Chapter 10:

The One Where They Said The Pacing Was Getting A Bit Slow So I Tried To Fix It But Then Fred and Joan Went Shopping

Everyone looked down at the patch of ground that had most recently housed the corporeal form of Archbishop of Banterbury. There was nothing left. Only his abandoned staff and his crumpled felt hat. Fred went over and poked the hat, suspiciously.

"Spoils of war?" Fred asked, looking up at Joan.

"Yup," she said. Fred bent and picked them up – the hat was soft to the touch and unimpressive. It had two rather sad stars sewn on the brim in patchy silver sequins. The staff was slightly better. It had weight and heft and would make a useful weapon.

"I assume I can't wear a bucket and a hat," said Fred. Joan shook her head.

"See which is better," she said. Fred took off his bucket and plopped the floppy hat on his head.

[Faded Wizard's hat]

"It's just a hat," he said, disappointed. "My bucket gives me two hit points!"

"Might be your class," said Joan, frowning. "May I?"

"Be my guest," said Fred, handing it across. Joan popped it on her head.

"Oh," she said, squinting at her stat box, "plus two mana!"

"Try the staff," said Fred, tossing it to her.

"Are you sure?"

"I think a ladle is more my style," said Fred, puffing out his chest. "We can always swap later if it doesn't work out? Aren't we a party?" Joan smiled and took the staff.

[Knobbly Wizard's Staff + 2HP + ? Mana (locked)]

"Can you use it?" asked Fred. Joan frowned and swung it about a bit. Nothing happened.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I won't be able to fire lightning bolts anytime soon, I know that."

[Joan of Snark, New Quest: Cast Your First Spell]

"Nice." Joan broke into a big smile. "Now I just need to find a spell. Things are looking up." She looked over at Fred, frowning. "I'm sorry there was nothing you could use, doesn't seem fair."

"I have my bucket," he said, wrapping his knuckles on the rim and gritting his teeth as it made his head ring. "Plus I'm feeling all smug and manly right now."

"Celebratory breakfast on me," said Joan. "Then bag shopping and a bit of grinding." Fred waggled his eyebrows.

"If you say so."

Joan snorted, then looked over at Barker, who was watching them with a smile as big as if he had just laid a very exciting egg.

"Would you two like to join us?" she said, cautiously, then looked askance at Fred who nodded. "For breakfast?"

"Oh thank you very much!" said Barker. "But I'm supposed to meet the Archbishop at the Meadow of Beginnings with his bag." He held up a battered satchel proudly.

"Told you so," muttered Joan, elbowing Fred in the side.

"He's nice!" whispered Fred. "–Oh!" He wheezed as Barker hugged him vigorously round the middle, knocking the wind out of him.

"Nice to meet you!" said Barker, his tongue lolling a little. Joan got the same treatment. Fred swallowed a laugh as the enthusiastic lad tried to hug Epic and was rebuffed with a shoe to the face. It did nothing to dampen his happiness.

"Byeee!" he yelled, waving vigorously. "See you soon!" He scampered off, looking as if he was having the best day of his life. And maybe he was. Epic groaned and laid back down on the ground, placing her hands behind her head to make a cushion.

"Epic? How about you? Fancy some breakfast?"

"I saw Rosie making fresh bread this morning," remarked Joan casually. Epic looked torn, and then her face settled back into her usual expression of numb neutrality.

"No," she said. "Thank you."

"What is up with her?" wondered Fred as they made their way back to the tavern.

"Not everyone has an easy death," said Joan. She fiddled with her new hat, turning the brim this way and that.

"I was crushed by a giant chandelier," said Fred, bitterly. "I can assure you it was unpleasant."

"I'm sure," said Joan, she adjusted her hat again. "And I was sawn in half, which I can assure you was unpleasant. There," she said, apparently satisfied. The hat did look rather good on her, Fred thought. Although it drew even more attention to the fact that she was rather scantily clad. He had almost got used to the fact that she was running about in her underwear. Almost. "Hmm, purple is not really my colour. Maybe I can dye it?"

"I like it."

"Thank you. But coming back to Epic – there are ways of dying that are more upsetting than an accident, even a weird one with a chandelier."

"I suppose," said Fred, feeling bad as he immediately thought of two or three.

"I've seen it before," said Joan, seriously. "Sometimes people can't deal with the idea of a second chance at life. Or their death has messed them up so much they can't cope." They walked on in solemn silence.

"But she made it out of the Meadow of Beginnings," said Fred. "That must be a good sign."

"I think so."

Back at the tavern, they celebrated with eggs on hot buttered toast and Fred drank three cups of tea in quick succession. Full and happy, they ventured back out into Merry Plebbingtons to shop. Now it was midmorning the street was once again bustling with NPCs and players going about their business.

"Really, I think I'm coming around to think like the cheese shop ladies," said Fred, as they strode.

"No," said Joan.

"Oi," said Fred, "what do you mean 'no'?"

"It's not that easy," said Joan. "I told them too. It seems nice." She gestured around at the sun-filled street.

"It is nice," said Fred. "And why not? We continue to grind, do some easy, not life-threatening quests, keep the Archbishop of Banterbury at bay, and build a nice life. I mean it wouldn't take that long to earn enough to buy something? Or build something? Are we allowed to build things?"

"Yeah," said Joan. "But as I said, it's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"Well for starters we have to survive the purge."

Fred stopped. Three NPCs carrying shopping bags barged into his back. They fell down, and their produce rolled all over the cobbles. Fred apologized profusely and helped them pick everything up before turning back to Joan.

"The purge," he said levelly and waited for her to explain. She turned to a shop window and pointed.

"21 Days Til Clearance," it proclaimed in cheery red letters.

"A sale of some sort," said Fred. "Surely."

Joan pointed to another window, where an even larger poster proclaimed: "21 DAYS TILL THE PURGE!"

"Okay," said Fred, levelly. "You might be on to something. What exactly does that mean?"

"Twenty-one days to clear this dungeon." Fred looked around at the rather pleasant village.

"Okay," he said again. "And this has been bothering me a while, but this really isn't my idea of a dungeon. And how do we clear it anyway?"

"It's all dungeon," Joan said a little testily. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. This is just nice because it's the beginning. Later on, they get more dungeon-y."

"Dungeon-y."

"Yes." She pulled him along the street. "And we clear it by levelling high enough and finding the gate to the next one." Fred opened his mouth, then shut it again. "The gate is usually hidden and guarded. We have to find it, and we have to be strong enough to survive the passage."

The posters were everywhere, Fred saw. Even he would have noticed eventually. Worried looking groups of adventurers were gathered around some of them talking in hushed tones.

"We need to hurry up and get our party together," said Fred, biting his lip.

"Yes."

"You might need to lower your standards a bit."

"I'm worried you might be right. But one thing at a time. Bag first, the equipment. So a general store? Whaa–"

Someone barged into them from behind, pushing them both violently. Fred lost his balance and fell, landing on one arm. He caught a glimpse of naked buttocks, attached to a young woman. She was giggling madly as she dashed down the street pursued by the angry crowd who thundered after her.

"What on earth–" Joan offered him her hand and pulled him upright with a surprisingly steady grip.

"Probably a thief," said Joan. "If you start with nothing your options are rather limited."

"Oh, one of the trolls," said Fred, sagely. "She seemed to be enjoying herself."

"Or a serial killer."

"We should ask her to join our party," said Fred. Joan pulled a face. "Haha."

"Come on," said Joan. "General store. I don't recall seeing one, did you?"

Fred looked around. There were the fruit and vegetable sellers, the blacksmith, the tea-shop, the bakery, a potion shop and a clothing shop.

"There must be one somewhere," mused Joan.

"General goods?" boomed a fruit seller, appearing next to them. They both jumped. "General Goods! End of the street next to the tea shop!"

"Ah yes," said Fred, squinting. "Thank you!" He could just make out a tall narrow building with round, brass windows and a bright green door. Next to Dave's Dungeon Tea Shop, it didn't look like much. And of course, last time he had been there he had been rather focused on tea.

"Thank you," Joan said to the fruit seller. They walked away.

"Are you sure you don't want any fruit?" the fruit seller yelled after them.

"No, thank you," said Fred, continuing to walk.

"Not even this pear?" the fruit seller jogged alongside them, brandishing a fruit in Fred's face. "So juicy! Plucked this morning from Hera's garden!"

"No thanks!" said Joan. They stepped a bit faster.

"How about this golden apple?"

"We're fine," said Fred.

"I used to be an adventurer once!" bellowed the fruit-seller, at their fleeing backs. "Before I took a morning-star to the elbow!"

The General Goods store and the NPC who ran it were uninspiring but functional. They found a decent bag for Joan without any problem and were soon back on the street, with Joan's Quest complete.

"How much have we got left," said Fred, and Joan counted out her coins.

"A bit," she said, "where next? Or should we go and see Gob the Weaver about the witch?"

"Some clothes maybe?" suggest Fred tactfully. Joan looked confused for a moment, then she laughed and looked down at her bare legs and midriff.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," she said. "I don't want to spend too much though, not at this point. We'd be better off grinding."

"Come on," said Fred, pulling her towards the clothing store. "We'll have better luck finding party members," he said, "if you are wearing more. People probably assume you are a wee troll."

"I forget people don't know about my bonus," admitted Joan. "You might be right."

They pushed the door open to Jo's Blouses and Hose: Fashionable Frippery for the Avid Adventurer and a little bell tinkled. The witch behind the counter looked up, her eyes brightening as she saw them.

"Can I help you my dears?" she said, bustling over. The witch, and there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever that she was a witch, was dressed from head to toe in black. But to say black was doing the outfit a disservice. Her corset was lace and bone, her skirts fitted and flowing around her in stygian waves. The spider in her hair looked plump and well-fed. As Fred's eyes fell on it it grew a mouth, a pink, bow-curved human mouth and smiled at them. Fred gasped and sprang back, drawing his ladle.

"Oh, don't fuss, my dears," said the witch, reaching out a hand to touch the spider. It stirred balefully against her fingertips. "Lamb-kin won't hurt anyone, will you diddums?"

"The Midnight Witch will have your guts for garters," said Lamb-kin the spider with its grotesque human mouth. The witch laughed a tinkling little laugh.

"Isn’t he a funny boy. Now. Is there anything in particular I can help you with?" She eyed the mostly naked Joan. "Some trousers? A dress? Any particular item of clothing?"

"Just looking," said Joan. "Although I'm partial to green."

"Let me see what I can find," said the witch, her eyes bright. "How about one of these lovely gowns? All of our items are charmed."

"How are they charmed?" asked Fred, tearing his gaze away from the spider. He didn't let go of his ladle though.

"Magical clothing is my speciality," said the witch with some pride. She flourished a short, black evening dress at Joan.

"Little Black Dress?" she asked, smoothing out the fabric. "Little Black Dress will give you +20 Charisma."

"It's a bit formal," said Joan. "And probably out of our price range anyway."

"How about you?" she said eying Fred. "You could do with some charisma, my lad."

"I read World of Cheese," said Fred mournfully. "And the dress is very nice, but not really my style. Plus I have these lovely trousers–" He gestured to show her. The witch tutted and shook her head, turning to put the dress back on its hook. As she turned away the spider swivelled in the nest of her hair and mouthed something obscene at them. It paused, as if waiting for their reactions. When there was none it tried again:

"The Midnight Witch will pickle your livers and turn your heartstrings into mayonnaise," the disturbingly fleshy human lips curled up in a smile.

"Don't mind Lamb-kin," said the witch, turning back towards them, "he has his funny little ways."

"Right," said Fred. "Adorable."

Joan was looking at a pile of undergarments laid out on a table.

"What are these?" she asked the witch.

"Supportive bras."

"Looks well made," said Joan, critically. She picked it up to take a closer look.

"You can do it!" squeaked the bra. "Don't give up on your dreams!"

She put it back down carefully and looked up at Fred with a half-smile.

"Now, that," she said, "is disturbing." She turned to some underwear that was sitting on a back shelf, all black lace held together with barely-there scraps of satin. "These don't look very supportive," she said, critically picking one up.

"They are not," said the witch.

"Fuck you," whispered the lacy bra.

"I'm afraid they are designed to let you down when you need them most," said the witch. "They look great but I wouldn't wear one to change a light bulb."

Fred looked sideways at the guttering candles that illuminated all corners of the little shop.

"So why do you sell them then?" he asked. The witch shrugged.

"The dungeon is a good customer," she said, turning to tidy away some material that had been left on the counter. "And I enjoy my work."

"This is nice," said Joan, running her fingers over a green cloak embroidered with leaves. She flipped over the price tag and sighed.

"What about this?" said Fred, gesturing to a woolly garment in fresh green.

"Good choice!" beamed the witch. "The Cardigan of Malicious Intent."

"Ah," said Joan, "maybe not. What are these?"

"Freudian Slips. That black lace took me ages."

"What about these?"

"Sneaky Boots. For sneaking."

"And these?"

"Blue Suede Shoes. Make sure you don't step on them."

"And these boots?"

"Made For Walking."

"I mean, aren't all boots made for walking?"

"Sure," said the witch, blowing some dust off Wee Lambkin. "But some are better at it than others."

"Of course."

"And this?"

"That is a Runcible Spoon," said the witch, grabbing it, "which I need to eat my lunch."

In the end, they walked out of the shop with a simple green druid's robe for Joan that gave her +2 hit points, and a pair of thick woollen socks that did absolutely nothing, but were on sale and looked comfortable.

"They might give you a hit point if you darn the heel a bit," said the witch, thoughtfully. "I can't remember. Anyway! Come again soon! Take care! Lamb-kin and I are always happy to help."

"The Midnight Witch will unravel your intestines and use them in a stew," said Lamb-kin, helpfully. "And she won't need salt, because your tears will be enough."

"Bye!" said the witch.

Fred and Joan pushed open the shop door and then leapt backwards. The young woman thief rushed past, a loaf of bread in each hand. This time she was wearing clothes, although she was still recognisable from her tumble of black curls.

"Looks like everyone's getting fancy," said Fred, and Joan laughed, smoothing her hands over her new robe. They watched as a man in a baker's uniform charged after the thief, puffing and swearing, his face red as he shouted in incoherent rage.

"Hey!" shouted Fred after the rapidly disappearing woman. "Want to join a party?"

"Sure!" came the rather breathless response. "Where?"

"Meet us at the Beer and Loathing after dark!" yelled Fred.

"Ok!"

She disappeared around the corner.

"What are you doing," hissed Joan.

"We need a party," said Fred. "It's not permanent is it?" Joan shook her head, pursing her lips. "Well then. If she's a serial killer we won't keep her around long? Maybe just long enough to kill a certain witch? Lamb-kin has set me teeth on edge."

"I suppose. Thieves can be useful."

The baker gave up and doubled back. He came to a heaving stop and glared at Fred.

"Hi, Simon," said Joan.

"Joan," he said, without looking at her. He narrowed his eyes at Fred. "I will join you at the Beer and Loathing," he said, between great heaving breaths. "After dark. To get my bread."

"I doubt your bread will be there," said Fred. "She's probably going to eat it."

"Then I will bring the Watch," said the baker, "and arrest your friend."

"Fine," said Fred, and handed over his last copper. "Will that cover it?"

The baker took the coin. He glared at it angrily, then snorted and walked away.

Joan of Snark Level 1: Druid

XP: 19 ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

HP: 56 [1 pair Old Shoes + 1 Mildly Scandalous Knickers + 1 Sensible Bra+ 2 Green Druid's Robe +2 Knobbly Wizard's Staff+ 0 Faded Wizard's Hat] x8

Bonus: x8 HP Bonus

+1 Firemaking

+1 Cooking

+1 Herbalism