Gearing the Minions

Peckle eagerly added, “Yeah, man. I’m with him. I think we should just go north. There’s plenty of potential trouble without getting in over our heads, you know? Triton and pirate raids from the sea. Bandits. Feral boars and giant sloths rooting up farms, dire wolves attacking sheep and livestock. The three of us would be lucky to take down a single big feral boar. No chance against a giant, freakin’ sloth or more than a single dire wolf. And bandits, who knows? But at least it ain’t a party of six-hundred-year-old elves in magical gear or treants or arachnes or those plant monsters you hear about.”

Vance scorned their fear. “The north is where all the other bronze and silver-rankers go. They’re already snatching up ever job they can find; it would be too competitive. It would be a waste of time. Listen to the pair of you. Did you spend a year training to go out there and fight or sit here like fucking babies? You want to whine about danger, go join the watch.”

Feckle gave Peckle an uncomfortable glance. “We just don’t want to bite off more than we can chew, right? I mean, we’re just out of the academy. Our levels are still low.”

Peckle nodded.

Vance threw up an arm, disgusted by their weakness and poverty. “Unbelievable. You two have cold feet. I just can’t even— I’m raring to go! I’m ready for this shit. I’ve trained for it. I have the gear for it. I can’t fucking wait to get out there and level up. Prove myself. Start down the road to glory. How are you being so weak right now? You were as hyped as I was in the academy. We all couldn’t wait to get our blades wet with blood.”

Peckle sourly countered, “Maybe because neither of us is decked out in enough expensive magical gear to make a silver ranker jealous. And some golds.”

Feckle reasoned, “We’ve all known people who haven’t come back from going out there, Vance. You heard about that raid too, right? Gold rankers died in that. A named-rank platinum ranker died! And there were, what, twenty-four of them in that raid?” By the time he finished, his fear was plain.

Vance bit his tongue before replying, “They were basically going into a dungeon against a super villain they weren’t prepared for. And the named rank was from the shit guild, not ours. Most were.”

Peckle pointed out, his own fear also clear now, “He was still named rank! He had magical plate that was supposed to make him invincible, and he died. That guy single-handedly killed an adult dragon, and he died.”

Vance sighed, this whole thing a hassle. “Yeah, ok. I get it. Everyone’s all shook up since that happened. But we’re not going into any dungeon. We’re not chasing down some mad, demon-summoning mage that even the king was scared of. We’re just poking around in the edge of the forest to see what’s out there. We find some green gobs and take their ears. Hunt down a boar or something. We won’t do anything too reckless.”

Feckle rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and couldn’t meet Vance’s eyes. “I don’t know, man…”

Vance looked back and forth between them. His frustration was more than evident, but the two weren’t giving in to his wants as easily as they usually did. He could see that he wasn’t going to convince them with just words. He didn’t much feel like going out there alone though. So he let out an annoyed sigh and gave in. If he couldn’t push them into it, he’d throw money at the problem. “Fine. Whatever. You want better gear, let’s go shopping.”

Peckle’s eyes widened in alarm. “We can’t afford—”

Vance ruthlessly cut him off, “I’m fucking buying it. I’ll lend it to you. Lend, you understand? You can pay me back. Half your earnings until it’s paid off.”

Peckle exclaimed, “That could take years!”

Vance pointed at him. “It’d better not, or it means you suck. But you can’t pay me back if you’re dead, so being willing to buy you new gear means I know we’ll be fine. I’m not going to waste the gold on someone who’s just going to die in the forest and lose the gear. Ok?”

Peckle nervously swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Ok.”

Feckle was much more appreciative, a smile blooming. “Wow, Vance. That’s awesome.”

Vance waved his words away. “Yeah, yeah. It ain’t charity. We’re all going out there, and as good as I am, I can’t see and do everything myself. We’ll have better odds if we’re all better equipped. So I’m just making sure you’re as strong as you can be and not worried about your own ass when we’re in a fight and do your job properly. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Peckle whined, “Half our earnings though?”

Vance just looked at him.

Peckle leaned away and changed his tune quick-like. “Yeah, half is fair. Half is fine.”

“Don’t get too excited, either. I’m not buying you gear like mine. This stuff cost a fortune, even for my family. We’re just getting you some decent beginner gear because your poor-ass families can’t help you. Basic enchantments only. Just enough to keep you alive. No consumables though. You want potions, scrolls, charged magical items, you pay for those yourself.”

Suddenly much more positive, Feckle turned his smile on Peckle. He joked, “Hey. Maybe I should get colour-changing armour.”

“For camouflage?”

“No. So when we come across multi-coloured gobs, I can fool them by turning different colours. They’ll think I’m one of them.”

Peckle gave him a once over. Feckle was the size of at least eight small goblins or two hobs. “Yeah, you’re ugly enough to play a goblin.”

Vance rose from his chair with impatience. “You jokers want to keep making asses of yourselves or go shopping?” He tossed down a few silvers for the meal, uncaring if there was change due, and then turned for the restaurant exit without waiting.

Vance had just stepped into the street as two figures were on their way into the eatery. They were bronze-rank adventurers, probably part of the same party. Medial, the fighter, had been one of the bodies that Vance had dropped in the last tournament. With him was some guy in robes who obviously had to be a mage. The robes didn’t look enchanted, though, so he couldn’t have been much of a magic user. Magic users were uncommon and could charge for their services, which meant they usually had some money. Medial had been a solid bronze ranker for several years and would probably always be one. Decent with a longsword and kite shield, but no better. He wore both on his back, out of easy reach, which was stupid, even in the city. As a rogue, going up against a knight was about the worst matchup. Vance never should have been able to get past that shield during the tournament. It had taken a minute, but he had. He could again. And without the shield, Vance would go through him like hot butter.

Medial recognized Vance at the same time. Smugness transformed his face, and his tone carried a hint of damn, I can’t wait to fuck you up, when he said, “Well if it isn’t the prodigy, Vance Rondel.”

Vance smirked. “Aw. It’s…whoever you are. Sorry, I don’t bother remembering the names of nobodies and losers. Cuz I do remember that. You losing to me.”

Medial’s smug smile twitched. He took another step closer, hand dropping to the dagger in his belt. “That’s ok. How about I carve my name into your forehead, kid?”

Vance was totally unfazed. “Looks like you can use your arm again. Good for you. Go ahead and try, if you think you have the balls.”

Medial took another step.

Feckle and Peckle stepped out of the restaurant, saw the confrontation about to explode, and stopped in the restaurant doorway, uncertain.

The mage put a hand on Medial’s shoulder from behind. “Maybe not in the middle of the street. At least not in this part of town. You know the guild’s rules about its own.”

Medial scowled.

They were all members of the king’s officially licensed and supported Royal Adventurers Guild. As opposed to being part of the much rougher unaffiliated guild that was struggling and home to misfits and losers. The Royal had very strict rules about their members tarnishing their image in public because its adventurers were local celebrities who made a lot of money. Settling grudges was strictly to be done well out of sight or in proper venues, like games and arenas, where tickets and advertising could be sold after selling the feud to the public in the papers and building a nice, profitable event out of it. Spilling blood on the streets was a good way to end up hunting rats in the sewers or even losing your adventuring license.

Vance knew this and was more than happy to let the dumbass take the first swing. He grinned at the man, goading him on. Ready to take him apart like a child plucking the wings off of a fly. Medial outweighed him by a good twenty kilograms, a lot of that muscle, but Vance was utterly unconcerned. He was imbued with the confidence that comes from having been better than everyone else for a long time, including the guy in front of him.

Medial glared, but he and the dagger remained in place.

Vance’s smirk grew. “Boyfriend got you on a leash, does he? Cute. Not into that kind of thing myself, but hey, you do you. Or, he does you. Whatever.”

Medial hesitated, then moved forward, throwing his shoulder into Vance’s as he walked by. “Watch yourself, rookie. It’s a dangerous world out there. Never know what might be lurking in the shadows.”

Vance rolled his eyes as the never-would-be trying to act tough. “Yeah, I do. Me. I’m a rogue. I’m the one lurking in the shadows. Fuck me, your wit’s about as dull as your sword. Your long sword. Not the short sword you use on your magical boyfriend.”

Fuming, Medial refused to look back, just entering the restaurant by throwing the door open.

The mage walked by with a dismissive shake of his head. “Rookie attitude like that is going to get you killed out there.”

“Try me, mage.”

The magic-user paused with his hand on the door. He turned back with a pitying look. “That wasn’t a threat. If you were more experienced, maybe you’d understand that.” Shaking his head, he followed his teammate into the building.

Vance rolled his eyes again. As if he needed advice from bronze rankers who were never going to be anything more than that. If their advice were any good, they wouldn’t be bronze rank at their age. Both had to be twenty-five at least. Maybe close to thirty. Practically middle-aged. Already putting them out of mind, Vance waved to Feckle and Peckle to follow.

They spent about three hours getting new gear. They didn’t go to Mandel’s, one of the city’s best enchanted gear shops, because that was where people like Vance, those with means, went. Instead, they went to a basic blacksmith, someone who mostly dealt in non-magical armor and weapons, with just a few pieces of lowly enchanted gear. Feckle and Peckle each got chainmail to hang over the leather armour they already wore. Plain black tabards covered the metal links, with Vance saying he’d have someone stich his family’s logo on the front later.

Feckle argued, “We should have our own logo because we’re a party.”

Peckle, liking the idea, jumped in, saying, “Maybe a rainbow goblin with its eyes crossed out. We can be the Goblin Slayers, enemies of both green and ripe goblins everywhere.”

Vance snorted. “You’re not in a party until you can buy your own gear. And I’m pretty sure you have to kill some goblins to be called a goblin slayer.”

Peckle looked down at himself with a lot more confidence than he’d had earlier because he was geared better. “Yeah. Definitely. Let’s do that.”

The chainmail was enchanted with extra durability against piercing damage and was a little lighter than normal. Feckle the tank had gotten a new kite shield with a taunting rune carved into the steel and another lightness spell so he could hold it up longer. Vance had very little respect for guys like Feckle, who tried to bulk up as much as possible and cover themselves in plate so they could face anything head on, all proud of how big and tough they were. But those guys made good damage sinks. Let them take the punishment while he did the killing. That was what had led him to associate with Feckle in the first place, when Vance was normally more of a lone wolf type.

And where Feckle went, Peckle followed, the two inseparable. So Peckle the archer got a new bow with added weight on the draw, which would help his arrows punch through armor and tougher opponents. Vance would use Feckle to draw attacks and Peckle to distract while Vance ran around behind opponents and backstabbed the living fuck out of them.

Finally, after Vance handed over a shocking amount of gold for even basic items like this because they had a touch of long-term magic on them, they went back outside on the busy city street. Feckle and Peckle were excitedly wearing their new gear, unable to take their eyes off of it and standing a lot straighter.

Vance’s patience was at its limit. He couldn’t believe he’d spent all afternoon outfitting his pawns. “You two finished whining about going adventuring now?”

Feckle grinned. “Yeah. This is a real basket of oranges.”

Peckle pulled on the string of his new bow for the umpteenth time. “Totally whisky, man. Smooth. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Vance.”

Peckle looked at Feckle. “You should have said a real basket of orange goblin heads.”

“It doesn’t have the same familiarity though, does it?”

“We’ll just have to start using it around people. It’ll catch on.”

“Especially if we bring back some orange goblin heads and get our mage picture in the papers.”

They grinned at each other.

Vance scowled but wasn’t as put out as he appeared. The better equipped his minions, er, allies were, the better his own chances of success. Investing in them was actually investing in himself. “Thank me by paying me. You saw what that cost. So, starting tomorrow morning, we head west. I’ve spent enough money today. I’m not paying for horses and mules for you two, so you’re on foot if you can’t get your own rides. It’s a least a two-day walk to the pioneer villages. Probably three since you’re going to have to carry your camping gear and food for a couple of weeks.”

Peckle asked, “What about you?”

Vance looked at him like the answer should have been obvious. “I’m riding my horse. And bringing two pack mules, one for my stuff and one for anything I want to bring back. Like a bag of goblin heads, if I have my way. Or whatever else we find. Guild pays for culling just about anything out of the forest. And the city is always hungry for monster parts and fresh meat, wherever it comes from.” The pioneer city had grown to over half a million residents in a scant thirty years, had overflowed its walls long ago, and endured a steady influx of immigrants escaping their old countries and looking for a fresh start in the new world, especially with the war over and plenty of unclaimed land for those with the guts to take it and make it theirs. Monster meat was regularly found in the markets. Most people arrived poor and stayed that way because the city was still trying to establish itself, so they couldn’t afford to be picky about what they ate.

Feckle, probably giving more concrete thought to the notion that he had to hand over half his earnings from now on because Vance had bought him gear that was a luxury to him but pocket change to a guy from a family so rich, spoke without thinking, “Not that you need the money.”

“But you do. Besides, I’m not doing this for the money. I’m doing it for the levels. And I can only level by pushing myself, which I can’t do sitting in town like this or tracking down stray cows up north. Levels only come from trying to pass your limits. I need challenges. So be ready to go by dawn. West gate. Don’t be late.” Satisfied, Vance took his leave. With his first adventure all set to proceed the next day, his mood soared, and he smiled to himself as he strode home.

Whatever was out there in the old forest, it was about to die.