“What an ugly building,” Imu commented, looking at the Gentlewhomen’s Club. It was three stories tall, made to look like a fancy mansion, and sat up against the inner wall of my settlement, not far from the Mayor’s House where the new Mayor resided and the Guild Office a bit further down the ‘street’, where my three newly-outfitted Adventurers were leaving with a quest flier in hand:
Quest: ‘Look at the Shiny-Shiny!’
Type: Acquisition
Required Adventurer Rank: Wood
Reward: 500 Copper Toakens
Description: Toad Town is looking for intel on ore deposits containing Silver, Gold, and other valuable metals. This quest can be completed for each unique type of ore deposit found.
“I’m surprised you actually managed to make your Adventurers do something that won’t get them immediately killed,” Imu commented bleakly.
The other two Adventurers I had sent off with a quest to find Hekkenfelt, the place where ‘The Royal Court of Cimbra’ had been from.
Quest: ‘To Hekkenfelt!’
Type: Discovery
Required Adventurer Rank: Wood
Reward: 200 Copper Toakens
Description: Toad Town is looking for intel on the town of Hekkenfelt, such as a route map and the makeup of their Guild Office and other local institutions.
Lazy unproductive slobs! Get over here!
Nothing happened.
“You do realise how counterintuitive it is to try and force lazy unproductive minions to do something, right?”
“Should I make those Slaver whips and man-catchers I unlocked 13 chapters ago?” I asked, intentionally breaking the 4th wall to make the reader uncomfortable with my self-awareness. Yes, you, dear reader. I am now addressing you directly. That’s right. A fictional Toad character is talking directly to you.
“Stop that,” Imu scolded me. “You’ll drive away the readers!”
I retreated back into the walls that confined the narrative and Imu then said, “I don’t think forcing them into evolving is a great idea. Maybe just let them wander here by themselves. Aristocracy types tend to nominate themselves based on literally fuck-all in terms of ability or acumen, so give it just a day and they should be flooding into the Gentlewhomen’s Club.”
“I’ve been wondering about something,” I said.
“Uh oh.”
“Why is our lowest Adventurer Rank ‘Wood’?”
“Well, normally, it would be Tin, but we haven’t found that metal yet, so it currently goes like this: Wood > Stone > Knitted Yarn > Quarried Stone > Frog Hide > Tin > Iron > Copper > Bronze > Silver > Gold > Rose-Gold.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“All the ones you verbally put a line through are ones we don’t possess?”
“Obviously. Also, how were you able to hear that I put a line through them?”
“Same way the readers can see it,” I replied, once again turning to look at the reader. Yes, you. The person currently reading this exact sentence in this very moment.
“Stop that!” Imu yelled.
By the foot of the tremendous undertaking that was the Castle lay my newly-finished Gaol. It was built into the stones of the Castle foundation and dove down into the earth like the nest of a Burrowing Toad. At the bottom lay a hallway with ten cells, five on each side, which had required a lot of wrought iron to construct, but we had a surplus, despite all the construction that required it. After the ten cells was a metal-reinforced wooden door behind which lay a torture chamber.
The three Jailers I had evolved to work inside the Gaol all seemed to reaaaally like the torture chamber.
“How did you find three cruel minions so fast?” Imu wondered.
“I just went to the Butchershop and took three out of the crowd gathered there listening to the mourning song of the remaining frog cattle every time a new one was sent to be slaughtered.”
“Lord Deathheim wasn’t kidding about the degrading quality of minion souls…” Imu commented bleakly.
“Should we try to imprison someone?” I asked.
“What!? No, don’t be insane!”
Guards! Apprehend the newcomer to the Toad Town and put him into the Gaol!
“Stop! What’s wrong with you, you blessed lunatic!”
“But look at him! Isn’t he asking for it?”
Imu got onto the back of Goldie and hopped towards where I’d indicated. A new Adventurer was walking down the main avenue of the northern quadrant, eyeing all the Merchant shops and such with clear arrogant disdain.
Name: Kyle Hawthorn
Occupation: Gunslinging Ranger (Copper Rank Adventurer)
Species: Molerat Midget
Level: 24/100
Alignment: Thinks-he’s-the-main-character
Faction: Kyle Hawthorn’s Fanclub
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It was another great day to be Kyle Hawthorn, gunslinging ranger and all-around badass. It was just a shame that he had wandered into some misbegotten shithole that lacked any women to throw themselves at him, because that’s how awesome he was.
Kyle almost tripped when he stepped on his own coattails again for seventeenth time in the last twenty minutes, but he managed to make it look cool, because he was Kyle Hawthorn and he was amazing.
As he wandered down the disgusting streets of the forest-dwelling town, he noted with dismay how inbred and gross all the inhabitants were, not to mention their utter lack of taste in fashion!
With a twirl, he flung out his gun and aimed it at one of the awful creatures: a figure twirling around with two loaves of bread in his hands and the white apron he wore seeming to mesmerise the gathered crowd of bug-eyed people as it swished around, unveiling his gruesomely-naked bits every time it strayed too far from his body.
Kyle spun the gun around again, before depositing it in the holster on the hip of his brilliant mauve-coloured suit, with flourishing coattails, neat lapels, and expensive fabric.
“Not today he said,” with his gruff and cool voice.
Then suddenly a group of those inbred-looking people came running at him, dressed in filthy leather suits with rubber boots and weird swimming-cap-looking hats. He quickly pulled his gun out again and clicked the trigger, but nothing happened.
“Damn you, Fraedrich!” he cursed. His runaway manservant had forgotten to reload the weapon for him, and such a task was obviously beneath Kyle Hawthorne, brilliant and world-famous adventurer that he was.
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“He’s really struggling,” Imu commented. “I guess we can pretend our arrest was because he was waving his weapon around.”
“What kind of weapon is that? Also, why does he look so gross?”
“It’s a gun, I think, although it looks like it has never been fired. Also, pot calling kettle black.” Imu rubbed his chubby cheeks. “Although now that you say it, he really is awful to look at. I’ve never even heard of a Molerat Midget, but I guess they deserve to go extinct. Yuck. Better lock him away before your minions form a mob to crucify him.”
“They would do that?”
“Even disgusting humanoids like your minions will be upset about a stain against the gods like this.”
As my Guards confiscated the gun and dragged the tiny-eyed large-toothed midget off to the Gaol, I gave the weapon an Appraisal:
Name: Kyle Hawthorn’s Ornamental Flintlock
Occupation: Ornament
Species: Ornamental Firearm (Display Piece)
Level: 1/1
Alignment: Vain-and-useless-just-like-its-wielder
Faction: Kyle Hawthorn’s Fanclub
“I think I’ll give this to my Guild Master.”
“I suppose it would look alright in his hands, though it’s clearly not made to be used like a real gun.”
“How do you think he managed to get to Copper Rank with a useless weapon?”
Imu shrugged his squat shoulders. “Some places just hand out ranks for completing menial tasks. He’s probably never even been in a fight. I’m just surprised he made it past childhood without being forcibly removed from the gene pool.”