Fighting hordes of monsters with Claire was great, don’t get me wrong.
But in the entire time that we skewered [Darthogs] and sent [Goblins] back to whatever muck they spawned from, I earned a grand total of 183 EXP.
It wasn’t too shabby, but unless the various mob drops sold for a good chunk of krad, it almost wasn’t worth the effort. I could fast-travel a couple packages to Cambree and I’d earn just as much EXP, along with a chunk of krad, and some incidental Friendship with the NPCs.
Plus, I could scope out a few places, keeping an eye out for the Asterians.
And Bambuk.
I hadn’t forgotten how my first courier-trip ended, and I needed to know who Bill’s Yard might need liberation from. At this point, it was hard to tell which was the greater evil between the two.
So, like the sturdy little businessman I am, I set up a stall alongside Marge the Baker and Pilaf the Florist.
Pilaf did a decent trade all day, as he somehow produced the only flowers in Bill’s Yard that didn’t immediately wilt from the blazing sun and lack of water. Marge was flat-out in the mornings, tossing freshly baked loaves of bread into bags and shoving them at the eager, grasping hands crowded around her stall.
I stood behind the table I’d fashioned from a few loose pieces of Bill’s Barn, preying off their success.
Bill agreed to lend me some paint to dash a message onto my sign, and I was off.
Courier for Hire!
Same-day delivery to Cambree!
Bread delivered still-warm or your money back.
Flowers delivered still-alive or your money back.
My ingenuity was rewarded. Marge’s mid-morning stamped came by for their daily purchase, and seeing my sign, thought they’d send a loaf to their relative or acquaintance in Cambree.
Cha-ching.
Quest(s) Accepted!
‘Our Daily Bread’
Reward(s)
+40 EXP (6)
+20 Krad (6)
+ Iron Ring (1)
+2 Friendship (Marge) (6)
Pilaf’s steady flow of romantics and home-designers came through all day, wishing to send a bouquet of lilies, roses, and carnations to their husbands or wives in the Cambree Mines. Bambuk must’ve cleaned out the entire Asterian occupation, because there was not a single person grumbling about the military presence.
Quest(s) Accepted!
‘Rose Race’
Reward(s)
+30 EXP (5)
+30 Krad (5)
+2 Friendship (Pilaf) (5)
The loaves went first. I placed all six inside my shield and rushed off down the street to the fast-travel zone. Coincidentally, the metal bracings on my {Wooden Shield} heated up with the sun, keeping the loaves warm for longer.
Once in Cambree, I paused for a moment to map out all the locations I needed to deliver to, then I was off. For twenty minutes I ran up and down streets, shimmied through busy alleys and rapped on doors, notifying occupants of the kind gift bestowed on them.
Quest(s) Complete!
‘Our Daily Bread’
Reward(s)
+40 EXP (6)
+20 Krad (6)
+ Iron Ring (1)
+2 Friendship (Marge) (6)
If I could work out how to place quest items in my Inventory along with the mob-drops from earlier, I could’ve done more. But my haul was fantastic.
240 EXP.
120 Krad.
The Iron Ring was a nice bonus. I equipped it, granting me a point of Defence.
Every bit helps.
Marge was chuffed with her extra sales and begged me to come again tomorrow. With the progress I’d made towards my loan, I would’ve set up shop even if she’d told me to run away and never come back.
Pilaf’s orders required a few more trips, but by the end of the day all five bouquets were sitting pretty in vases somewhere in Cambree.
Quest(s) Complete!
‘Rose Race’
Reward(s)
+30 EXP (5)
+30 Krad (5)
+2 Friendship (Pilaf) (5)
Another 150 EXP and 150 Krad on my side of the ledger. With just ten more EXP, I would’ve levelled up twice in the same day.
I checked my balance.
| -680 Krad |
Holy heck. In no time at all, I’d be paying back the weapons store and looking for my next upgrade. With income like this, I could potentially take on another loan and get something really ritzy.
I sent Annette a message.
[Fun Fact: Your best bud is the greatest courier Bill’s Yard has ever seen.]
[My best bud? I don’t have any friends in Bill’s Yard ^_^ Have you slept?]
[Money doesn’t sleep.]
[Eaten?]
[Running on fumes + an apple.]
[Eat lunch, dude.]
[Fine.]
She was absolutely right. I was already so scrawny that skipping yet another meal might just do me in. I flipped the sign on my stall and disconnected, just about doubling over with pangs of hunger as soon as I was conscious.
“Ohhh my— Mom! Is there anything for lunch?!”
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I dragged myself out of the Pod and slid downstairs on my butt. It was a terrible day to be a carbohydrate, or really anything edible. Feeling rich, I considered biking into town to grab a burger and hash browns from Stanley’s Diner. Or if I could just wait a little longer, Garlic Garters would be open…
Mom and Dale came in from the garden.
“Ollie! Finally took a break, huh? We’ve already eaten, but there’s a giant slice of quiche in the fridge, and about two servings of potato-bake. Go ham, kiddo.”
I opened my mouth to reply and almost dribbled on myself. The quiche was gone in an instant, and the potato-bake only lasted a couple minutes longer because I had to heat it up first.
Being a courier really gets you ravenous, even if you never move a muscle.
Once I’d eaten, Dale came into the kitchen. He sat next to me, talking in a whisper.
“Ready for our biweekly walk?” he asked.
I was not. Mental exhaustion aside, there were all sorts of things I could be doing in B&B to expand my courier business. Travelling to new areas and unlocking additional fast-travel locations would make me the one-stop shop for package delivery. Plus, setting up a more permanent shopfront near the fast-travel zone could be a game-changer.
“Oh crap. It’s Tuesday already? I thought I had like, a full week.”
“Nope. Esko even bought a Yurt just to remind me that today is the day.”
“How does he charge it without electricity?”
“Who knows.”
My plans went on hold as I prepared for Esko’s Spartan training. I was embarrassed to go, feeling as though I were a kid swinging around a pointy stick and pretending it was a sword.
It’s all in the name of being the greatest [Hoplite] to ever live. Maybe.
Under the pretence of getting into shape, Dale and I made the same sticky, scratchy trek out through the woods. Esko greeted us from atop his roof, bedecked in light armour.
“Welcome, Oliver! Are you prepared?”
I waved at him and smiled — or grimaced, I couldn’t decide.
He leapt down, landing neatly on the railing of his walkway, then hopped down from there to the dirt. It did not look like something that should’ve been possible with his…build.
“I’m ready, yeah. I wasn’t supposed to bring my own gear, right?”
“No, no, no, that’s fine. I’ve piled yours right there, see?”
Sure enough, a spear, shield and javelin sat in the mud next to a fallen log. I picked them up, brushing off the grime and only succeeding in smearing it onto my clothes.
“Show me what you’ve got so far!” called Esko.
I latched the shield to my arm, though it wasn’t nearly as easy to do as it was in-game. The grip kept slipping, and I could feel blisters forming where it rubbed. My spear wasn’t much better, suddenly hyper-attentive to the slight irregularities in the wood. It felt awkward in my hand, completely different to the relative ease I experienced in B&B.
If Esko wanted a prodigal student, he’d have to keep looking. I tried my best to deliver a few mock jabs both overhand and underhand in a weird chicken-arm stance, but I had about as much success as a communist at an auction. It just didn’t work the way I thought it would.
Esko reigned me in after embarrassing myself for a while longer. Dale sat in a camp-chair, enjoying my pain from afar. I’d have been happy to put a practice weapon in his hands and go for a round or two.
Wipe that grin off his face.
“You’re not bad! Bit awkward in the saddle, but you’ll get there. I want to focus on that under-hand first. You might be surprised, but the underhand lunge should be your go to move. Watch me.”
He wore full combat gear, but he moved like he was not burdened in the slightest.
“The spear is light, and agile!” he called, lunging forward and piercing a falling leaf. “It is not a lance; you do not need your armpit to support it!”
He retreated, sliding his feet back in semi-circles as he jabbed at an invisible figure.
“It will seem strange at first, but the underhand grip is how you will be most accurate. Your hand should sit halfway along, see? Balanced on either side. We are not fancy, I don’t want to see any of this hand-at-the-end business. That’s for another day.”
I tried a series of lunges, struggling not to tip on the uneven ground.
“Lower!” Esko called. “The lower you go, the further you can reach and the harder you are to hit. Lower!”
The guy was a taskmaster, but I understood what he meant. Each additional inch that I could push out my front knee was an additional inch of range. The spear itself might’ve only been six feet or so, but a low enough lunge could extend my reach to eight or nine if I pushed myself.
“Good! Good! Keep that tip steady, it is not a sword! We do not slash, or slice. We pierce, and we puncture. Now combine the shield! Every time you strike, you’re opening your shield-arm like you’re flashing somebody. Keep it tight to you, both attacking and defending!”
He paraded through the clearing, some endless source of energy allowing him to maintain exact focus. His shield stayed tight to his body while his spear struck out like lightning. With the right shield, he would have been basically invulnerable from the front.
I could see how huge of a difference lay between myself and Esko, and it was inspiring. If there were any Olympic replays of his, I had to find them.
“Pause! Put down your spear and shield. I want to see you throw.”
The workout was rapid-fire, like a high-intensity circuit class at the gym. I’d barely unstrapped myself from my shield before Esko was hurrying me along.
“Come on, come on! The Asterians are coming, you’ve gotta go faster!”
Hold up.
“Woah, wait!” I hailed him down, talking between gulps of air. “The Asterians? I’ve heard about them. What are they?”
Esko didn’t miss a beat, pointing to a spray-painted tree about thirty feet away.
“Ask Dale! Or read a history book! Now go, go, hit that mark! The Asterians might not be coming to get you, but I sure will if you don’t throw that javelin!”
I pushed aside my curiosity and hefted the javelin. Like my B&B one, it was front-heavy.
“I suck at this, but here goes!”
With one small step forward, I threw the spear as best I could. It made the distance, but I couldn’t have aimed further from the tree.
“The spray-painted one, not that one!”
“I tried! I don’t understand this damn stupid tiny rotten spear!”
Esko looked at Dale, then back at me.
“Hmmmm. Come with me. I know something that might interest you.”
We went into his house, and he produced an ancient television and something he called a ‘VHS tape’.
“Sydney Olympics. The real ones. Year 2000. Watch and learn.”
The tape went into a slot, and a grainy picture appeared on the TV. A crowded stadium cheered, tens of thousands of spectators watching a lone man measure out his run-up. He measured his steps once, went back to do it again, then turned to face the field.
“This is Jan Zelezny,” Esko said, clearly in awe. “His javelin is slightly different to yours, longer and lighter, but the principles remain the same. Watch him.”
I watched the run-up, paid attention to where he held the javelin, and was thoroughly impressed when he sent the thing over the ninety-meter mark.
But it didn’t help.
It was like watching a skateboarder do a kickflip — I could see what they were doing, but I had no idea why the board rotated when mine did nothing of the sort.
“What does he do that you don’t?” Esko asked.
“Well, he probably practices,” I replied.
“Don’t be a dolt, Ollie. Name them. How does Zelezny’s throw differ from yours? I’ll play it again.”
We watched the crowd, we watched the run-up, and we watched the throw. Perhaps there were some differences between me and the gold-medallist.
“His run-up is huge. I’ve never tried that. And his whole body goes into the throw — it kind of looks like he’s going to do a cartwheel after he lets go.”
“Exactly! Come back outside, let’s try again.”
We went back to the clearing and Esko placed down two sticks. He pointed to the first, nearest me.
“Your start line,” he declared.
He pointed to the second mark, closer to the tree.
“Your release.”
I lined up, ready to disappoint myself. Dale had mentioned the player who only ever used their javelin — perhaps I could ditch this and exclusively use a spear?
To satisfy Esko, I decided to give it a crack. Compared to my normal one-step-throw technique, this run-up was overboard.
I started slow, building up to nearly a full sprint by the time I reached the second mark. Holding the javelin near the blade, it felt balanced in my hand, rather than the top-heavy feeling when I held it further down. I took one last giant step and cast my javelin at the tree, curling my body over to exert as much force as I could muster.
Somewhere in the mess, a piece of slippery moss caught itself under my shoe and I went down like a sack of spuds. My momentum carried me forward, sliding through the mud until a patch of grass caught me.
Dale and Esko were cackling like fairy-tale witches, thoroughly amused by my mishap. Dale helped me up, whacking the mud and debris off my pants with Esko’s spear.
“Extra points for giving it your all! You alright?” Dale asked.
“Yeah, I’m all good. The mud cushioned my fall. That’ll be tough to explain to Mom.”
“I don’t think she’ll mind once we tell her about that.”
He pointed over my shoulder, towards the painted tree.
Not only had I hit the target dead-on, but the javelin had gone entirely through the rotten wood, blasting out the other side and sticking into a second tree.
Maybe the javelin was alright after all.