Chapter 20

Fey collected her pets and headed out of the dungeon. It soon became clear that the glooms did not have a traveling speed compatible with her walk; they either traveled slowly with small hops, or bounded very rapidly with large leaps (like bunnies). Fey finally resorted to holding the bottom corners of her cape to make a sort of pouch.

“Hop on,” she told the shadow-creatures. They shifted uneasily, not wanting to touch the holy item.

“You're just going to have to get over it,” Fey lectured sternly, “it is just unacceptable going around with such an obvious and exploitable weakness.” She fully intended for her newest pets to develop resistance to holy magic the same way that high-level dark elementals did (which was rather unreasonable, considering that glooms were the lowest-level dark elementals around).

Reluctantly, the six glooms hopped onto the blessed cloth, shuddering as their skin made contact, and Fey set off.

As usual, Fey trained and experimented as she walked. First, she wanted Amethyst to acquire all the poisons she had access to. Now that Magic's Spore had reached level 10, she could command him to release specific status effects. Holding out a hand, Fey asked, “Magic, could you make a small pile of poison spores?”

Magic hopped his way up to Fey's wrist (*defy gravity*), then screwed up his face in a (cute) expression of concentration. Soon, a dusting of purple spores coated Fey's palm (because Poison Powder is purple in Pokemon). Fey's Immunity was at a high enough level that she could touch the spores with impunity.

“Here Amethyst, eat this.” Closing her hand, Fey carefully funneled the spores into Amethyst's open mouth.

Gloom poison was trickier. The dark creatures inflicted poison through their bite, and it did not seem feasible to collect a large amount of saliva or break off a tooth to feed to Amethyst. After pondering and looking around at her surroundings for inspiration, Fey had an idea. She picked a fallen leaf off the ground, still fresh and green.

“Bite this,” she told Shadow (not that she could tell the difference between the glooms. Bad owner). A small nip from the gloom withered the leaf into shrivelled yellow. After feeding the leaf to Amethyst, the slime succeeded in learning the poison.

Hehehe. Fey was feeling smug and clever from her successes, despite the simplicity and ease of the problems she had solved. Feeling slightly invincible (whatever that means; you're either invincible or not), Fey decided to train Immunity using furyweed. With the ability at level 5, it could negate 2 damage per poison infliction, eliminating two-thirds of the damage she would take (how pride goeth before the fall).

Confident in her math, Fey applied furyweed poison to her dagger and gave herself a small prick on the back of her hand.

On paper, Fey's experience with the furyweed poison went exactly as predicted. However, she failed to account for the physical symptoms of such a strong poison. From the point of entry spread an intense burning, itching sensation that soon permeated her entire body. The feeling was unpleasant enough to make her want to scratch her skin off.

“Eugh,” came the sound of extreme discomfort bordering on true pain.

To prevent herself from actually starting to scratch her skin bloody, Fey tried to distract herself with physical exertion. She dumped the glooms on the ground to bound along beside her and pushed herself into a run.

I repent! she wailed in her mind as she rushed forward (this is funny because she's not Christian). Fey now felt extremely sorry for the poor vollys she had ignorantly inflicted such suffering upon, and thought they were superlatively justified in trying to turn her into roadkill. The burning pain seemed to continue forever, and Fey pushed herself faster and faster, trying to replace the pain with the bite of overexertion.

Finally (after five minutes), the poison wore off. Fey leaned against a tree, panting, now considerably closer to the Moonwood. Amethyst poked her owner concernedly with her bubble, worried that Fey was again falling into a death-like resting phase (see Chapter 12 if you don't remember), but the sprint had been short enough that after a few minutes of laboured breathing, Fey was able to walk on towards the village.

Damn, that's got more fury than a woman scorned[i]. As Fey walked, the increased regeneration from her Guardian's Blessing allowed her to restore herself to full health within ten minutes. There must have been lingering effects of the poison interfering with her decision-making abilities, because, after seeing that she still had a good distance to travel, Fey again subjected herself to the furyweed poison (sometimes our heroine is smart, but sometimes she's realllllly dumb).

What's wrong with meeeee? she wailed mentally, finding herself running through the forest anew (she asks that a lot, but usually follows it up with, “Don't answer that.”).

Fey's level of discomfort was such that even the attribute increase did not make the ordeal worth all the suffering. By the time the poison wore off the second time, Fey was thoroughly exhausted and very close to the Moonwood.

Judging herself unfit for anything but staying motionless for a while, Fey slumped her way into the tavern and collapsed into a chair, laying her cheek against the smooth, cool wood of the table (*headdesk*). Tallen found her in the same position when he came out of the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Miss?” he inquired, a bit nonplussed at finding an exhausted elf in his tavern.

Fey turned her head to look at the tavern-keeper without lifting it off the table. “Hey, Tallen,” she greeted in a languid voice, “Got anything to drink?”

Relieved at seeing Fey was just tired (as opposed to dying), Tallen bustled off to the kitchen. Returning almost immediately, he placed a tall glass of iced tea a few inches from where her head rested on the table.

Fey summoned the will to drag herself upright and took a sip of the beverage. As usual, it was perfectly suited to her tastes, sweetened and peach-flavoured (much better than that lemon nonsense). “You're the best, Tallen.”

Tallen winked. “Don't you forget it.”

Fey slowly sipped her iced tea as she caught her breath. Tallen's tavern was becoming quite busy as more people played Fantasia and started as elves. She allowed the babble of multiple conversations to flow past her without picking out any words, enjoying her quiet within the noise. (Alas, all good things come to an end.)

“Hi,” came an unfamiliar voice. It took Fey two seconds before she realized that somebody was talking to her and looked up. A group of elves had moved to the seats next to hers where she sat at one of the tavern's long communal tables.

“Hi,” she replied warily, feeling rather surrounded.

“Remember us? You killed the King Slime for us this morning.” Well, I remember the King Slime, anyways. The speaker was a cheerful male elf who indeed looked vaguely familiar. (Fey was bad with faces and names.) With a glance, Fey took in the group's appearance. Judging by their faces and cheerfulness, Fey guessed that they were several years younger than her, in their late teens. Their positioning and body language indicated that the one who had spoken was the outgoing leader of the group.

Fey put on the neutrally pleasant persona she used to deal with strangers, smiling faintly and making vague affirmative sounds while nodding.

“I'm Eli,” said the leader. He then proceeded to introduce the entire group, but their appellations failed to imprint themselves onto Fey's memory (because she didn't care. O heroine, thou art heartless and cruel).

“I'm Fey,” said Fey, nodding at each player as they were introduced.

Clearly an expert at small-talk, Eli proceeded to ask, “So how long have you been playing Fantasia?”

Fey had to think back for several seconds to come up with the answer, “Four nights.” The flow of time felt strangely indistinct now that she no longer had periods of unconsciousness to punctuate the days.

“Cool. We've only just started. Got any tips?”

“Uh, not really.” Fey did not think that her style of adventuring was suitable for anyone else, even if she could describe it accurately (do random crap and somehow come out on top, or something like that). “Just have fun.”

Small talk made Fey feel both bored and awkward at the same time, so she quickly finished her iced tea and stood. Tallen materialized at her elbow a second later (actually, he just walked).

“Leaving, miss? I packed this for you.” Tallen handed Fey a packet of travel food.

“Thanks, Tallen.” Sliding the package into her belt pouch, Fey turned to say goodbye to the newbies.

“I've got to go. See you guys around some time.”

“Can we pay your bill for you?” asked Eli. “It's the least we could do after you saved our butts out there.”

“Uh,” was Fey's (quick-witted) response. In her mind, she did not have a bill because Tallen fed her for free, so the offer threw her for a loop (error... does not compute).

Tallen, however, capitalized quickly on the newbies' misconception. “That will be 28g, then.” The tavern-keeper included the price of Fey's travel food in the total. Fey slid a glance at him as Eli's group rummaged in their belt pouches for coins, and Tallen gave her a conspiratorial wink.

“Ah, thanks,” said Fey after they came up with the correct total and Tallen left. She did not have the heart to tell the kids that they had not saved her any money, and were instead lining Tallen's pockets.

“No problem. See you around!” Eli and his friends waved cheerfully as Fey left the tavern.

Before heading to the warrior trainers, Fey stopped at the bank to store away most of her gold and items. While most people would have disposed of very common items like spider fangs and rat teeth at the general store, Fey was a hoarder at heart and liked to save items for possible future use. The bank offered free safety deposit box services for up to a thousand different items, so Fey saw no reason to curb her natural tendencies, handing over piles of (junk) items to be placed into storage. Packs empty, Fey headed over to the warrior training area.

Irrilana seemed to be standing duty alone when Fey arrived at the designated clearing. Fey was mildly curious as to where Irrilathan had gone, but did not feel herself to be on close enough terms with the trainers to inquire. Instead, she focused on her business at hand.

“I've reached level 20 and have come to learn my next warrior skill.”

Irrilana glanced at Fey as if she could read all of the player's stats and progress (which she could), then replied, “You have reached the correct level to advance, but have not completed enough warrior feats to qualify.”

“Warrior feats?” Fey echoed blankly. The class advancement system was covered in the “Advanced Gameplay” section of the manual that Fey had skipped (don't blame the heroine for being unprepared, blame the author for making things up as she goes).

Seeing that Fey had no idea how the system worked, Irrilana explained, “Each class has its own set of feats that you can complete to show your progress in that class. Different feats are worth different numbers of points, and you require a certain number of points to learn each successive skill; in this case, you need 20. When you begin to specialize at level 30, each sub-class will have its own set of feats to complete.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Fey called up the warrior class menu in her head.

Wondering where she had earned 14 points from, Fey scrolled through the long list of possible warrior feats she could complete.

Clearly, points were only awarded for the first time a player defeated the boss, or Fey would have more than enough points to learn her next skill. She looked through the list for a task that would be relatively easy to complete.

“Does unarmed combat count towards the weapon mastery feat?” Fey asked Irrilana. While she had no confidence in her ability to ever form the Sword Mastery skill, she thought her tae kwon do skills were sufficient to form a skill for unarmed combat.

“Not exactly, but it is easy enough to weaponize an unarmed fighting style with punching blades and bladed leg armour.”

Fey's eyes gleamed with interest at the idea. Her sword skills were fairly nonexistent, and the idea of adding sharp metal to her punches and kicks was incredibly appealing. Even were a warrior feat not involved, Fey would have immediately gone to buy the weapons. Thanking Irrilana for the advice, Fey made a beeline back to town.

Not sure whether bladed leg armour belonged in the weapon or armour shop, Fey decided to visit Senaia first (because she had a discount there). She had her pets wait outside the store to avoid wasting time having the cheerful elf exclaim over each one.

“Fey!” the shop-keeper greeted warmly, “Welcome!” Senaia's (yellow) slime Topaz waved its bubble in a hello from the counter.

“Hi.” Fey normally bowed to convention and made an effort to exchange at least a sentence or two of small talk before stating her business, but was so focused on her task that social niceties flew out the (figurative) window. “Do you have bladed leg armour?” she asked.

Senaia's expression went distant as she reviewed the store's inventory in her head. “That's not a popular type of armour, so we might not have any in stock... Yes, none. However, it is easy enough to have a set made. In compensation for having to wait, it can be customized to fit your exact measurements.”

“Cool.” Fey wanted the weaponized armour yesterday (actually, three days ago when she started playing Fantasia), but saw the advantage of having leg armour that fit perfectly.

Senaia whipped out a notepad and pencil. “Well then, may I ask your strength and agility level?”

“65 and 41.”

Senaia jotted the numbers down, then pulled out a measuring cord to find the dimensions of Fey's body below the waist. While a tailor might just measure waist and hip circumference, plus leg length on the inside and outside of the leg, Senaia's assessment was far more comprehensive. She measured the circumference of Fey's legs at nine points, the length of knee to hip and knee to ankle, and the dimensions of Fey's feet. The shop-keeper also took mysterious measurements of Fey's joints, having her flex and extend her legs at the hips, knees, and ankles. After writing all of the information down, Senaia muttered to herself as she made rapid calculations. “68 centimetres, 48 centimetres, 7 knots... Grade B steel, extra flexibility... The cost will be 3000g, 2400g after your discount. Will that be acceptable?”

“Yes.” Fey was happy about her discount. Including her quest rewards from the dubble/trubble quest (readers with at least level 1 Pun Comprehension should have already noticed the 'double trouble' pun), Fey now had over 7000g saved, plenty to cover the cost. “Oh, since I reached level 20, I might as well upgrade the rest of my armour, too.”

“Oh my, level 20 already? Congratulations!” Senaia bustled over to an armour stand holding several steel pieces. The new armour appeared to cover even less skin than Fey's current set, and she balked.

“That... That's not even decent! And somebody could stab you right in the stomach!” There were limits to what she was willing to tolerate, even from a fantasy game perspective. It simply was not practical to walk around with gaps in armour for the sake of aesthetics, even if she was willing to walk around in skimpy clothing (which she wasn't, because she got cold easily).

Senaia poked a hole in Fey's righteous indignation when she explained, “This is meant to go over your current armour. It adds defence to vital spots and high impact areas without affecting flexibility.”

“Oh.” (*deflated*) “That makes sense.”

Senaia began to pull the plated metal off the stand. “Let's see... You will not need the legs and boots, so the rest of the set will be 1600g, 1280g after your discount.”

Fey went to the bank to withdraw the necessary funds, then paid for all the equipment in full. Senaia helped her fasten the metal pieces over her leather armour, and promised that the custom leg armour would be ready for the next day.

After Fey thanked the shop-keeper and turned to leave, Senaia called out, “Oh, and punching blades complement the leg armour very well! They're sold in the weapon shop.”

Hmm... Fey had completely forgotten about the punching blades in her focus on the leg blades, as her favoured mode of hitting things was overwhelmingly leg-based. Since she was overdue for a weapons upgrade anyway, Fey headed to the neighbouring weapon shop.

The weapon shop was managed by Senaia's younger brother, Sylvannos. Physically, the auburn-haired male bore little resemblance to his sister, but had a masculine version of Senaia's cheerful energy, as well as a slight boyish obsession with the weapons he sold.

As soon as Fey crossed the threshold of his tree-shop, Sylvannos rushed over. “Welcome! How may I help you today?”

“I'd like to look at your level 20 short swords and punching blades.”

Sylvannos' eyes lit up with interest. “Right away!” The young shop-keeper immediately located the correct weapons among the dozens of racks growing out of the walls and brought them to the counter for Fey's examination.

Fey gave the short swords a cursory glance; they appeared to be higher-quality copies of the one she had earned for advancing to the warrior class. Her attention was drawn to the unfamiliar curves of the second pair of weapons.

“These are punching blades?” The metal was configured in an unfamiliar way, and Fey had no idea how to go about even picking one up.

“Yes.” Sylvannos hefted one in demonstration, and suddenly the weapon made sense. A punching blade's handle was held horizontally across the palm in a fist-like grip. The metal extended perpendicularly from the side opposite the thumb, extending in both directions. One end curved around the fist in a sharpened arc like the edge of a spade, while the other flowed down the length of the forearm, past the elbow, in a flattened curve designed for defence[ii].

Fey could instantly see how the weapons could enhance an unarmed fighting style with minimal modification to the punches and blocks she already knew. Short swords forgotten, Fey eagerly picked up the punching blades in the correct grip. She snapped them out with a few experimental punches. The blades were balanced so that the centre of gravity of her fists did not change, so despite the increased weight, the new weapons felt like natural extensions of her arms.

“I'll take them.” (Fey was in item lust.)

“They are 1200g each.”

When Fey immediately put down the punching blades and left the shop after hearing the price, Sylvannos thought she was protesting the cost.

“Um, 1000g?” he said uncertainly, though Fey was already out of earshot. Thinking he had lost a sale, Sylvannos began to put the weapons away.

Fortuitously, Sylvannos had only put the short swords away when Fey returned (from the bank). She placed 2400g on the counter, picked up the punching blades and accompanying sheaths, then left with a “thank you” to go play with her new toys.

Footnotes:

[i]From William Congreve's play The Mourning Bride, the original lines go “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/ Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned” (Act III, Scene VIII)

[ii] Though the details of this weapon has been changed, the original idea was inspired by a weapon in the Noble Dead series by Barb and J.C. Hendee. In terms of actual traditional weapons, punching blades are somewhat similar to a combination between the katar and the tonfa.