node that protected it.
A lot could happen between that last bastion of relative safety and the true safety of Order’s protection in the city, and that nagging fear made for excellent bargaining power. Despite starting off a bit behind on wares due to defense spending, with so much commerce available to them exclusively before any of the other merchants in town had a chance to get their fingers into the purses of traveling adventurers, they quickly made up the difference.
Conrad’s mother had classed early into the Laborer class, which gave her access to skills that made her more suited to a variety of tasks than just keeping a shop. All of which had been necessary without her father, or Conrad’s father around to help make ends meet. The tradeoff was that there was no second tier to the class so any advancement had to come, essentially, from good fortune, wealth, or magic.
But as it happened, it was by a combination of those things, entirely out of the blue, that his mother had come across a class tome that had shaped the direction for both her vision of their future and Conrad’s growth along Order’s Path of Progression.
His mother had been working as a barmaid in Edge when an adventurer struck up a conversation with her. She humored him at first, but when he revealed he had discovered a class tome in the dungeon she took a real interest. Discoveries like that were often paths to new and special powers, but the man had explained otherwise.
“No market for it here,” he complained, “All the shopkeepers are classed already and can’t make use of it and no adventurer wants it. ‘Spose it’ll join the growing pile of things in my inventory just gathering dust ‘till I can find a decent buyer.”
But find a buyer he had. And despite not holding a class specialized in it herself, raising a son on her own and working nearly every job in town that didn’t require a specialization had built within his mother an uncanny natural sense for the art of the deal.
When it was all said and done the man walked away smiling, five gold and a small stack of vouchers for discounts ranging from five to fifteen percent at various shops that his mother had accrued over the years.
And that night, without any preamble, she handed the tome to Conrad. A rush of wind-blown pages, some glowing light and sparks later, and Conrad had become a Merchant. His head filled with knowledge of trade, of finance and math, but most importantly, of skills that would be integral to putting himself above the abilities of a common student of the trade.
It was then that he and his mother began to hatch their plan to build The Border Zone Outfitter.
He had recently mastered all of the skills it had to offer and was considering spec’ing into one of the tier two classes available, Trader or Financier. What XP could be gained from his interactions in the shop he spent on his skill upgrades or banked for future use and the expansion of their shop into a second location, north of Edge. Combat skills or being a generalist was attractive to most homesteaders, but the tradeoff could mean years of additional work before they were ready to expand.
Another bang shook the shutters over the windows pulling a startled gasp from his mother. His grandfather waved her back to checking the side windows and gave a nod to Conrad.
Outside shouts and screams of men and women drifted in over the sound of the creatures. What few neighbors they had in the small homestead were hearty folk, they would have their own plans in place for dealing with this.
Monster “attacks” were common enough out in the Chaos Lands. A few low-level creatures prowling around for pets or chickens, not much the skilled locals or whatever adventurers happened to be in the area couldn’t handle.
The windows shuddered again as something huge slammed into the outer walls. It was probably best not to hope any of them would be coming to clear the monsters out.
“Steady,” his grandfather grunted. Conrad firmed his grip on his weapons.
Outside a battlecry sounded, and with it a new chorus of screeches from the creatures rampaging through the streets and gardens of the homestead.
Light cracked through one of the front windows, and around the shutters appeared scaled, clawed fingers.
The crack of light grew, casting a beam of dusty sunlight across the shaded shop.
“They’re pulling the shutters!” Conrad called out.
A grunt from his grandfather, then, “Steady…”
“We can lock ourselves in a bedroom,” his mother said, voice cracking unnaturally.
Conrad glanced back, tempted, but a stern gesture from his grandfather had him turning around.
“Eyes up!” the old man said, “Take position. Be ready. This is your ground.”
The light from the shutter flickered madly as the thing began to wrench at it, frenzied at the resistance the metal presented.
“This is insane!” his mother yelled, “Dad, he’s a boy!”
“Don’t insult your son,” his grandfather yelled back, then to Conrad, “You’re the true man of this house, Conrad! This is just one more day. One more problem.”
His grandfather’s words helped but Conrad’s face still burned with humiliation at the thought of his status in his mother’s eyes. A new desire simmered in him as he willed himself to look at nothing but the window and its waving shutter - the desire to discover if she was right.
Whether it stemmed from a mutual feeling of shame or some preternatural ability to sense his grandson's emotions, Conrad wasn't sure.But the old man spoke up for only him to hear, “The world shapes women, Conrad. But it’s men who shape the world. Don’t forget it.”
The mechanism that managed the shutters and allowed them to drop them into position strained.
And then the shutter ripped loose.