8. The Adventurer Who Shops

In a world lacking in such marvelous innovations as construction drills, airplane engines, and of course, modern firearms, it’s no wonder that the people of Kanata have never had a need for hearing protection. But these Elves are as conveniently resourceful as they’re stereotypically beautiful, and it doesn’t take too long to find a craftsman in town who manages to invent ear plugs on the spot.

Leto does most of the heavy lifting when it comes to getting my needs across to her fellow villagers. In this case, she understands right away what I wanted and why I wanted it, with herself having first-hand experience of [Glock]’s loud reports.

The ‘craftsman’ in question, funnily enough, is a kindly old farmer who also happens to keep a bee colony. He happily invites us to take a look at his bees, whereupon I immediately shit bricks.

These ‘bees’ are huge—like Pokemon-huge—and their beehive is nearly the size of an entire barn. If this is what the worker bees look like, I don’t even want to imagine the absolute state of the queen.

Anyway, I can only thank my own misplaced sense of machismo for keeping me straight-faced and rooted to the spot as Leto and the farmer chat casually amidst a swarm of giant bees. After they exchange pleasantries and a few laughs (Maybe at my expense? I can’t rightly blame them), the farmer gets to work, fiddling with the beehive while the workers buzz about right next to his head.

In the end, I come away from the visit with a set of ‘ear plugs’ made from (giant) beeswax as well as a box full of honey jars, all free of charge.

As it turns out, the ear plugs are a huge hit. Not only are they comfortable to wear, they’re also super snug, molding to the contours of my earholes in real time. It’s like they’re some kind of instant memory foam, and I wonder if I could bring the stuff back to Earth when or if I ever get the chance. What can I say? I’m always on the lookout for opportunities to get out of the 9-to-5 grind.

I’m running out of superlatives, but I have to keep telling it like it is. The honey is also superb, with floral notes that evoke the finest of French dining and sweetness that carries memories of home. Not trying to start a food blog here; that’s just my honest review.

What’s more, the honey also seems to have magical properties. I feel it almost as soon as the first scoop passes through my throat. Kinda like the buzz you might get from pre-workout except you don’t feel like you’re losing years of your life in exchange for a little muscle gain.

I look to Leto for confirmation, and she offers one by doing an Arnold pose and tapping her biceps for good measure. God, does this woman know how not to be adorable?

With ear drums protected by beeswax and body invigorated by magical honey, my next stop is the village market proper. Here, we make a beeline (no pun intended) for the local clothier, where we trade a jar of honey for a leather bag and a fresh outfit.

Honestly, nothing much to report here. The bag is sturdy and could hold some snacks and travel supplies, nothing crazy (certainly not going to fit my entire Skyrim inventory in here). The clothes are more NPC fare: an olive drab tunic, a sash, and baggy trousers to complete the discount Viking look. No more, no less.

The next place Leto takes me to is the armorer. Here, I’m met with a modest selection of what I’d call ‘medieval knight stuff’. You know, chain mail, helmets, gauntlets, and the like. Leto probably reckons this is what a ‘swordsman’ in her world ought to look like, and I reckon she’s right.

One big problem. I can barely move in these things! Medieval knight stuff is way too heavy for me and digs into my soft 21st-century body in all the wrong places. After just a few seconds of trying it on for size, I’m panting and aching like crazy.

Nah, I’m sorry, but I ain’t going to turn into a proper swordsman overnight. I need something a little more accommodating of my deconditioned layman ass.

We abandon the armor idea and instead turn to the leathersmith. As soon as I walk in, I’m met with the distinct aroma of fresh leathercraft, and I can already tell this is where Leto Iriden the Mage does her equipment shopping. That notion fills me with the warm fuzzies, and I can’t keep a stupid grin off my face as Leto and the shopkeeper put their heads together to discuss my fashion fate.

In the end, I’m fitted with a light armor that covers just my neck and chest. It accommodates my layman ass just fine, and it also doesn’t impede range of motion in any way. I can swing my gun-shooting sword to my heart’s content, perhaps at the cost of lower defensive stats or something to that effect.

Finally, it’s time to see about my weapon. For this, Leto takes me to, not the blacksmith, but the… actually, I don’t know what you’d call this vendor.

It’s an old lady, unusual among the Elves for her bent back and generally grumpy demeanor. In fact, I don’t think I saw her at the party last night. Her shop is a tiny annex that’s attached to the clothier we’d visited earlier. It’s cramped, dusty, and filled from floor to ceiling with a variety of objects that defy categorization.

There’s a cage crawling with what look to be newts and salamanders. A rack lined with necklaces made from animal teeth and bearing strange engravings. There’s even a crystal ball, the kind that a psychic might use for fortune-telling, and that’s probably the most ‘normal’ thing in here.

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As a collective, I can only describe the objects in this shop as ‘trinkets’. As such, I decide to call this old lady the ‘trinketeer’, which probably isn’t a real word, but just work with me here.

Anyway, the trinketeer doesn’t just look grumpy. She either woke up on the wrong side of the bed or really is misanthropic enough for the whole village. She’s the only one I’ve met so far that glares and grumbles at Leto like she owes her money, and the looks of disdain she occasionally chucks my way are withering enough to give me flashbacks of every authority figure I’ve disappointed in my life.

Eventually, Leto manages a breakthrough, and the trinketeer slides over to me to wordlessly grab the STSG. For the next several minutes, she inspects the sword up and down while occasionally glancing at the strawberry-shaped gemstone Leto had placed on her counter.

She then grabs the gemstone and disappears into the back of her shop, sword in tow and without a word of explanation. I glance over at Leto with eyebrows raised, the universal signal for: “uh… are we sure about this?” Leto answers with an encouraging smile that’s clouded by just a touch of worry: “fret not, it’s all going according to plan… I think.”

From where I’m standing, all I can perceive is a series of disparate noises that issue from the back of the shop. Creaking of heavy objects. Steel scraping against wood. Faint rustle of turning pages. And finally, a chant like a spell being cast—clear-voiced and with a surprisingly singsong quality, given the spellcaster’s resting grumpiness.

Then all is quiet. The silence lasts for several more minutes, long enough for Leto and I to exchange another look, and for me to wonder if I should just barge in and see what’s going on. Just as I make up my mind, though, the curtain lifts, and out slides the old woman’s still slouching and still grumpy figure.

The trinketeer now holds one object in her hands. She then wordlessly (and carefully, to her credit) places the STSG on her counter.

Unable to contain myself, I rush over to inspect her handiwork. Yup. There it is. The Dragon’s glimmering-red gemstone is now securely embedded within the STSG’s hilt, occupying the second slot just below its gunmetal cousin.

I pick up the sword and immediately sense the difference. There’s a… new weight to it, and no, I don’t mean the extra few grams from the second gemstone.

Remember what I said about the first time I held the STSG in my hand? That conviction that this thing can and will fuck shit up? Well, it’s a sensation that’s similar to that, except now there’s like… more angles? Like if I turn the blade a certain way and let my imagination guide me, I can and will find new ways to fuck shit up.

As gory and un-21st-century a thought as that is, it fills me with a kind of irrepressible excitement. It’s that same dopamine rush you get from leveling up in an RPG. There’s no stats screen or even a skill point for me to spend, but the feeling of progression is unmistakable.

I’m so wrapped up in my own shit that I barely notice as Leto helps me complete the transaction. The trinketeer lives up to her misanthropic ways by driving a hard bargain, demanding three full honey jars in exchange for services rendered, leaving me with just the one jar for myself. No hero’s discount here.

But you know what? This old lady’s officially in my good books. If Leto’s right about the STSG being a ‘Relic’ in this world, maybe it takes someone as eccentric as this trinketeer to figure out how to unlock its potential.

“Thank you,” I say in English and with sincere gratitude. I even get in touch with my inner weeb and do a little bow. The old woman, in turn, glares at me with more disdain than ever as she shoos me out of her shop.

By now, I’ve completely forgotten about my hangover, and I’m in such a good mood that I’m ready for anything. Put me in, coach! Send me out on a quest right now so I can field-test my new combat upgrade!

Embarrassingly enough, Leto beside me gets a front row seat to my childlike excitement. Far from being put off by it though, she practically joins in, rattling off words of encouragement in Quebecois High Valyrian while miming a few sword swings herself. God, does this woman know how not to be perfect?

She then leads me out of the market and towards the outskirts of town. I follow eagerly, convinced that this day can only get better.

Leto doesn’t disappoint. The next spot on her list is a small field just on the edge of the forest. The only man-made structures here are a collection of straw dummies of varying sizes and shapes (some of them clearly not humanoid).

There’s already a group of Elves here putting the dummies to use: a trio of wooden-sword-wielding children and a man that looks to be leading their sparring session. Coach-man calls a halt to the proceedings as he sees Leto and I approach, then ushers the children out of the way to give us free rein of the training ground.

Seeing this, I immediately feel bad, thinking I’m not worthy of this kind of special treatment. But then… I imagine the kind of ‘training’ I’d be doing with the STSG, and I think maybe it’s a good idea for the children to be as far from the action as possible…

Leto, for her part, looks ready to get the show on the road. She beckons me toward one of the straw dummies—a large, quadrupedal one that’s shaped kind of like a buffalo—then flashes a smile that contains just a hint of challenge: “have at it.”

“Baby’s First Training Dummy,” I say to no one in particular as I readjust my grip on the STSG. “Don’t mind if I do.”