Dungeon Item Shop - Chapter 12

“Huh?” Fresh looks around at the empty, square room, somewhat lost.

“Joining the guild makes you an official adventurer instead of just some schmuck from the streets. But the guild is serious business, dumb-ass! That’s why everyone who joins has to take the shot. So everybody falls in line. Nobody wants a bunch of wackos running around the city, rampaging out of control with their swords and magic!”

The small figure sighs, defeated, lowering their arms and head and walking towards the single table with the two wobbly looking chairs.

“We’re a party now, whether I regret my decision or not, so we get a cut-off space for ourselves,” they say, waving a hand as they climb up onto a chair and flop their head down onto the table a second after; their mask thudding out, as the two wooden surfaces meet each other. Fresh’s eyes open wide as she moves towards the table.

“We bought a house?”

“We bought membership,” snaps the sharp voice incredulously. “It comes with a party-space. Only you and I are allowed to enter inside of here. It’s like the dungeon, but only more miserable,” groans the figure, still not having lifted their head.

Fresh stands next to them, holding her own arm nervously. What did she do? Her rushing in blind got her into a lot of trouble this time. Not just her, but someone else too. She looks down to the hooded figure.

“Thank you…” says Fresh, looking meekly away to the side and out of the foggy, yellow windows through which light shines in, but through which nothing distinct can be seen of the outside world. “- for helping me,” she finishes, feeling a deep shame at herself. At her own naivety.

The figure sighs deeply again, their shoulders falling slack, as their body smushes flatter against the table, as if this was the last thing they had wanted to hear.

“So we’re a party, now?” asks Fresh.

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to working with you,” groans the smushed face, muffled from down below the mask.

“What does that mean?”

The wood of the mask scratches against the table, as the figure raises their head to look back at her own confused face.

“I…” they pause. “It means that you and I are going to be working together to pay back our debt. Ideally so that we can keep working together after that. That’s the idea at least.” They place a hand under their mask, rubbing the bridge of their nose. “But let’s not assume there’s going to be an after.”

Fresh thinks, sitting down. They could run? Leave the city. But… she looks down at the table herself now. She doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t want to run. Her fists tighten as her eyes meet the figure’s. “Let’s do it.”

“Huh?” asks the figure, pulling back a little.

“Please help me to learn how to do something useful and let’s go to the dungeon together and get to work!” says Fresh, leaning in forward with determination towards the uneasy figure who leans back a little as their faces come uncomfortably close.

“You have no health at all. If you die in the dungeon, which you will, I’ll be saddled with your debt. That’s obviously not acceptable,” says the figure, crossing their arms.

If she dies? Didn’t she already die? Fresh thinks for a second. Did adventurers not usually respawn? If they died, was that it? Was she the exception? Her mind goes to the image of the babbling fountain. She closes her eyes and quietly thanks whatever spirit decided to have this mercy for her, despite everything else.

“What if I learn to heal and stay in the back?” she says, still not willing to give up.

The figure lets out an unsure groan and thinks. “I don’t even know if you have any soul points to cast spells to begin with. Besides, if you’re cursed…” they look to the side before turning back to face her. “The only healers around this city are from the church. You wouldn’t want to go to the holy cathedral though. They… aren’t fond of cursed people. They take their existence rather personally, you know?”

There was that word again. Cursed.

“How am I cursed?” asks Fresh.

The figure shrugs, leaning back on their chair. “Dunno? Shouldn’t you know? Dumb-ass. It’s your life, I wasn’t there. I can just see it. My folk is perceptive of these kinds of things,” they say, locking their fingers behind their head and looking up to the ceiling. Fresh wants to ask what race or species they were or whatever the implication here was, but stops herself. It somehow seemed… rude to ask and she didn’t want to insult her benefactor. Her eyes catch the coin on the floor that has rolled to the table and she leans over and picks it up. Her only coin. Did that make this one lucky? She laughs to herself quietly, stopping somewhat embarrassed, once she feels the eyes look back to her. The coin was her last gift from Mr. Mushroom, apart from… wait…

Fresh sets it down on the table with an audible ‘clack’ as an excited look grows in her eyes. “What about crafting skills?”

“Huh?”

“If I can’t fight then… then what if you fight? What if you fight and I make things?”

“Huh?” repeats the figure, not changing their tone.

“How much does a mushroom cap sell for?” asks Fresh.

“Uh… an orange one? About six Obols I guess?” they say. Fresh winces.

“What do they do with them?” she asks, not letting it get her down.

“They sell them to the alchemists. Or they grind them up or they make whatever else out of it. I don’t know, I’m not a mushroom person.”

“But surely they have to make a profit off of it. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth buying?”

“Yeah?”

“So.” Fresh leans in. “Why don’t we skip the middle-man?” The plan comes to her and her eyes lock on the unsteady gaze of the small person before her, who she now notices has a subtle, faded pinkish tinge to their gray pupils; as if the spring morning sunlight were shining off of them even inside this dingy room. “You go into the dungeon and collect stuff. But, instead of selling it, you give it to me and I craft it into something myself, then we sell that to the alchemists or whoever needs it. Surely we’ll get more money out of it that way! A mushroom cap has to be worth at least three times the buyout price, or else they wouldn’t bother, would they? So we can both pay our debts, plus we’ll have some extra!”

The legs of the stool fall back forward, as the hooded person leans in, now somewhat excited, their changed expression only visible through the slits of the mask where their eyes shine vividly out, larger than before.

“Why didn’t you tell me from the start that you could craft things?!” they say, their palms striking the table as they lean in forward again towards her. Their knees on the chair like an excited child’s. “What’s your crafting level?!”

Fresh scratches her cheek idly, smiling weakly. “Ah… well… I have cooking at one?”

The room is quiet.

“You have cooking at… one…?” repeats the figure, as if not believing their ears. “…and crafting?”

Fresh is quiet for a moment. “Ah… zero? Probably?”

They fall back down, now entirely defeated. A pang of guilt flows through Fresh as she looks at the small figure who is clearly close to breaking down into tears. She reaches forward, wanting to grab their shoulder and console them, but her fingers float in the air as she isn’t brave enough to push forward over that last gap.

“But I can raise it! I know some stuff!” she says, leaning in and lowering her hand back down to her own lap.

The figure doesn’t bother raising their head anymore.

“So please, let’s work together! I know we can do it!”

The room is quiet.

“I know I owe you, so I’m willing to work hard to make this right!” says Fresh, leaning in further.

The room is quiet.

“Please!”

The room is quiet.

Fresh’s expression tenses, as she feels her own eyes grow damp, but she purses her lips and presses that feeling back down into her gut. Slowly, she leans back and sinks into her own chair again.

“I’m Jubilee,” says the small voice. Fresh looks down at the mask and the weak eyes that are staring back up at her own. The small person sighs, their chin which is pressed against the surface of the table, raising up an inch as they speak; before they then silently get up.

Fresh watches as the figure gets up and walks towards the door that they came in from. Stopping there, they turn back towards her.

“Are you coming? We have a dungeon to get to,” is all they say as they step out into the mist.

Fresh jumps up and sprints to the door.