Stone Arsenal, Meteo Town

Admiring the helmet I just finished creating as part of the order from Wolf Hunt, my thoughts are interrupted by the irregular drumming of something atop the forge area's simple wooden roof. Henna looks up, annoyed, but the drumming continues. Looking out into the street, drops of water hit the ground and explode into a spray.

"Looks like rain," I comment blandly.

"Mm. Looks like we'll have to head inside, promises to be nasty," Henna mutters, devolving into incoherent grumbling, "Give me a hand sorting things out so's it don't wash away or rust."

"Sure," I see no reason to argue, though I can't help but be frustrated as well. If the weather turns for the worse, it's unlikely that we'll be able to attract any customers before I have to leave for our meeting with Sober Morning. Working out here like this is pretty much open advertisement even if it's not the most practical place to work with how dinky it is. In the future, when the time comes to tear this old building down, we'll have to move the forging facilities indoors just so we aren't at the mercy of the weather or the time of day. It's more secure that way too.

Not a conversation I'm looking forward to having with Henna, with how much Stone Arsenal means to her and how much of a concession she's made already for me. But even without my own involvement, with how many people are slated to turn up in Meteo in the next month or two, the present Stone Arsenal is simply inadequate. To make the most of it, we'll need to buy out the adjacent building somehow and combine both properties into a multistory construction.

Internally, I feel like screaming at how much money we need in such a short amount of time, because it feels like most of my problems all boil down to just money, money, money. We have a lot of avenues open to us to make it, but I remain unconvinced that we'll be able to make enough headway in the time we have before the second Inexorable Chapter begins. Which means that we're going to have to get creative and pull some more people to our side in order to share the load.

I was already going to attempt the latter, though. Triumph's early adopters are an important pool of potential allies and recruits, if I play my cards right and avoid interfering too much with the bigger names. I can't account for every variable, as much as I wish I could, but there are definitely a few people I want to avoid entirely if I can manage it, for one reason or another, ranging from unhinged psychopathy to Main Character-Esque luck that more closely resembles a black hole of idiocy and drama that keeps the rumour mill churning for years. Getting involved with those types of people will see my efforts serendipitously subsumed into their growing legends instead.

By the time we're done, the rain has progressed from a sputter to a thick sheet of downpouring water, a stream of it forming in the street up to my ankle before draining into the sewage system below. Although I can't argue with the need for public hygiene programs, I figure that the seasonal heavy rains of late winter and early spring are the main motivators behind their construction, just to keep the city from flooding.

Shutting the door behind me, the shop's interior is extremely dark, but for a single lit candlestick in Henna's hand as she goes around lighting the wall lamps, giving the room a fairly dingy look.

"You planning on staying open?" I question, heading over to the storeroom to pick out a spare stool.

"No reason to close," Henna confirms, "Rain like this'll be gone in an hour or two, I figure."

"I'll take the word of a local for it, then," I squint into the dark closet, "Don't suppose you have a dry cloth around?"

"'fraid not. Nothin' clean, anyway," she denies, blowing the candle out, "You'll just have ta bear with it."

"Guess so," I hoist a stool up by one of it's legs and take it over behind the counter at the further end, "Since we'll be stuck here together for the time being, is there anything you want to chat about?"

"I'm not much for idle chatter," Henna purses her lips, placing the candlestick on the counter and rubbing some warmth into her arms, "I don't have a very interesting life, so it's not like I got any more stories worth tellin'. Not 'til I met you anyway, and there'd be no point repeatin' what you were there for."

She's exaggerating, but even for as much as that might actually turn out to be true, I'd say it's a least a little self-inflicted. Still, it's not like that's all there is to Henna's life. For all that's happened, we don't really know each other that well outside of these big dramatic moments, and excuses like being bad at small-talk are, at the end of the day, still just excuses.

"Life doesn't have to be under threat to be worth talking about," I admonish her, "Besides, we've spent enough time and breath going over your dreams and past. So, how about we flip the script and you ask me some questions for a change?"

That proposal gets her interest.

"I suppose it'd only be fair," Henna agrees, taking up a seat on her own stool, "Let's start with...who exactly are you, Silver?"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific," I smile wryly.

"No, I mean it. Who are you?" Henna repeats herself, firmer.

"That's a question with a lot of answers," I complain, "I'm just an old man, trying to fix the world and figure out his place in it."

"...How old are you, exactly?"

"Hard to say. Physically, as of this moment? Not even twenty years. My mind and soul, though? More than double that. Maybe even more from a certain point of view," I answer, realising how confusing and insane that sounds out of context. Naturally, Henna can't follow it at all.

"Which is it?" she frowns.

"If I had to choose, I'd say I'm 49, all told," I see no point in regressing thirty years backwards, and I don't really want to be considered a pensioner just yet, thank you very much, "This Vessel is probably no more than 25 appearance-wise, though it was created only recently."

"That's surprising," Henna mumbles, "Can't claim to understand all that other stuff, but I wouldn't have thought you much older than me, if at all."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't bandy that information about, all the same," I request, "It'd only confuse people unnecessarily."

"As you wish," she agrees easily, "Do you have a family, then?"

"Just a little sister," I lean onto the counter with my elbow, head resting against my hand, "Nobody else."

"My apologies," she proffers, to my confusion.

"Huh?"

"You looked a little sad for a moment," Henna explains quickly.

"Did I?"

I suppose that's understandable.

"Think nothing of it," I tell her, "It was a long time ago, by my reckoning."

Henna opens her mouth to say something, before seeming to think better of it the moment she starts to vocalise something. Avoiding my eyes, she turns her head, mulling it over, before nodding once, then a second time to me after facing me again.

"So be it," she let's the subject drop entirely, for which I am grateful, "Then, from where do you hail? Your manner speaks loudly of Ghoath, yet you deny it. Then there's your uncanny ability to return from beyond The Last Threshold, denying the Flits their meal. 'tis plain you ain't local, at least, from your accent."

"A complicated subject, once more," I snort, bemused, "Once, not too long ago I'd have a simple answer. But I find myself questioning such things I once took for granted."

Is Merrow real? In what way? Where does the line between established fact and new, bizarre happenstance intersect?

Such questions haunt my thoughts more than financial woes and the existential anxiety caused by my mere existence in this time.

"Sufficed to say, I am not a Merrowan native," I settle for what I can reasonably call truth, "Though I have spent an extended period of my life here, and am quite familiar with it's landscapes, culture and a number of hidden truths."

It's clear once again, that the concept I'm relaying is difficult for Henna to wrap her head around, but her confusion is less severe this time, replaced by curiosity, "Such as?"

"They wouldn't be very well hidden if I just came out and told you them all," I jest, "But in all seriousness, there's not much I can comfortably talk about without causing unintended damage to my plans for the future. I'm not in the mood to push my luck, so the safest course of action I can take is to be selective, at least for now. Albeit, before long, such caution will lose its purpose, all the same."

Disappointed, she closes her eyes briefly, then nods, "I'll trust your prudence, Silver."

"I appreciate it," I smile, finding the contrast between her excessive faith in me and Jade's distrust refreshing, if worrisome despite my repeated insistence that she thinks for herself more, "I do plan on having a forthright discussion before I leave in a few days, however."

At this point, all the players set to become the 'stagnant water' of Meteo are more or less decided upon, so I daresay that we won't have to worry about any anomalies in my absence, but this was already an inevitability, and I do at least somewhat trust Windy and Angelus after interacting with them for a while. Jade is...a work in progress from both ends, and Jupiter is hard to get a proper read on through that thick outer layer which for all I know is who he is to the very core of his being.

I can sniff out a scam artist and general-purpose malicious intent fairly well, but I can't say I'm great at understanding what makes people really tick past the obvious. It's one of the reasons I'm optimistic about Windy.

"You're leaving?" she looks concerned.

"For a time," I confirm, then briefly explain my intentions.

"I see," Henna mutters to herself, "The-"

The door opens, interrupting our conversation, a sodden, pathetic-looking Firm man lurches through, followed by an Urso Panoplast man. The scene outside is a thick blanket of dark grey, and water follows closely behind them before the larger Urso hurriedly slams the door shut, causing the building to rattle ominously.

"Oi, don't slam the damned door!" Henna yells, annoyed.

"S-sorr-r-ry," the man shivers, hugging his arms to his Feardrinker Breastplate. Evidently, someone who bought one of my strategy guides to Miner's Nightmare.

The two men look thoroughly miserable, but we've no towels to offer, nor a fireplace to warm the room. In spite of that, their faces are eager and hopeful, both zeroing in on me after collecting their bearings.

"You-You're Silver, right?" the Firm man questions bluntly, teeth chattering.

"Mm. Guessing you're looking to get something appraised?" I surmise their intent, and am a little impressed by their determination to see me even through the awful weather.

"Y-yeah. Ple-Please," he freezes up, indecisive, "Um, do we just dump it out on the c-counter?"

"Money first," I demand, "You know the rates, right?"

"Yeah," both men nod enthusiastically.

"Just to be clear, success is not guaranteed, and as my attempts are limited, I will not be giving refunds. Likewise, subsequent attempts for the same item will be at a minor discount," I recite my conditions, "Is this understood?"

"Mm, yeah," the Firm man agrees.

"Alright," I turn fully on my stool to face the counter and them, "Let's begin, then."

---

 

"That's that," I adjust my monocle, then drop the Trophytaker's Gloves on the counter, whereupon they are scooped up by the Urso and put into his bag. They had a fairly large stockpile of equipment, all things considered, and although they didn't have all the coins necessary to pay me, I was more than happy to take their accumulated Terrorstone in place of money, since we are in need of a large amount in order to put our own Feardrinker and Terrorsteel equipment on sale.

The two men share a high-ten, cheering at their acquisitions becoming saleable goods.

"Thanks a lot," the Firm man beams, "Now we can push for Level 10!"

"Mhm," the Urso man nods slowly, then runs a hand through his shaggy hair, "It was good working with you all."

"You're not staying with us?" the Firm man blinks, surprised at his companion's declaration.

"You hired me, and our contract is fulfilled with this," he shrugs calmly, "Unless you're willing to negotiate a new contract, Hartigan, this is where we part ways, ultimately."

The Firm man - Hartigan - is obviously reluctant to do either. Since the playerbase is so diminished, finding competent helpers is difficult, and as time goes by, with everybody progressing further even as the player count dwindles, people like this Urso fellow can charge a premium - more if they're a less common role in a group like a tank or a healer.

"Damn it, fine," Hartigan gives in, "But not here. Don't want to be rude to the shopkeepers."

He flashes a helpless smile at me and Henna, then pats the mercenary's arm to spur him into following him back to the door. Pausing a moment, they both take a deep breath, open the door quickly and rush out, slamming the door shut behind them once again. Aggravated, Henna shoots to her feet, slamming her palms on the countertop.

"I said don't slam the f-" she cuts herself off, growling, then sinks back down onto the stool, "They come in here again..."

Henna leaves the threat hanging in the air, forcing herself to calm down. Turning to me, she smiles apologetically briefly, her face reverting to its habitual passivity after. I raise my arms and shrug, not wanting to excuse their behaviour but unwilling to acknowledge it any further. We spend another few minutes chatting before another desperate looking Newborn bursts into Stone Arsenal, panting heavily.

---

 

As time goes by, it becomes clear that I underestimated just how vital my Appraisal services are to the current playerbase. More than a dozen people loaded to the gills with unidentified gear brave the dreadful rain, just for the sake of getting their spoils unlocked sooner, and the word appears to be spreading, some way or another, as the frequency of drop-ins increases with time.

Part of the way through the latest batch of equipment, Windy practically washes in through the door, the winds howling behind her with such ferocity the rain is practically going horizontal, the street close to flooding over entirely in spite of the drainage system built to handle it.

Shutting it firmly behind her, against the express wishes of the winds which fight against the action, she breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief, sinking against it and clumsily removing her helmet to reveal a heavily flushed face and a bad case of helmet hair.

"Chrrrist," she swears, "That was awful. Not as bad as hurricane season, but not far off."

"Welcome back," Henna greets her politely.

"Yeah, thanks," Windy huffs, dragging herself back to her feet and plodding over, "Sorry, am I interrupting..?"

I blink, then mouth an apology at my customer, getting back to work, "Any joy to be found?"

"Yeah," she rummages through her bags, then starts stacking scrolls, document sheaves and a few ratty old tomes in front of Henna, "Didn't get everything you were wanting, but it should be enough. Free too, so, score!"

"Those greedy whoresons gave away all this for nothing in return?" Henna questions disbelievingly, "I find that hard to understand."

"Seemed to be equal parts guilty and grateful," Windy summarises, "Told me to tell you they were sorry. For whatever reason."

Henna tenses up, her expression bringing to mind the storm outside. Clenching her fists tightly, she looks for a moment like she wants to take a torch to the pile of Schematics out of spite. Clearing my throat, Henna flinches, and lets go of a long breath, rubbing her knitted brow.

"Too little, too Stars forsaken late," she snarls, kicking off the stool and marching upstairs.

The atmosphere left behind is more than a little awkward, made moreso by the lack of connection to what just happened my customer has and the mildly-lacking context in Windy's possession.

"Wwwell, that...happened," she coughs, flapping her arms helplessly, then fixes me with an expectant look, "Shouldn't you..?"

"I'm not her therapist," I deny flatly, "Even if I feel like I am from time to time. Regardless, I don't see any point in rubbing salt in the wound by being overbearing, and I've work to complete here. If you want to pry, be my guest, but I suggest you leave her alone."

"Yeah, pass," Windy shakes her head, slapping a thick lock of hair across her face, "Fuck sakes, hate the rain."

"Y-yeah, me too," the Silva woman across the counter from me laughs shakily, "...Yeah."

The interaction is exceedingly awkward, and she seems to regret speaking up at all, her head sinking down and her stature shrinking. Mercifully for her, I finish appraising the last item at that moment, a Vacantsoul Wand, and hand it over without further comment.

"Great," she smiles brightly, a smidgen of vigour returning, "This is so much help for us, you have no idea, or-or m-maybe you do."

Coughing, embarrassed, the Silva woman straightens herself out, pockets the wand, and about-faces before she makes an even bigger fool of herself. Smiling lopsidedly, I wave at the back of the swiftly retreating ingenue as she opens the door and has it ripped out of her grasp by the rushing air current, slamming back into the wall and making her yelp in fright.

"S-sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" panicking, she grabs the exterior door handle and wrestles it shut behind her.

"That was adorable," Windy remarks, giggling.

"Quite," I wipe an errant droplet of water from beneath my eye, well and truly launched across the room from the door.

"So, how much did you make?" she enquires, threading the stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"21 Stone Gold, and 30 Stone Silvers," I inform her nonchalantly, standing up and moving over to the Schematics to take stock of our gains.

"That much?!" Windy whistles, "God, I haven't been gone that long have I? Did I get lost in the storm and come back a week later?"

"I'm just as surprised as you are," I smile knowingly, "I reckon this is almost all the money we'll be able to make for a while though. DDA and Rambling Rose are probably the only major stockpile owners left and I'm not sure they'll be able to swallow their pride."

Which works for me either way, though I'd prefer to take their wallets instead of their lives. The Appraiser whose name eludes me at present will most likely be back in less than a week from now, though. The schedule and action plan I came up with at the start has long degraded into a smoking carcass by now though, so there's no use crying over spilt milk. As the old poem goes, the best-laid plans of mice & men are wont to go awry.

Something like that. It's been a long time since I studied English Literature. I'll ask Angelus later if he knows.

"That Hadrian joker won't be swallowing anything besides his silver spoon," Windy rolls her eyes, "Dunno about the others though."

"Depending on how things shake out in the next few days, that's going to be down to you to handle," I point out to her, "Though I ask you to refrain from deciding on anything on the spot without bringing it up with me first if you can."

"Woohoo," she thrusts her arms into the air with false enthusiasm, "Just, write me up a cheat sheet or something to refer back to."

"Good idea," I agree, separating the documents into two piles, one for me and one for Henna, "Might as well take a seat, we're going to be here a while longer."

"Here's hoping things'll clear up by then," Windy grumbles.