Quickly, I move into a stance and move to intercept the incoming lowlives. Holding four of them back isn't really an issue for me if I only have to worry about myself, but without dedicated Skills maintaining aggro on these mooks could prove tricky. I don't doubt that Henna can handle herself in a hand-to-hand tavern brawl, but I'm not sure how well she can handle a life or death situation with lethal weaponry. Although, admittedly calling the garbage they're flailing around 'lethal weaponry' is more generous than is accurate.

With that said, I may be backsliding a little on my earlier self-reflection.

Mindful of his friends flanking his sides, I take a firm grip of my zweihander and slide in with a wide, horizontal sweep. The belly of the first is split open easily, bowling him backwards while the arc of my blade causes the next two to flinch back during my recovery period. Noting the weapons these two are holding, I turn my head back for a brief moment, mentally apologising for diminishing her capability, "Take the one on the left, I'll finish the other two."

Henna hesitates, staring at the dying man on the floor. Resolving herself, she runs out with a warcry and swings with heavy force using the back of the axe's head rather than the blade. I activate Rush to move between her and the remaining knife-wielding thugs, claiming the hand of the first before knocking him down with a shoulder barge and turning to the last.

Not to be dissuaded by the summary executions of his compatriots, Thug #4 tries leaping at me - as though the small amount of extra height would somehow be this winning strategy that doesn't get him killed. Which it does. Side-stepping the idiot, I swing down on his exposed back when his landing on the ground rather than his intended target causes him to stumble forward. Though it's hardly enough to eviscerate the man clean through at my current power, it still bites deep enough into his unarmoured flesh and bone to kill him in one blow.

Finally, I yank the zweihander free and execute the stunned, handless fellow on the ground with a quick stab through the heart as Henna's opponent staggers and falls to the floor with a bloody divot in his temple and his eyes rolled-back to reveal the whites.

"I realise you were probably trying not to kill him, but it looks to me you underestimated your own strength," I comment sadly.

Henna's body is shaking from restrained fear and stress. Approaching slowly, I gently take the axe away from her and stow it in my inventory.

"Are you ok?" I pat her arm.

She takes a shaky breath in, "...I'll be better after I have a chance to sit down. Come on. The City Guard will take care of this...mess."

The act of killing is rather different for me as a player of a video game - creating a degree of separation and thus an inherent sense of disconnect from my actions. For a civilian native, on the other hand, this is their one and only reality. Right now, the status of these event generated thugs is as near-mindless mobs not even worthy of being considered sentient, but post-RotA, they too will be given a 'life' of their own which causes a number of players a fair amount of distress and forms one of the building blocks towards the shift of the player/npc relationship dynamic and the eventual acceptance of Merrow as, if not legally, but functionally indistinct from reality.

It can be hard to stay unphased when the punching bag you've been using for a month suddenly starts pleading for it's life. I've long since traded that nausea for brutal efficiency, personally, so I'd say I'm well-positioned to sympathise with Henna's distress.

Entering The Golem, the bar is no more or less popular than any of the previous times I've passed through, which means that there are a few free tables and a number of free barstools. Henna moves ahead to the bar and seats herself on one at the left corner of the bar's counter, a seat adjacent conveniently also free.

"Lifk," Henna calls for the bartender, "Onion soup and ale."

"Just the soup for me," I add on as he starts to walk into the kitchen.

Lifk returns with two bowls of soup, takes our money then pours Henna a frothy headed mug of ale from a mid-sized keg.

Amidst the pleasant buzz of drunken conversation, some of the tension leaves Henna's body, and after a swig of ale a few minutes of silence later she appears to relax completely - gulping one more quaff of salubrious liquid down for good measure.

I gesture with my wooden spoon, "Better?"

Another swig, "Somewhat."

"You think you'll be alright going home by yourself?"

She shuts her eyes and nods, taking a spoonful of soup and drinking it down heedless of the thick steam rising off it.

I suppress the offer of an escort, "Alright."

The soup tastes alright, but it lacks anything special that would indicate it was made by a chef of particular skill. Like the pastries sold in the market district, it is quintessentially cheap, easily made and serviceable fare for the masses. In contrast, Restaurants employ Chefs in the same way a smithy employs blacksmiths of increasing calibre and meals from skilled Chefs can provide temporary buffs when consumed, or in the case of all-too-rare collaboration between Grandmaster and higher Chefs and Alchemists, even permanent changes to your Vessel.

Not something I'm going to look into myself. I can't cook worth a damn. Thirty years of low-effort salads and storebought pre-prepared healthy meals, that's me. Not to mention the ingredients involved are, for whatever reason, harder to come by and far more expensive than potion ingredients. A problem that's only exacerbated at the highest levels.

Raising a Chef is a really low priority for me, as such, even if they'd potentially be useful. Too expensive and overshadowed by Alchemists in almost every way. The only skilled, famous ones I know of were in the employ of international megacorps with millions of employees on their payroll. In contrast, you can practically trip over a rock and disturb the rest of a hundred bleary-eyed Master Alchemists just minding their own business.

Dropping my spoon in the empty bowl with a clatter, I glance at Henna, now on her second mug of ale. Unable to think of much of anything to say that won't make me sound like a patronising ass, I elect to keep my mouth firmly shut as I get up and walk around the counter to the back room.

Jupiter

"Well, well, well. This bodes...well. Shit, come on man you can do words," I smack my forehead with my palm, "Ok, alright. Ow."

The past few days spent following the trail of the one and only Bronzeguy - still a dumb name, no idea why or how it caught on - have borne some fruit at last. Though I say fruit, but what I really mean is a bunch of coked-up homeless dudes getting demolished. Like, three whole-ass more dudes than the first time.

Not sure if it was because the blacksmith NPC who runs Stone Arsenal was with him or if the quest was escalating. Or, you know. Both. I'm thinking it's probably both with how much time he's been spending loitering around Stone Arsenal and the blacksmith NPC the past few days.

I'm not really counting the scam he's running out of Stone Arsenal that is quite clearly a scam.

I sigh. Idiots.

Not that I can really do anything about it if I don't want to piss Silver off. Dude would probably break me in half, seeing what he's capable of in a fight. Yikes. No thank you, for I am but a humble wizard-in-training with dumbass spells like 'Flashlight, basically', 'Magical Bandaid' and 'Maybe set a dude on fire if you pray really hard'.

I have the approximate combat power of two street magicians fused together into a superior being. Superior in that it has the same approximate power of a pair of street magicians performing sleight of hand tricks. It sucks.

I'm getting sidetracked. Focus, Jupiter. Calm.

Point is, the blacksmith that runs Stone Arsenal is probably my best bet of getting in on the action. Except they just went into a dive bar together, and I don't really want to have to explain to Silver that I've been low-key stalking him.

Oh, haha, it's just a coincidence that I came into this one specific bar to talk to this one specific NPC.

That'll go over great, I'm sure.

On the other hand, there's a chance that they're here for the next part of the Quest. In fact, with a scripted encounter, I'm positive.

Curiosity wars with my self-preservation and by its nature finds the weakness in self-preservation's armour, destroying it with a crushing blow called 'I've been waiting for something to happen for two or three days and I'm fucking bored'.

Since I'm already stuck at Level 1, the worst that'll happen is I get put in the time-out corner for five minutes and I'll pop back out at the Cathedral. Practically consequence-free.

Convinced of the correctness of my course, I stroll with as much confidence as I can bring to the surface up to the bar called The Golem and enter inside. The place isn't filthy, per se, but it is the very picture of shabbiness, with old furnishings, flaking walls and absolutely nothing resembling decoration. Looking around, however, I note the conspicuous absence of Silver Nosster amongst the just as shabby patrons. The NPC Blacksmith he was with, however, is sat alone at the bar drinking what I can only assume is alcohol by the context from a clay mug.

Hm. How do I approach this?

Thinking through a few dumber options, I hit upon the simple answer of just asking what the story behind that attack was. Being coy with NPCs is liable to send me on a conversation loop. Again.

Striding over to the woman, I clear my throat, "Excuse me madam, but would you be willing to answer a question or two about the altercation outside?"

Nailed it.

The Blacksmith clenches her hand tighter around her mug, not even sparing me the courtesy of eye contact, "No."

Never mind.

"Please, I'm interested in investigating their origins. The man who came in with you, Silver Nosster," Please work, "Said I could assist if I was able to catch onto the trail. Any clues you give me would be most appreciated."

Hearing his name being dropped, she turns to stare me with a cold intensity I'm sure some people would happily pay to be on the receiving end of. Personally I just feel like she's about to reach out and yank my head off. Scary.

"Reeeally now?" her drawl is more than a little condescending, "First I'm hearing of it. And I don't need any more 'helpers', so shove off."

She's stonewalling me. Was he pulling my leg? Is this quest solo only? Whatever, not giving up. Feel the patience of a future legendary wizard!

"Madam, you misunderstand. I'm not doing this out of a sense of altruism, but to satisfy my curiosity. I realise that sounds callous, but it is what it is," Too much honesty maybe? Eh. In for a penny.

She frowns, unsure of what to make of my admission, most like.

"I ain't got any info for the likes of you. You wanna look into it, do it on your own. I don't fucking care," She huffs, taking a long draught from her mug, "Hell, try searching their corpses if they're still there if you're that desperate."

I stiffen, "Ah. Yes, that actually sounds like something...I should have...done..."

Shit.

Wait, really?! Hell to the fuck yes!

Shit, no time to celebrate gotta go, gotta go.

"Thanks for the quest, 'k thanks later!"

I sprint as fast as my weedy legs will carry me out of the bar and back up the street to where a single City Guard is scratching his ass as his vacant head ponders what to do with a whole four corpses. Ignoring him, I sidle up to the rather unpleasant smelling remains of these hobos. I can't tell if they always smelled like this or if this is the decomposition starting up. Questions better left unanswered methinks.

My real and current questions, however, do need answering. Activate bullshit mode.

"Excuse me good sir, but I've been asked to perform a rudimentary examination of these bodies under suspicion of their connection to a larger c-WHOA!"

I dodge back as the Guard yanks his shortsword out and points it at my neck, "Larger case, huh? And 'oo told you t'come sniffin' round 'ere?"

He leers at me with an obvious desire to commit violence upon my person. The hell, why is a Guard threatening me out of the blue like this?

"Holy shit it's a conspiracy," I laugh, too excited to really care about this deep country looking moron's sword, "Fuck yeah! You're a corrupt Guard cleaning up evidence of some big head honcho's foul misdeeds! This is fucking awesome!"

The Corrupt City Guard's face twists from utter confusion to anger, "That's enough outta your pri'ee li'l mouf, Silva scumfuck."

I can't even see his fist coming through the tears of laughter, only feeling a dull pain before I fall unconscious.

IdleFancy

I am in the process of being distracted by the Terraria update, bear with me.