I practiced a while longer. The one-in-a-million tree-splitting throw eluded me for the rest of the session, but I was able to fire off a few more casts that didn’t completely suck.
Unfortunately, neither Dale nor I could come up with an adequate excuse for how a stroll around the roads surrounding our house resulted in a few quarts of mud stuck to my backside.
The truth had to come out, and once we got home, it did just that.
“Esko?!” Mom demanded. “Out of all the people who would’ve begged to train a student of yours, you picked Esko?”
After my stuff was soaking in the laundry trough, we were ordered to sit on the couch, ready for Mom to deliver her salvo. I felt like I’d stressed her out more in the last few weeks than I had in the rest of my life combined.
With Dale as my only backup, I knew my defence would be mostly on my hands.
“Mom, it’s alright! Esko is a little rough round the edges, but he’s cool! And the stuff he’s taught me is wild.”
“You butt out, I’m not angry at you. Dale knows something that is just between us, isn’t it, Dale.”
Finally called upon, he deigned to speak in The Mother’s presence.
“Yes ma’am it is ma’am. Two bags full ma’am.”
Mom narrowed her eyes at him then turned to me with suspicion.
“Alright, well, criminals still have to eat, so get your butts to the table. As punishment for your crimes, I want both of you to pick up one extra day of cooking. Maybe you can use it as a debrief after training.”
“So I can keep on going?” I asked.
“I’m nothing if not generous,” she replied.
I took that as a yes and got my butt to the table.
Did the dishes afterwards, too.
###
The next morning came around, and there were roughly two and a half days until my next session with Esko.
I had a lot to tick off my mental to-do list.
Expanding my fast-travel capabilities, paying off my debt, practicing with my new gear, and working out what was going on with the ‘Liberate the Yard’ quest.
I had some other issues, too. Joey’s general temperament and regard for his friends hadn’t improved, I hadn’t managed to book in another hunting session with Claire, and there were some miscellaneous things I wanted to investigate.
For example, Otto’s situation with his opportunist boss and the bank that rejected him. Without knowing any further details, it reeked of racism. Or species-ism?
Luckily for me, most of my problems had a crack at working themselves out.
All at once.
My first attempt at expanding my courier-capabilities went fine. I cranked out a seven-mile jog to a miniscule hole in the dirt (the people literally lived in holes underground) called ‘Ballantong.’
The place was nice, though difficult to tell which house belonged to who. The only thing differentiating them was the colour and style of the ladder leading down into the series of caves the residents called home.
The second trip was different. My destination was fourteen-miles due west, back in the direction I’d spawned from. I made a rough estimate of where my butt-mark would be if it were still there, but to my disappointment, either the dust had blown over and filled it, or the game just didn’t have that level of permanence.
I was looking for ‘Parm.’ I imagined a small county with a heavy culture of cheese making, something to match their name.
Instead I found ashes.
The place had been razed — not a single home left standing. There were no signs of life, and I certainly wasn’t going to be delivering packages here any time soon. The only item that wasn’t completely charred was a banner that sat in the town square, inserted crudely into a rotting sheep carcass.
Blue and white, with a bird soaring through the centre, talons outstretched.
The Asterian emblem.
I was starting to get a pretty good idea of who I’d be liberating Bill’s Yard from. Looking around me at the devastation, I only wished Bambuk could’ve been here to defend the people of Parm, despite his ugly methods.
If I was going to defend even a single speck of dirt from Bill’s Yard, I needed to get stronger.
Much stronger.
I’d seen the hordes of armed soldiers, hundreds crossing their shields in impenetrable shield walls with rows upon rows of spears, archers, and commanders spread amongst them. If they were to raid the town right now, no number of B&B players could stop them.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Despite my apparent inferiority whilst wandering the fields with Claire, I knew that not a single piece of weaponry or armour anyone had purchased this past week would stand up to the armies of Asteroth. People had decent stuff, or at least glittery stuff, but one glimpse at Cambree’s near-miss — or what happened here — was enough to know we were in trouble.
Bill’s Yard would need a whole lot more of those tornadoes-in-bottles.
Or, I’d have to deliver a lot more packages.
Returning to Bill’s Yard, I delivered so many bags of bread that my shield accumulated a permanent dusting of flour and people mistook me as Marge’s assistant baker. I had to hang a second sign assuring marketgoers that I was a separate business.
Quest(s) Accepted!
‘I Loaf You’
Reward(s)
+40 EXP (13)
+20 Krad (13)
+2 Friendship (Marge) (13)
Quest(s) Accepted!
‘Lots O’ Lavender’
Reward(s)
+30 EXP (9)
+30 Krad (9)
+2 Friendship (Pilaf) (9)
A full day of running later, and my debt was nearly wiped out. I’d also gained two levels.
I had no idea what I wanted to put my points and skill tokens into, so I held onto them for a while. I also wanted the dopamine rush of using them all at once and experiencing the surge in power.
Not as efficient, you say? Kiss my ass, I say. I was racking in Krad and EXP like it was no one’s business.
On Thursday morning, I took a breather. Marge wasn’t at the plaza that day, so I was stuck without my primary income source.
I checked my Stats screen. Marge and my ‘Friendship’ sat at 38 — plus a cute little portrait of my favourite baker next to our score. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to miss a morning, so I decided to drop by and make sure she was alright. She lived just off the main street in a weatherboard place, the smell of bread entering my nose before I even opened the gate.
“Marge?” I called, knocking on her door.
Not a peep.
Venturing around the side of the house, I brushed my fingers through the dust and silt that had gathered on the wood. My fingers slipped through in places, evidence of poorly patched holes, or ones that merely filled themselves with the grit swept in by the breeze.
The terrain dipped down to where Marge’s basement-bakery chuffed along most mornings.
“Marge? Are you okay? Hello?”
I could hear someone in there making a racket. I pushed my face to the wall, looking in through a modest-sized hole in her house.
There she was, beating the crap out of a lump of dough. Her rolling pin was as long as my arm, and lumpy pieces of dough stuck to it with each strike. It was not a dough-rolling technique I’d seen before.
“Marge! Oi!”
She finally looked up. I was greeted by a mess of sunken skin and puffy eyes, evidence of a sleepless night and a whole lot of tears.
“Ollie! I’m so sorry, your deliveries! Come to the door, I’m sorry.”
We met around the front, where she unlatched the door and beckoned me in. The house was quaint — every room was dedicated to a different stage of baking bread. The living room held shelves of old bread-mixing apparatus, and I peeked through an open door into a bedroom where the beds were covered in piles of aprons.
It looked like a child’s bedroom, though it couldn’t have been occupied in some time.
“I’m very sorry, Ollie. I’m sure you were relying on me today; I should’ve told you I wouldn’t be around. I’ll pay you a fee for my rudeness.”
“Marge, absolutely not! I’m just here to check on you, what’s going on?”
She held onto a splintered rail and stepped down into the basement. I followed along, pulled by the wafting scent of baking bread.
Or burning bread.
“No, no, no!” she yelled, rushing to a brick oven and pulling out the blackened culprit with bare hands. The loaf fell to the floor, and I scooped it up in my shield, placing it on the bench.
Five-second rule.
Marge slumped down on a stool, defeated.
“Another one ruined. I’m done for today. You can chuck that outside, maybe a dog will take mercy on it. It’s probably not even fit for a monster to gnaw on.”
It still smelled phenomenal to me, so I tried my best to pull the burnt chunks off. As far as I was concerned, the inside was still pristine.
“Marge, come onnnn, this is great! Maybe not for the stall, but I skipped breakfast and I’m starving.”
That was a small white lie, since I wasn’t really hungry at all. I was more just curious about the buffs I’d get from consuming it.
Ingested: {Marge’s Sourdough (Burnt)}
+1 Strength
+1 Defence
-1 Agility
Not bad. The system was being a bit mean by insisting that it was burnt, but I could imagine that the -1 Agility debuff would go away if it weren’t. Either way, it was still a decent product.
Marge seemed happy that I was eating it, so I tore off a few more pieces and stuffed them in.
“So what’s got you down? Pilaf said that you never take a day off.”
She hesitated, kicking at the flour dust gathered around the table, her stool, and pretty much the entire of the basement.
“It’s my son. He’s in the army.”
I didn’t know she had a son, though it made sense. The bedroom with all the aprons probably used to be his.
“Oh, well, is he stationed nearby? I could take him some of your bread and tell him you’re thinking of him?”
“No. That won’t work.”
I looked around the basement for more ideas. Unfortunately, the entire place produced only one thought: Bread.
If Marge couldn’t say what she needed to say with a loaf of bread and a nice message, we were in a pickle.
“Can I ask why it won’t work? Did he leave on bad terms?”
“Not with me, no. He’s a lovely boy to me, but I fear the rest of the town doesn’t think so.”
The plot thickens. I pictured a thief, or a criminal of some sort. They say a mother’s love knows no bounds, and this seemed like one of those situations. My Mom once told me ‘You could grow up to be an axe murderer, but you’d be my axe murderer.’
Case and point.
“What could he have done to anger the entire town? The people love you, so the apple can’t have fallen far from the tree.”
She swivelled on the stool, looking down and rolling a pinch of flour through her fingers. The tears had renewed, and I felt a pang at the back of my eyes, infected by her sorrow.
“He joined the Royal Army of Asteroth.”
Oh no. All I could see was Bambuk’s rampage and the hundreds of Asterian soldiers being sucked into whatever monstrosity he became. Marge’s son might’ve been one of them.
“I see,” I started. “Do you know where he was stationed?”
Was. Hopefully she didn’t notice my word-choice.
“No. It’s difficult to get any information out from Asteroth. A lot of the profit from my stall goes to an Asterian spy I hired, but I’m starting to think he just disappears with it for a while then makes up something to tell me.”
“That’s terrible. I’d be happy to help out, you know. I’ve seen the work of Asterian soldiers, and they’re getting close to here. Parm has been razed.”
“Parm? What would they want there?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
She mulled it over, swiping her sleeves across her face to clear the tears.
“He’s a good boy, I know it’s hard to believe, but he is. If you could find him and tell him to come home…I don’t know.”
“I’ll do it.”
She looked up and smiled. I didn’t need to see the rewards to know that I’d accept the quest.
Quest Accepted!
‘The Baker’s Son’
Reward(s)
+1500 EXP
+100 Friendship (Marge)