No one's in.
Anywhere.
Not the first, second, or fourth place I try.
There was someon... thing at the third, but they also had a little handpump for water, so I quickly used that to clean myself up when they burst outside yelling, growling, hissing at me... I honestly don't know how to describe it. They were like this amorphous mound of sludge, with that pearlescent sheen you see when rain water mixes with petrol in the gutter. It just kind of wobbled, rolled, slithered towards me, rippling and undulating in place of gestures to show its anger. I expected it burble or glug like dish water or when you play with those slime toys as a kid, but it bubbled and fizzed on the surface in sort of a face position. It changed place with the ever shifting shape of its body, but as every trapped piece of gas popped on the surface, those yowls and barks belched out.
I booked it.
I didn't even go through the gate.
I scrabbled up over the wall and dropped down into the street on the other side.
Kept running til I was down the road and round the corner.
Anything I'd managed to clean off back there was replaced with the cold sweat of terror.
While walking to the fourth building I'd marked out as a potential starter quest location, all I could do was think about what the hell that thing was. It might have been the creature that lived there, like some kind of poison slime or a chaos spawn or something. It could also have been their version of a guard dog. It did burst out from between a pair of sliding doors without opening them much first, smooshing through the gap like that blood elevator. Really could be either and I'm not going back to try and discuss things civilly.
The fourth building doesn't have a wall or gate, just some big imposing doors facing right onto the street in front. It's the first place to have a sign too, but I can't make heads or tales of the symbols, scribble, scrawled above the lintel. I shouldn't think like that, it's their language, or one of them, I'm probably going to have to learn eventually. This is what it was like in school trying to get my head around German at school. I hope this isn't as hard to learn. I don't want to spend years here...
I gulp down the lump in my throat and start orientating myself towards the fifth building, feeling a little relieved that I don't smell too bad after washing myself and air drying with a sprint. I swing round the corner, running one row of houses back from the main street, and actually see some people walking about. From a distance they're at least humanoid, and as I get closer I can see they're some kind of beastfolk. More goat like and hardy than the wiry predators I'd ran into earlier. I nod and wave as I pass, trying to act friendly, but they pay me no heed. Too wrapped up in whatever business they're fussing over.
I decide to trot back over, calling out as I do, to give them a hand. As I'd gotten ahead and looked over my shoulder, noticed they were struggling with some sacks, so thought I might as well offer to help. If nothing else, it might give me some good karma. It might even lead to a side quest, or earn me some pocket money, or a little exp. They look at me a bit bleary eyed, obviously exhausted from lugging such a heavy load about. I try to motion that I want to help, miming lifting the sack, pointing to myself, the building next to them, assuming it's theirs, that sort of thing. They don't seem to be getting it. They're just sort of looking at me a bit dumbfounded, so I go to pickup one of the sacks... that's when they come to life, kicking off like I'm some idiot child or mugger. I put the bag back down and step away, bowing and apologising as I go.
I guess that wasn't a side quest after all...
I think there's maybe two more buildings that looked promising, but they're across the high-street. I tentatively make my way along an alleyway, scanning the length and breadth of the main road in case I end up having another random encounter. Thankfully, it's still pretty quiet. There's a couple of old lizardmen sat out on a stoop, grey and mottled, patches of scale clinging to their limbs, refusing to shed. They're too contented smoking and drinking and croaking away to each other to notice me slip out from my vantage point and dart into an adjacent one.
The sun is barely creeping across the sky, hanging high in an extended noon. I can feel the sweat seeping through my top again. So much for cleaning myself up to look more presentable for the Adventurers Guild. It isn't really hard going, it's all been down hill after all, but with no shade any more, the heat is getting unbearable. Hopefully I can find another tap or well soon.
I thread my way through the side streets, ignoring whatever creatures I happen upon. Just a few more beastfolk pottering about at work, a single lizardwoman hanging out some washing on a rickety line, the occasional squawk of frustration, chirp of joy, distant clatter of wood or stone or metal. The ambient noises of village life, if the village happens to be populated by fantasy creatures.
I smirk that I am already becoming accustomed to the sounds, as if years of gaming has naturalised alien soundscapes to my ears.
The sixth building is big, but it is not grand.
It's more of a barn, doors wide open, several slumped shadows tilling away at this or that around the edges. The inside isn't very well illuminated, and that animal funk of bodies hard at work permeates the air around it, pungent with the productivity of physical labour. I am far too intimidated to bother them with charades of trying to find work. They're obviously manual labourers doing farm, construction, or repair work of some kind. That blue colour intensity and focus is not something I want turning on me. I remember my Dad going to a small mechanic's garage once and being made sport of by the older guys for not knowing much about his car. I really don't want to deal with that when I can't speak the language.
I move on sharpish, hoping that the last place is what I'm looking for. I don't have high hopes as I make my way further along the plateau. The buildings on this end are all in a little more disrepair than those up-hill.
Something catches my attention through the slats in a fence.
Is that a human?
I dash over.
I try to be subtle about peeking between the gaps, slowly walking alongside the property, only taking sideways glances.
There's no one in the street to see me, but the person in the garden beyond is beautiful. I've either freaked out or angered everyone I've come across so far. I don't want disturb this... dear god she's gorgeous. Willowy and pale like living moonstone... wait, she better not be a vampire. No, there's direct sunlight and she's not sparkling or bursting into flame, we're good. Her hair is whiter than her skin, eyes pink and... shit!
I jump back as we make eye contact.
There's no yelp from the yard, but before she went out of view her expression was something like a pouting frown. I don't run. A part of me hoping she'll come out and speak to me, beckon me in. A part of me already on alert, assuming any form of kindness should be taken as an attempt at manipulation. Well, after she stopped being scared of me, the beastgirl actually seemed to be trying to help. Guiding me to that secluded spot, trying to avoid the orc. God I hope she's okay...
Snapping me out of my thoughts, the gate creaks open on rusted hinges. The face of an angel peers round the fencepost, squinting at first in a glaring beam of light, then covering her eyes with one hand. What acliché, or maybe it's a sign. I decide to air on the side of optimism.
"Hi!" giving my best smile, though obviously still a bit shy, and a wave.
To my astonishment, she seems to understand, at least from my expression and tone of voice, and returns my wave.
"░░░░░░" she says something to me, but my brain only interprets it as static. Her voice has a sweet lilting quality to it, almost coy. It's the first time anyone has sounded like they're actually speaking, rather than animalistic intonations.
I cautiously come closer.
Quickly peering about to see if there are any prying eyes or looks of warming to tell if I should be happy or worried about interacting with this woman. There's still not another soul on the street, or twitching at a curtain, so I go with the flow a little longer.
She giggles coquettishly and gestures for me to follow, gliding smoothly back behind the fence. I walk over, mostly unsure because of how friendly she's being, and pop my head through the gate. It makes more sense why she seemed to float, only leaning her torso out of the yard. My skin crawls as I see her lower body, the spindly limbs and distended abdomen of a cellar-spider protrude from her silken robe. Every inch of her ghostly pale, but for the red veins faintly visible from within.
I used to be petrified of spiders, but when I learned that harvestmen were like the grim reaper for dead bees, or the cellar ones will eat the bigger nastier huntsmen... I started to find that select few kinda cute. I realise it was more surprise than fear of her arachnid side that made me freeze, so I force myself to step into the garden and join her at what appears to be a wooden picnic table. She crouches low, then bends her legs beneath her body, kind of like how a cat loafs, but with double the appendages to accommodate. Her smile is a little lonely as she motions for me to take a glass. There's a tray with a few on my side of the table, a jug next to them, and one already half full in front of the spideress. I pour myself a glass, it's just water, not tea, or juice, or anything. No ice either, unfortunately, but not unexpected, and it's still relatively cool.
I luxuriate in the clean, crisp water, draining the glass in one. Sheepishly, I do my best to gesticulate my gratitude and that I'd like another. The spiderwoman chuckles again, covering her mouth with one hand, and directing me to the jug with the other. I top it off, take a sip, and sit in silence for a moment. I feel awkward for intruding, even though I was seemingly invited, and still a little wary of my host due to her species, which only adds rude and embarrassed to my emotional mix. I shift in my seat, averting my gaze, and look around the garden to calm myself.
It's neat enough, maybe a little overgrown... I don't really know gardening, so I'm not even sure what I'm looking for. I put on a brave face and turn my attention back to the spideress, who's eyes have drift to the condensation rings left on the table from her glass. She raises them to meet mine, and we both half smile and sigh. This is the most human interaction I've had since I got here. This almost feels comforting. If only I could actually talk to her. Interact on a deeper, more meaningful level than just pointing and grunting.
It dawns on me that her apparent flirtatiousness was probably more her maternal instinct and a sense of humour. She's older than I first perceived, still surreally beautiful, but age and love and care for others have left their marks on her. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around, as well used as the crockery and garden furnishings appear to be, so all I can assume is she has seen her family all move away and has been left alone. Then today, she saw someone lost, saw me, and hoped she could have company for a brief while, not realising we wouldn't be able to connect properly due to the language barrier.
I take another sip of water and clear my throat.
"Thank you."
I bow my head.
Hoping my feelings reach her.
Before I realise it, the sun has dipped overhead, more than beginning its decent into the afternoon.
However, I couldn't just let her hospitality, the first bit of comfort and compassion I've had in this world, be left on such a bittersweet note.
Although we can't understand each other, I rambled away for a good few hours about my predicament to the spideress. She laughed, smiled, and seemed less lonely. She wouldn't have gotten a word of what I was saying, obviously, but having someone willing to spend time with her, gesticulating wildly, acting out as much as possible, I'm sure the effort was appreciated. It only dawned on me how long had passed when I went to refill my glass for the umpteenth time and nothing even sloshed in the jug. My host made a move to refill the vessel, unfurling her great spindly limbs like a crinoline from beneath her, but I waved her back to down. I stood, stretched, pointed to the sun to emphasis the time, and bowed profusely.
The spideress reluctantly allowed me to leave, pouting through my barrage of gratitude and promises to return once I'd sorted out all my starter stuff. There was no web to entrap me, save her charm, and were I to ever succumb to misery, unable to find a way home, I would gladly be ensnared by such a sublime cellar-spideress.
As she sends me off, playfully peeking over the top of her fence, the epitome of an ethereal enchantress, I feel lighter. If not a little weighed down from most of a litre of gradually warmer water. Better to have my stomach full of liquid than nothing at all. Even though thinking about it has only made me acutely aware of how hungry I am, and worse, how much I need the bathroom. I could have asked before leaving, but that would have been so embarrassing to do charades for, not to mention impolite to impose on a new acquaintance, however accommodating they might be.
I decide to hold it until I get to the Adventurers' Guild. They'll have facilities there, even for newbies.
Reorientating myself, I set off in the rough direction of the last building that looked promising earlier. If it's on this side of town, what with it being a bit rougher round here, maybe Adventurers aren't well thought of? Bit odd for a starter town though. Well, even if the idea of becoming one is cool to me, doesn't mean people in this world think of them as anything more than brutish mercenaries, scrounging vagabonds, or borderline criminals.
I am almost skipping as I bound along the lanes, floating past empty entrance-ways and the odd soul that either ignores or glares and grumbles in perplexity at my passing. It's in part the exponential need to pee, but also the lingering levity from being social for the first time in days, that adds such swiftness to my steps. The last building I'm heading towards is on the descending edge of town, sloping off the side of the small plateau, and I am there before I know it.
It's a bust.
The place is a hay shed.
That makes this a total wash.
Everywhere I thought might be the classic starting place to pick up quests or register as a player character is just a big house or a barn or or or...
The impulse to pee on the bails bounces to the forefront of my mind, I do really need to go, but I dejectedly climb my way back up to the centre of town instead. Can't take out my frustrations on the poor defenceless hay. I need to find somewhere soon though.
It hits me when I come in sight of the old lizardmen on the highstreet again, their drinking and smoking and, I assume, kvetching, sparking a memory. A last glimmer of hope. FIND AN INN!!!
I decide not to bother trying to interact with them, having not had particularly good luck so far, but I still have a nose from across the road, and it appears they're sat in front of a hardware store. No use to me.
One seems to be the owner, the other a friend, the place sparsely filled with hoes and rakes and what not. A young lizardboy can dimly be made out in the shadows within, beetling about, occasionally sticking his head out the open store-front to receive orders, remove empties, bring out the next round... It fills me with pity for the life of an apprentice, being treated like a dogsbody, and you don't even inherit the business either. You get some skills, sure, but then when you're good enough, or start demanding a wage, you're kicked out to go fend for yourself, right?!.
Honestly, I don't know...
The thought passing along with my gaze onto the neighbouring buildings, examining them intensely, trying to discern their contents. It's only mid-afternoon, so cafes should still be open, and restaurants will either still be closed after lunch to prepare for dinner, or in the process of opening for evening service. An inn is more like a bar that does food, and beds, so it should sort of always be open?
I take to sniffing out the scent of cooking, as well as listening for the clatter of waiting tables, what with most of the buildings being indistinct from the outside, and my not being able to read any of the infrequent signage anyway.
I stick my head in through the doors of a few places that sound promising, but the noise from within is usually that of a workshop or general store. I get shooed out more than a few times. I catch the odd whiff of smoke, but that's no real help either, having smelt it on the breeze all morning around town. Most everyone seems to be heating or burning something, all of it with wood, so it's not great for distinguishing a place preparing food. I quickly exhaust my side of the highstreet, crossing before the corner that looks out over the river, and my mouth starts watering.
The first building seems a little too small to be an inn, maybe it's a tavern then? What's the difference anyway; food and drink, but no bed? Isn't that just a cafe or restaurant though? I guess it depends on what they serve. Hmm... I wonder if they'll hav-
CLAP
I slap my cheeks to stop myself from spiralling into food fantasies.
It smarts a fair bit, more so on my bruised cheek from where the beastman sucker-punched me earlier, but my head clears quick enough.
The bewitching scent of cooking wafts out from every crack in the ramshackle building. The windows overhead, gushing heat enough to contend with the summer sun, forcing me to duck under their jet streams as I slip along the front to the entrance. I compose myself, smoothing out my clothes a little to come across less shabby, and walk into the tavern.
It's slightly dimmer than I expected, or maybe the glare from outside has been burned into my vision, making it take longer to adjust to an interior again. I scrunch my eyes up tight, let the TV static cover everything, then open them again to a still somewhat dingy, cramped space.
Nonchalantly sitting at the nearest empty table, so as not to appear unfamiliar with the place and draw unwanted attention, I realise I didn't have a plan beyond finding somewhere that fit the bill. There isn't a menu or anything for me to pretend to read, just an empty table and chair opposite. I keep my head down, my gaze fixed on the patterns in the wooden surface, and I try to work out what to do next, fidgeting all the while.
Thankfully, the one beastperson waiting tables is too busy with a couple of other customers to pay me any heed. Before I succumb to low blood sugar induced panic, I wrack my brain for tropes. I got as far as find an inn earlier. I know that's where you can pick up side quests in RPGs at least. How do you get a quest in a tavern though? I can't remember...
"Think, idiot!"
I curse under my breath, trying not to look like the scruffy gibbering wastrel I probably already appear to be.
Okay, so... It's usually the owner, or whoever is working the bar. Someone that's always here, friendly with everyone, gets gossip from the locals and news from travellers or merchants passing through. There's sometimes a specific character hanging around too, like a local outcast, or a shadowy stranger, they're usually sat in a corner booth on their own looking moody. All I have to do is casually glance about and identify likely quest givers, okay... not too difficu-
"FU..."
The shout nearly escapes me, but gets caught behind gritted teeth, when I remember none of this matters...
I CAN'T SPEAK THE LANGUAGE!!!
THUD
My bladder squeezes as I jolt in the seat. I might have actually dribbled a little... god I hope not!
Uncertainly, I look up into the snout of the pig faced beastperson that's working front of house. They've planted a heavy glass of water on the table next to me, grunting in a seemingly merry tone as they try to bury a leather backed menu under my own nose. I beam at them the most forced smile I have ever mustered. I take a sip from the glass to calm myself at their abrupt arrival, looking back and forth between the incomprehensible list in front of me and my snuffling server, I hope that by quickly pointing at it and giving them a thumbs up they'll leave me alone for a minute to think.
"Phew-pugh!"
I had started to sigh with relief that my pantomime had gone down well with the crowd of one, but as the pigperson turned to go tend to someone else – their belly nudging the table an inch or so left, causing a wave of water to rock out of the glass, which miraculously stayed still otherwise – they thumped me on the back with a stout meaty trotter, causing me to gasp and them to squeal in amusement as they totter away. I shake my head. A muddle of mirrored merriment and my own anger at being messed with vie for mastery of my emotions. I echo the pigperson's laughter to not seem put out, giving them a moment to get out of earshot before muttering peevishly to myself.
I hate being made the centre of attention. It makes me feel like the butt of a very public joke.
Even just reading something out or asking a question in class, feeling everyone's eyes on me, it's electric. It makes me shiver. The static prickle of pointed scrutiny is painfully real.
I go to sip some more water, but put the glass right back down in the same motion. I am already clenching every muscle in my lower body not to pee myself, any more water and I might just burst. I need to find a bathroom. NOW. I scan the room. The only door is the entrance. The kitchen is a long open counter against the side wall. I am not miming how to pee to that pig.
I stand up more briskly than intended, scraping the chair on the floor behind me while gripping the table edge. The pigperson trots back over instantaneously to investigate. Please don't start squealing in my face or something. Please go away. Please leave me alone. I just need to pee. My skin starts to itch in that instinctive way it does to warn you when insects are crawling across it and I know without glancing about to check that everyone in the tavern is staring at me.
I hate this.
I'm frozen.
Paralysed by their collective piercing gaze.
My bloated bladder begging for release.
The pig oinking in my ear, it's paunch pushing against my arm.
I am too distracted to discern its intent as concern or coercion.
I just need to get outside.
I need to pee.
A DISTRACTION!!!
Instead of flipping the table, what evil did it ever do to me, or knocking the glass of water on the floor, I throw my head back, hands on myhips, let out the loudest fakest laugh possible - like some mad scientist - and stride out of the tavern. As soon as I am within reach of the door I lunge through, ignoring the silent stupefaction left in my wake, and b-line into the nearest alleyway. It loops behind the building. I would prefer to get further away, but my bladder won't let me.
Dancing on the spot, looking around frantically to make sure I'm not spotted, I lean up against the wall and...
The relief is instant, if not a little painful from how much pressure is behind it. I rue not having anything to wipe with, even more so that there does actually seem to be a tiny damp patch in my shorts and no way to dry it. I shake off. Feeling alleviated and ashamed, I set to finding another inn or tavern, anywhere that might harbour a plot hook, and maybe a bite to eat. Pity I can never show my face in there again, the food smelt amazing.
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GOT IT