"Geoff!" I call out amicably.

Surrounded by his work station, the muscular, hairy, orcish man turns. As big as he is and as tiny as his workbenches and assorted tools are, that takes a moment. He has the air of a man used to knocking over things. Despite that, he seems nice. Also, he’s an experienced carpenter willing to help us, so that makes him pretty great in my book.

“This is Markus.”

With a gesture to the elf next to me, I introduce our newest find to Geoff, who is fulfilling the role of our chosen foreman for the soon-to-be lookout tower in the plains. Gathering up folks willing to build the structure has been nothing if not exciting. So many new people, so many new faces. I hope somebody has a better memory than I do, because soon I’m going to start getting everyone mixed up.

With Markus, the building team was all rounded up. We had a few fellers; that's lumbermill code for the people who know how to chop down big trees. There are a handful of guys that can turn those big trees into hewn pieces that can actually be used, and then there are the carpenters, those who were going to do the hammering and whatever else to make the guard tower stand up and stay up.

They came from where one would expect, either rejected from council-affiliated businesses, kicked out of said businesses, or stubbornly opposed to working under a corporate boot. Independent workmen were not a thriving bunch in Waldonton, but in a town of many thousands, they still existed.

All together, the hired force was going to be able to manage the construction fully on site and quickly over the course of only about three days. The feat felt like a remarkable one, what with all the planning and people wrangling. Still, Deirdre Liv and I couldn’t quite leave for Delcaster yet. Getting the build crew onboard was step one. Step two required a different kind of folk, which Liv was due to sort out shortly.

Leaving the carpenter’s apprentice with Geoff goes easy—almost as easy as getting him to sign on with us in the first place. Once Markus heard how much we were willing to pay, he practically jumped at the opportunity, despite the danger.

Introductions made. These two would have some catching up to do now in planning for the build, which leaves me time to grab a bite to eat before meeting up with Deirdre.

After trying my damnedest to brush off every crumb from some street food, I make my way towards a familiar landmark. Tonight, we’ll be cavorting with our own kind, fellow Hunters. With everything coming together so quickly, our little party’s evenings have been packed with things to do.

Divide and conquer is, of course, our strategy to get everything into place, and for the past few days, it has worked wonderfully. Deirdre’s to-do lists have ensured our ease of tracking. The end was in sight; it was all coming together, and we just had to hold on a bit longer.

Ahead, the aging wood and tired-looking Lucky Goose hops with energy. Even from outside it sounds like a few people have started drinking the night away. Instead of its usual complement, tonight, with any luck, it will once again be packed with Hunters. This time around, they’ll be here because of our advertisement posters instead of a general party-finding event.

Deirdre ought to be inside already. Her job today was to be on standby, fielding questions from earlycomers, and convincing anyone she could to sign on to using the outpost. Deirdre’s part should be easy; the idea practically sold itself.

Who wouldn’t want in on our planned setup?

It was a money-making no-brainer. If local hunters didn’t want in on this, then they were idiots. The outpost was planned to be open for use by any Hunter who wanted to utilize it. All that a local Hunter needed to do to make some easy money was head towards the forest’s edge, kill a monster, and take it back. It was that easy.

Once that Hunter brought in the kill, guards and porters would take over. Then whoever killed it could head back out or opt to play guard for their kill while it went back to town.

This would only work if folks used the damn thing, but once all the pieces were in place, the potential was great. Whole corpses mean more meat, which means more money, which means more jobs, which means everyone wins. The entire venture truly was a rising tide that would lift all boats.

Pushing inside The Lucky Goose reveals itself to be, if not full, at least hosting a substantial number of people. As always, Hunters make themselves immediately recognizable. Arms and armors of all shapes and sizes adorn a varied assortment of just as numerous demi-human races.

Navigating around the space brings me halfway around the large tavern in a loop until I hear Deirdre’s shout. With a beckoning wave from my halfling companion, I make my way toward a gigantic round table festooned with mugs, partially eaten plates of food, and Hunters. 

The table looks at ease; people are talking to each other; nobody is standing on any sort of formality. A seat materializes for me, right next to Deirdre.

“Evelyn, everything go okay on your end?” She asks. Deirdre looks to be playing the role of hostess quite well; she isn’t even scowling or anything.

“Sure did.” I reply for her benefit as well as the peanut gallery.

Two women next to Deirdre watch on with particular rapt attention. Both of them have what looks like cat ears poking out of their hair; both sport about a dozen knives and small blades of all kinds situated on belts all over their person. Neither wears much in the way of clothes, opting for wraps around their chests and pants that don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Their skin, however, is only bare in one sense, as both of them have more scars than should be possible.

Sensing my attention on the two strangers, Deirdre goes about inviting me into whatever conversation they were having before I arrived.

“This is Madeline and Melody. We were just trading stories.” Deirdre fakes a smile. “And they’re also interested in our up-and-coming operation.”

Madeline, I think it is, if she is the one on the left has black locks down to her shoulders. That leaves the other one, Melody, with brown hair cut short. Besides that, they’re fairly similar-looking.

Each of them, as it turns out, is eager at the idea of mining the monster-laden forest's edge. Normally such a tactic is avoided, they insist, but our outpost changes the calculations, making it worth it to make the trek.

Not every Hunter, it seems, is willing to put in ten hours per day to make money and instead tends to mix profit with maximizing downtime. These two sisters, as they reveal, can’t be bothered to wake up early enough to use the same tactics as our Party.

Hauling whole corpses across unbroken ground is time-consuming, tiresome, and even dangerous—something Deirdre Liv and I have already learned ourselves.

So it goes with the two feline women, so it goes with others coming to inquire about our Hunting venture. Their questions align with similar questions, and they share the same rote tactics that small-time hunters come to favor.

For a town such as Waldonton, it appears there is plenty of interest in our scheme.

When Liv joins us by sundown, we learn that her task has gone as well as it could have. We have a few strong backs ready and willing to carry dead monsters back to town from our watch tower. The idea is that any porter working out of the outpost will earn a flat rate for hauling a corpse back to town, or a certain percentage of its sale price, whichever is higher.

Those porters won’t be making the trip on their own. Every dead monster gets one porter with no fighting ability or experience needed, and one guard, who is expected to defend the outpost if there should be trouble, and the porters they work with when traveling. In exchange, those guards see a higher flat rate or percentage of sale for their services.

To oversee the guards and porters and the general daily functioning of the outpost, we needed a head watchman. Liv just so happened to find a great candidate from among Isabella and Renata’s recommendations in the form of an old-timer ex-town guardsman named Hector. With great expectations comes a great salary. For forty Dallions a day, the head guardsman is expected to lead out at first light with their chosen porters and guards and head back in with the last group of the day. Ground rules are already written to ensure safety as best we can, but Hector has the discretion to keep the outpost running.

For an old guardsman past his prime who is unlikely to have to face off with any monster on his own, it’s a king’s ransom. The porters and guards, too, will be bringing in more money than their counterparts around town by a large margin.

Then there is our Party's take. Five percent of every corpse will be skimmed to recoup the outpost costs and to pay Hector, and that completes all three of our objectives to get this operation under way.

We only need to bring all the pieces together. Tomorrow, that means negotiation with a bunch of folk at butcher's lane to have ready and eager partners to buy and butcher the daily take. The day after that, our little party can make for Delcaster and stick it to Mohsen by telling his boss just how stupid he is.

Once we’ve got Garnier’s attention, we’ll see if she wants to make a deal to divert some of our goods towards Delcaster. For a caravaning business like hers, it would be insane not to.

Interested Hunters continue their revolving door of questions and concerns throughout the evening. Between it all, Liv Deirdre and I drink and nibble on deliciously unhealthy tavern food.

By about the time the good folk of Waldonton are soundly asleep, two particular Hunters swing by our table, and I’m not even close to being distracted enough not to notice them immediately.

"Dorg!" I yell, my mug raising into the air toward the fur coat-swaddled dwarf. Stepping in behind him is his intercept partner.

“Bvench,” I cheer in turn. The both of them are already here for us, as it turns out, so we squeeze them into our table right away. All the same, it's nice to see them again.

First comes the catching up, which goes about as well as could be expected. Just as intended, they’ve improved their equipment quite a lot. To hear them tell it, everything not spent on quality chainmail has rightfully gone towards the finer things in life. Like booze and card games. Still thought, it would seem my trip to Delcaster will be coming well before theirs, which is a turn of events I would have not anticipated.

My companions also have a lot to share with Bvench and Dorg, whom I introduce to my party mates as friends, mostly about how hilariously ill-suited I am to swinging a sword. Liv of note delights is boasting about some of the more harrowing beasties our little party has bested together. The dwarven duo are eager to claim just as many dreadful Monsters slain. Deirdre, for her part, at one point practically scolds the two dwarves for daring to take me out Monster Hunting in the first place.

In the end, it's a grand night, and hopefully it portends many more to follow.

 

***

 

Bedroll? Check. Lots of changes of socks? Also Check. Toiletries, including the good tube of toothpaste, and not the one that tastes like chalk? Check.

In the morning, Deirdre and I will rendezvous with Liv, and, for the first time in over two months, I'll spend all day walking, but this time in a different direction. It's bound to be super exciting.

All my gear is definitely in order; double checked, triple checked. There is absolutely nothing left to do before heading to sleep.

Deirdre is tending to her spear. Her afternoon has been a bizarre ritual involving oiling her flat-headed blade tip and fashioning a proper holster for travel.

She looks busy—much too busy to talk about relationship issues, no doubt. Without anything else too, and feeling horribly like my hands need something to occupy themselves, I make to unpack and quadruple check my things for a fourth and final time.

“You know,” Deirdre purrs, her head turning in my direction. “If you’re bored, I can think of one thing we could do to pass the time.”

It's not like I don’t absolutely love it that she would say something like that, but still, I feel miserable considering my dilemma. Lacking a response and clearly eyeing my nervousness, Deirdre sets her spear down and focuses her attention on me.

“What's wrong?” She asks, looking over with concern instead of her previous amusement.

Sometimes not ripping a bandaid off is harder than ripping it off.

“So,” I start nervously, “I know we’re leaving town soon, but, uh, when we get back, my rent is going to be due for another month. I thought that maybe we should talk… about whether I should renew my lease or do something else instead.”

I can’t even meet her eyes. The only thing worse than bringing this up is not knowing her answer ahead of time. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t consider something like this without taking a long time to think it over.

Deirdre is quick on the uptake and seemingly unperturbed about the subject. Her specialty so often is only being bothered by a select few things and breezing past the rest, a skill I sorely wish would rub off on me.

“I don’t know,” she answers, catching my meaning, even if I was too cowardly to come right out and ask. “I think my place is too small for both of us. It’s just one room, but we could find something larger together.”

“You would want that then? Wouldn’t mind moving in together?” I beam, worry draining out of me in an instant.

“So long as you agree to my way of doing things, I won’t stand for clutter and filth,” she lectures.

I can’t say harmonious living will be easy, but I’m certainly willing to try it.

“Yes, definitely; I figured you might say something like that. I reply, nodding vigorously, “I can clean up after myself. I promise.”

Deirdre only glares with an accusatory look that reads, ‘Can you? Can you really?'

There is the last thing I should mention. It would be pretty rude to Liv to not at least consider her offer if Deirdre and I are moving in together. It’s even more difficult to bring up than just seeing if Deirdre wants to move in together. It’s like a whole second can of worms.

"I, uh, I should also admit that Liv mentioned maybe all three of us dividing rent on a place three ways together.”

Deirdre’s green eyes sparkle, looking quite invigorated by that tidbit. Why is it that whenever I’m on the back foot, she looks like she’s having the time of her life?

“Did she now? Hmm. An even better way to save money. We’ll just need the one bed then?” She mockingly singsongs my way.

“Deirdre, I’m serious,” I whine.

I can't help the neck-tingling embarrassment that creeps over me.

“And I’m not, hmm, Evelyn?” She continues, still looking the part of the cat that caught the mouse. When I don’t play into her game and instead pout in place, waiting for her to answer seriously, she rolls her eyes.

“I’m only teasing Evelyn. But you have had time to think it over, so are you going to talk to her about it? As I’ve said before, with the way she looks at you, it's pretty obvious your feelings are mutual.” Deirdre dares me with her eyes to disagree with her as she speaks those words.

“How do you know what I feel about her?” I ask. It's not as if I’ve been keeping a diary for her to secretly read.

“Do you mean to tell me you wouldn’t crumble if she held you on her lap again? That you don’t dream of your spars with her ending in the bedroom and not the training field?”

“Deirdre, I told you that in confidence." I cry in dismay.

Such betrayal—this is precisely what I get from using personal examples in our little discussion about the nuances of 21st-century sexuality.

“Yes, and I’m confident she would want the very same,” she retorts.

“I can’t just approach Liv like that, okay, even if I am tentatively onboard with the whole open relationship thing.”

“I’m not saying you must, Evelyn, only that you put it off at your own peril. If it makes you feel better, you can think over the rental suggestion as well as mine during our trip. I certainly would be on board so long as Liv is willing to do her part in keeping the place clean and doesn’t intrude into my space, or rather, our space, I suppose.”

After speaking her mind, Deirdre returns to her diligent weapon’s work. My staff, being a little more than a large stick, requires no tending to.

Okay then, a little trip to Delcaster, then back to Waldonton. No fuss, no muss.