Chapter 19: Welcome to Jill’s
TRISTAN
Jill’s restaurant was not at all what Tristan expected, given the plain exterior. Perhaps the swinging, wooden, saloon-style doors should have clued him in. Yet he had never been the most observant about things like that. He realized he would need to quickly get over his small town expectations, given where he was headed.
The moment we walked through the doors, he was greeted by a small, winged girl whose every flutter pulsed a subtle shade of blue. “Welcome to Jill’s! Are you dining alone tonight, or meeting up with others?”
Tristan looked around the mostly full dining room, noting that every square inch of surface, from the floor to the tables and ceiling rafters, was wood. He spotted Aaric with his attendant at a table in the farthest corner. The trainer was nowhere to be seen. For the briefest moment, Tristan considered annoying Aaric by going to sit with him, but after the trainer’s warning, he thought better of it. “No, I’m by myself tonight.”
The fairy girl, who was maybe two feet tall, smiled at him. “Planning to stay that way? A cutie like you would likely earn some attention if we sat you up at the bar.”
Tristan felt flattered, but he didn’t really want any attention tonight--not unless it somehow improved the taste of the food. He wanted to eat in peace. “Oh. That’s really nice of you, but I think I just want a table off to the side, or a booth if I could."
“You surely can, but remember what I said, as a fairy cannot lie!” The fluttering girl spun herself around and started examining a chart she’d pulled from a pocket. “But I understand. There’s nothing wrong with a little quiet time in the main dining room either. If that’s what you’d prefer, Jill is here to help!”
Tristan smiled slightly at the lively host. “You’re Jill? So this is your place?”
“That’s what people call me, sure as I can fly!” the fairy literally glowed brighter as she bobbed up and down. “Here, let’s get you to a quiet little table. But, hmm, that’s a big sword. If you don’t have any other way to store it, we’ll have to put you in Fred’s section. There are item racks, and the booths are decently deep to boot.”
[Jill, Fairy, level 41]
Tristan appreciated her consideration and used [Identify] on her reflexively. He was actually surprised to see her level, as it was so much higher than his own. It usually required specific [Identify]-boosting skills to see the level of someone higher tier than yourself. Which made him wonder: could he build gear with a similar effect? Or maybe get even more types of information to display too? He had to stop his mind from wandering too far in that direction, at least for now. It was definitely worth exploring someday, though.
He followed Jill around a small privacy wall to a long, padded booth that hid away from at least some of the prying eyes.
“Fred’ll be with you in a moment,” she said, eyes flitting to things happening elsewhere. “Enjoy the food!” she called back as a menu and a cloth napkin full of utensils appeared before him.
Tristan looked over the menu, which was a full, laminated page with both a front and back. The trainer had been right: the options weren’t overly expensive, and Tristan recognized most of the dishes. He was especially intrigued by the whole “Fairy Faire” section on the front’s top right corner. Each item there cost a fair bit more and had an asterisk beside its name, which, when he looked at the notes at the bottom of the page, meant they were “enchanted” in some way. One of them was marked with a four-pepper spiciness level, which read “ONLY FOR DRAGONKIN” in bright, bold red. The whole enchanted food idea really piqued his interest, though the spiciness absolutely did not. Despite his coin purse being heavier than it had ever been, he also recognized that it wouldn’t remain that way if he got in the habit of dropping gold like a Longbloom.
Before Tristan could choose between the two “home cooking” entrees he was interested in, a small green figure sauntered up to his table. Had Tristan not been sitting, the green man might only have come up to his waist, if that. He had scraggly hair that wrapped all the way down his rounded face into a pointy beard, but no mustache. He was wearing what appeared to be a freshly laundered uniform, with crisp creases and not even a speck of food anywhere to be seen.
He spoke to Tristan with a high pitched voice that was almost bird-like in its short, broken chirpiness. “Hi! This is Jill’s, and I’m Fred, your serv-er to-night!” The way he pronounced the final words, always rising on the second syllable, felt like he’d struggled to adapt to them. “Can I get you a drink to start, or would you like more time to check the op-tions?”
Tristan found himself smiling at the fascinating way the green man, Fred, talked. Yet he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by him. Tristan couldn’t help but use [Identify] on him.
[Fred, Goblin, level 8]
“You’re a goblin!” he said, letting his surprise overrule his manners.
“I am, sir, I am! I’m one of a kind. And please know, sir, that I’ll do my best to serve. It’s my Path, sir!”
Tristan sat back in awe. “Your Path? So you’re Awakened?” He’d never heard of an Awakened goblin before. There must be an amazing story there.
“I’m as ‘Wake as you or Miss Jill! And now I serve by choice! Can I help you now, sir, or should I come back in a bit? Want a drink? Or have you made up your mind for food?”
Tristan sighed, looking at the options again. “I think some tea would be nice. And..." He paused, trying to recall if goblins liked the same foods as humans, and decided to risk it anyway. “What would you recommend, Fred? I’m considering the meatloaf and the pot roast.”
“Both are great, sir, though I tend to go with the pot roast. I like to sink my teeth in, you know?” Then he smiled, and a gnash of pointy yellowed teeth seemed to add credibility to his claim. “Do you want your tea sweet, sir?”
Tristan blanched. “What other kind of tea is there?”
“Hot, sir, which is how some take it in the cap-i-tals.” It was clear that the goblin really struggled with that word. “So I’ve been told. But I’m like you and like sweet tea.” His grin eased back into a charming, closed-mouthed smile. “If you’re still not sure, I can check back in a bit--"
“Wait,” Tristan said, afraid that if he let the little goblin go, he’d have to wait longer for his meal. A glance across the way showed a waitress was leaving Aaric’s table, too, with a full pad of notes. “I think I’ll take the pot roast, thanks to your recommendation.”
“Good good, sir. With all the greens that come with it? You will find them quite nice, I’m told.”
“Yes, however it’s normally served is fine for me. Do you not eat veggies, Fred?”
The goblin gave a regretful frown. “I find them not for me, sir. Not for me at all. They tend to get caught in my teeth.”
Remembering the scraggly mess of teeth he’d seen before, Tristan could understand that. Yet he wasn’t quite ready to let his server go. “Hey, Fred, you seem really open and kind. If you don’t mind my asking: how’d you end up with the name ‘Fred’ anyway?”
The goblin seemed genuinely excited to open up, and spoke a little more quickly. “Well, sir, I did not have one ‘til I ‘Woke, which was odd, let me tell you. Odd to me, and odd to the big men there with me. And when those big men asked what I was called, one of them said I look’d like I was ‘fred, I liked it and said it was my name. It was plain but true as it could be, so I took it. I think ‘Fred’ is a good name. It fits me!” His voice rose with scratchy pride. “I’m not big or fast or mean. I’m just Fred. I serve, I smile, and I up-sell!” He gave an overly-exaggerated, open-mouthed wink. “Can I get you more to eat, sir, or will you be fine with just the pot roast? We do have quite good pie!”
Tristan found himself grinning right alongside the goblin, and he couldn’t really explain why, but it didn’t feel like a skill. Fred was charming in his own way. “I think I’ll be good for now at least. But feel free to ask again later.”
“Oh, I will, sir. You can bet on that!”
Before the little goblin waiter turned to go, Tristan added. “One day, I’d love to hear your whole story, Fred. I bet it’s fascinating.”
The goblin tapped a finger to the side of his head as he winked again. “You’re right, sir, quite right. As right as you are smart. My tale is a big one! Kind of like that fine sword on your back!”
“Well, this one I actually made, Fred, and I’m really proud of it. It’s called [Hope’s Aspiration].”
“Then it is just like me and my name, sir! Did you know that most gob-lins don’t have names at all? But I do! Quite rare, though I did not make mine, now that I think of it.”
Tristan put a hand on his sword, tracing where the talisman was embraced by the crossguard. “But you’re definitely still rare,” he agreed. “Do you know that you’ve brightened my day? I feel kind of lucky to have met you.”
Fred bowed his head slightly. “I have both good luck and good smarts. Hard to say which has done more, but--”
A sudden burst of reddish light nearly blinded Tristan as a shockwave sent shudders through the restaurant. When Tristan regained his vision, he saw no sign of Fred, but instead an inferno had completely engulfed a table across from him before spreading to another right beside it.
Rubbing his eyes, Tristan tried to rise but accidentally kicked something that grunted under the table. He now knew where Fred had squirmed to. The small goblin had pushed himself all the way to the back wall under the booth, completely still save his eyes, which darted wildly around, glinting in the flickering light of the flames.
As if reading Tristan’s mind, Fred grabbed onto his leg and shrieked, “Do not go out there, sir! This booth is safe. We must stay right here and hide!”
Tristan nearly laughed at the absurdity. The small, terrified goblin under the table was trying to save him. Just another entry on the list that endeared Tristan to the little server. Still, he couldn’t let that distract him, and he turned to face the room that was filled with screams. All the tables and booths around him were emptying as frightened people rushed toward the door, abandoning food and drinks as though they were nothing.
The fire had now spread to a third table. But not the floor?
Something wasn’t adding up. Pushing past his initial fear, Tristan focused on the details of the unnatural flames and immediately noticed several things. For one, when he extended a hand toward the supposedly-roaring fire, he felt nothing.
A blaze like that should be putting off a scalding heat, but it’s not.
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He also saw that there were two smaller, possibly gnome-shaped shadows only an arm’s length from the blaze, and they didn’t look to be burning either. Even more telling: nothing seemed to be getting charred or blackened by the flames. There wasn’t even any smoke! Whatever this “fire” was, it wasn’t real.
“It’s an illusion,” he whispered in awe.
The excitement was far from over though, as a gigantic, shirtless cyclops punched straight through the fake flames. It shouted something both too piercing and too slurred for Tristan to make out. As it stomped forward, it slashed an arm through the air straight toward the closer of the two shadows. The gnome simply responded by jumping to another table, where he was suddenly holding a weapon. It was a shovel, Tristan realized a bit surprised, which must have been pulled from his magical storage.
Or maybe he was an illusion, too. Tristan couldn’t really tell. He tried to use [Identify] on the combatants, but the skill wouldn’t give a return for the cyclops, and the shovel gnome was moving around and often hidden behind objects or flames with his small frame. Somehow he’d completely lost sight of the smaller gnome. Were they hidden, or fake as well? He hated not being able to trust his eyes.
The cyclops stomped forward again with a very noticeable wobble, thumping its chest. It shouted something Tristan could understand this time, if only barely:
“Don’t make me squash ya, little man. Get outta here, and take that doll with ya!”
Clearly, the shovel gnome didn’t want to back down. He jumped up and swung his shovel right through the belly of the cyclops. “What happened to your real form? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Get as big as you want; I’ll still kick your oversized ass!
The cyclops only laughed.
Tristan still didn’t have any idea what was happening, other than the fact that Fred had latched onto his leg with a death grip that seemed to only get stronger with every stomp and bellow. Looking down, Tristan saw that the little goblin had also wrapped his arms around the table’s central support, meaning the only way either of them were going anywhere right now was if the table came too.
“Fred,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm, “could you please let go of my leg? I can get us both out of here if you’ll trust me for a second. A lot of what’s happening over there isn’t real, OK?"
Maybe Fred would have let go, if things had stayed the same. But of course they hadn’t. The fake flames had spread across even more tables and now seemed perilously close to Tristan and Fred.
At least the change in the blaze brought more light, in which Tristan could finally see the smaller gnome crawling across the floor toward the next booth over. She was wearing overalls, of all things, with her sleeves rolled back to her elbows. He supposed that would provide extra padding as she crawled along. He knew worrying about her clothes was nonsensical even as he thought about it, but sanity seemed to have gone out the window a while ago. He was happy to find out the girl was real when [Identify] actually came back with something.
[?, Gnome, level ?]
Apparently, despite looking like a child, even the smaller gnome was above his tier. Assuming she was in tier 3, he wondered if that put her closer to 20 or 40.
Meanwhile, the shovel gnome slid under one of the tables, came out the other side with his trusty shovel raised, and charged at the cyclops’s side, yelling, “That’s my daughter, you pickle-livered coward!”
The cyclops turned and slowly swung its massive fist, and though the shovel gnome clearly ducked the blow, somehow the hit landed anyway. It was like an unseen shockwave threw the gnome off the table and into the booth directly beside Tristan and Fred. The resulting impact cracked the dividing wall between the booths.
Fred’s grip tightened, almost cutting off the circulation to Tristan’s leg.
That was when Tristan knew he would have to get them out of there the hard way.
Using all his strength, and as much leverage as his Fred-laden legs would give, he tilted the surprisingly heavy table onto its side as he turned to the goblin still clinging to him.
“Listen Fred, I need you to be a little brave here, alright? We’re going to use this table like a shield, and we’re going to get out of here.”
Tristan wanted Fred to understand his plan, but the goblin’s only response was a widening of his eyes. That would have to be enough. The exit was just around the privacy wall. If he’d just had a bit higher Strength, he could have simply lifted them all and strolled to the door.
At some point, the shovel gnome had charged back into the illusory blaze. Tristan saw the gnome’s shadow dancing against the wall as soon as they started scooting their table toward the exit. But two slides of the table later, the gnome smashed right through the side of their would-be shield and thudded to a stop behind them in what remained of Tristan’s booth.
Tristan found himself holding his breath as he watched the gnome struggle to his feet again, shakily.
[?, Gnome, level ?]
Unsurprisingly, he was real too. Though, to be fair, Tristan wasn’t sure what would surprise him in this fight any more.
“Just take it as a compliment, boyo,” the cyclops said with a laugh. “I merely said she was pretty enough to--"
“You. Will not. Say it. Again!” the gnome yelled, picking up his shovel from the floor. With a quick glance beyond the shielding table, he said, “Darlette, stay out of sight!” Then he charged, shovel swinging, toward the cyclops.
Moments later, the small gnome girl in overalls slid around the edge of Tristan’s table and seemed surprised to find anyone else there. Needless to say, Tristan was not the only one mightily confused.
“Are you Darlette then?” he asked.
The girl nodded silently.
Do I take her with us? What in all the gods’ names am I supposed to do? Tristan gritted his teeth. “Help me slide this then, and we’ll get out of here.”
The girl nodded silently again and took a position behind the table.
Following each slide, which was easier now with the gnome girl helping, Tristan was able to see around the broken table briefly. He saw Darlette’s father attack the cyclops again with a shovel swing straight through where the monster’s right arm seemed to be, but it passed straight through without making real contact.
With the next push, he saw the shovel gnome swing twice more, this time wide swipes, clearly trying to feel out where the real body of his opponent could be.
After each push, Tristan saw the gnome’s frustration building, until eventually he shouted, “Stop hiding behind your blasted magic and show your true self already!”
Without any other warning, it seemed like all the lights in the restaurant went out. It was as though a patch of pitch blackness was leeching all the light from the room.
When Tristan looked back up, all the fires were gone, and where the cyclops had been, a giant, illuminated jellyfish now floated. Its stringy purplish tentacles drifted about the space as if it was water. The body and tentacles were the only sources of light within whatever magical zone had surrounded them. Tristan couldn’t see anything else, until he caught glimpses of the shadowy form of the shovel gnome nimbly avoiding every tentacle that tried to touch him.
From out of the darkness and nowhere in particular, Tristan heard the same, sloppy voice that had been the cyclops say, “I get ya wanna keep dancin’ all night, but I’d rather have your daughter fer a partner. Could ya ask her for me?”
This only emboldened the gnome. As he dodged, he swung his shovel through several tentacles, which didn’t twist or tangle in the least, once again showing that there was nothing actually there.
The shovel gnome was screaming. “You’re a pervert! She’s only thirty!”
“That’s fully grown fer a human! Just stand still and let me end this!”
The gnome pulled back all the way to the wall, panting, while holding his shovel defensively. “Or, you come at me. With your real face on. And I’ll end this.” He had gotten far enough away that the tentacles couldn’t reach him yet. “I know people like you: all appearance, no substance. You’re too chicken to face anyone fairly!”
“My Path doesn’t give a shit about fair!” the sourceless voice countered. “You want fair, go play horseshoes. But ya know what, I’ll give ya another lesson for free, shorty. I’ll show ya a real chicken.”
In the span of one breath, it was as though all the darkness in the room condensed into one massive blob, which quickly grew more and more detailed until it resembled a scaled egg. Cracks began to form between the scales, which pushed outward as it revealed a pitch black claw. Following that came an arm, a shoulder, and a wing. Piece by piece the creature revealed itself, until finally a toothy maw popped out. It was then that Tristan realized what he was seeing.
It’s a gods’-damned dragon, he thought, hardly able to breathe.
The twenty-foot-tall embodiment of death barely fit within the confines of the building. It looked as though its scaled neck pressed up against the ceiling. As its long snout turned to the side, a huge slitted eye stared down at the shovel gnome.
Tristan was fairly sure this one was an illusion too, and with it, a primal terror had gripped him--or at least his legs, courtesy of Fred’s ever-tightening grip.
Even the shovel gnome had stopped to stare, which caused him to not avoid a tail swipe that sent him hurtling into yet another booth.
The dragon chuckled, and each bassy heh literally shook the room, sending plates and glasses rattling across the floor.
Tristan tried to focus and ignore what he hoped was only another illusion. He was only a few feet from the exit door. He could get them all out if he tried. He just had to pull a stupid blessed table... and a scared goblin.
That’s when he noticed Aaric, his attendant, and the trainer, all still sitting at their table in the far corner. They seemed remarkably calm, though they’d clearly been watching the whole fight. The trainer’s face was expressionless, as usual, while the attendant seemed frustrated, as he looked distractedly toward the kitchen. Aaric, at least, seemed curious, but he was wearing that stupid monocle that somehow made him look even more pretentious than usual.
The fact that they just sat there doing nothing annoyed Tristan. The trainer was high enough level to have helped, but he’d done nothing. If I had the strength he’s got, I’d put a stop to this. Grabbing Darlette with a free hand, he wrapped the other around the table’s support and pulled with all his might. Even with Fred clinging firmly to his legs, it only took him three pulls to get around the wall. He still didn’t dare allow himself to look back at the dragon.
Then Jill was suddenly there, floating right by his side and looking quite apologetic. She was able to detach Fred from Tristan’s leg with what amounted to magic words, as best Tristan could tell.
“The Tier Guard should be here shortly,” she reassured them. “I flew out to get them them as soon as that idiot Marco got mouthy with poor Cormick’s girl. That gnome’s got a hair trigger when his daughter is involved.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Tier Guard? Is one of them striking down-tier?”
The little gnome girl, who Tristan now realized was nearly twice his age, answered first. “Well, my dad’s only tier 3...”
Hearing her speak, it was hard to believe that other races could look this young but only be thirty years old, like her dad said. Tristan definitely would have said she looked younger than him.
“And a farmer!” Jill supplied. “Marco there is Tier 4, which is a bit too high for my guys to deal with. Though your father did remarkably well, all things considered.” She sighed, producing chairs from her magical storage for them to sit on. “Though he’s only freshly 40, so I’m sure he’ll get off with just a warning.” She growled, raising her voice to a powerful, skill-enhanced yell as she rose above the privacy wall. “IN ADDITION TO A BILL FOR ALL THE DAMAGES!”
As if on cue, a group of four armored soldiers and mages barreled through the door. They regarded and apparently dismissed Tristan in only a moment before Jill pointed them to the real disturbance around the corner.
“Just to the left. You’ll see the giant blessed dragon, no doubt. Amongst all my broken tables!”
With the Tier Guard there, the fight ended almost immediately, and before long the illusionist was marched out the door in anti-magic mage-cuffs.
Tristan had never seen a higher tier mage fight before, and it had been terrifying. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see another anytime soon--not until he’d learned some way to deal with people capable of such power. But in the back of his mind there was also an itch that suddenly needed scratching. There had been something intriguing about the fight, about the back and forth, the interplay, especially with an illusionist involved.
While absolutely terrifying at moments, it had also been exhilarating. That a tier 3 farmer stood against a tier 4 illusionist with nothing but a shovel and his determination--it spoke to Tristan. Currently it was only a whisper tickling the back of his mind, but he heard it.
...It was almost like his Path was excited by something.
Magic, Tristan mused. I wonder what I could do with magic.