The Halfwit Halfling: A Bard's Tale, page 3
“I guess, I owe you one, Solas.” I offered them my hand, and they shook it. When I first arrived, we were more or less the same height, but now I barely reached their chest. “If you hadn’t been so candid with me, I’d have probably rushed into a bad decision.”
“Just doing my job,” they replied. We stood in silence for a while, and I could tell there was something on their mind. After what felt like a forever-long handshake, they finally continued, “I’ve been doing this for a while, and I recognised the look on your face when you picked your race. Be careful of who you make your enemies. At least until you have enough Charisma, or Arcana, or friends to help you survive. It’s not an easy world, and the more power you gain, the bigger the target on your back becomes.”
I had more to say, but Solas turned on their heel and walked back to their door. They opened it and walked through. I thought Solas were about to close the door when they turned and looked at me. Solas opened their mouth as if to say something, but hesitated, unsure if they should venture to speak. Then, Solas’s face hardened as they hardened their resolve.
“You picked well. Maybe with Charisma, you have a chance. The Cosmics don’t play fair. In Game World, you’ll find fallen members of their kind, gods born of the world’s magic and powerful beasts. Perhaps Charisma will help you get a higher being’s attention. If you can find one to become your patron, maybe you’ll have a fighting chance.”
Solas closed the door, and the expanse of white winked out of existence.
Chapter 4
Behind Capper Bars
Holy shit.
Maybe not holy shit. The Devourer of Worlds isn’t a title a holy entity deserves. Maybe being a Cosmic Horror warrants her the new cuss: Cosmic shit. When I found out she had already locked my starting location, I expected to find myself in the boonies somewhere, not in a damned cell.
I had no idea where I was. A distant lamp served as the only source of light, and more cells lay on either side and opposite of mine. Most of the cells were empty except for the cell directly opposite mine and another two cells to the right. I saw a pointy-eared woman in the former, and there was a tall, skinny man in the latter.
I needed to get out, but one thing was for sure: I wasn’t about to fight my way to freedom. Whoever imprisoned me, was strong enough to capture people twice my size. Besides, with the Pacifist trait weighing me down, I wouldn’t likely get far once hit by the debuffs.
Right! I had a body now. My stats wouldn’t be as pathetic as before. So with a thought, I pulled up my profile screen.
『
Identification:
First Name: Peregrin
Last Name: Kanooks
Race: Jovian
Patron: None
Condition: Healthy Mana Core: Empty
Stats:
Brawn: 1
Control: 5
Mind: 3
Arcana: 1
Charisma: 5
Perception: 4
Traits:
Pacifist
』
What kind of name was Peregrin Kanooks? Was I the reject from the Fellowship of the Ring? Maybe the special half man that got sent home?
I needed to figure out the various stats. So, I tried focusing on the individual elements on the screen. Nope. This wasn’t like an RPG after all. No tooltip popped up to explain my query. I’d have to figure things out on my own.
“Hey!” I shouted. “What am I in here for?”
None of my fellow prisoners so much as stirred.
I checked if I had any skills. If there was a menu with stats and traits, there had to be abilities to go with it. Much to my disappointment, I received a directionless notification.
『
Masteries will unlock when User has displayed sufficient proficiency in the relevant skills. If the User is already familiar in said field, Mastery will automatically rank up to an appropriate skill level.
』
So, no skills then.
I tried my best to piece together what the different statistics meant. I guessed Brawn was a combination of Strength and Constitution. Control had to be Dexterity and Agility, while Mind was probably Intelligence combined with Wisdom. Then again, has Wisdom ever been a real thing? What would it determine? No Mind had to be somehow related to memory and processing power. This was reality, not a video game. Surely, adding points to a screen wouldn’t make me smarter or wiser.
The rest weren’t so obvious. Arcana was somehow related to magic and mana. Perception obviously affected my senses while Charisma was an enigma. In every game, I’ve ever played, it has always been a vague concept. Higher Charisma usually meant an increase to bartering ability, access to more quests and additional information from otherwise suspicious characters. In some games, they’d make the individual more physically attractive, or have an irresistibly magnetic personality. Whatever the case, I was sure of one thing: Charisma would pair well with my relic.
I’d picked the jovian race because of its likability. From the description, it’d looked like the race would benefit the most from the stat. If you like someone, you’re less likely to kill them. Right? So then, why had I been imprisoned? What had I done?
As if to answer my question, a silhouette appeared at the end of the corridor. He, she, they, whatever gender they were, pushed a cart towards us. When it got closer, I recognised the creature from the available pool of races. It was a capper. Of course. The Devourer of Worlds had put me in a dungeon run by the one goblin-like race.
The capper came down the corridor, grumbling all the while. The cart’s wheels weren’t coping well with the uneven stone floor.
“Wake up, ye lazy slobs,” it said, sounding oddly Scottish. “Get yer tea before it gets cold. It’s colcannon and black pudding night.”
“I’m not eating your filthy slop,” the pointy-eared woman growled. “Just put an end to it already. Kill me, eat me, do whatever you want. I refuse to spend another moment in this pigsty!”
The capper twisted a knob on his cart, and a light at its head brightened. I got a good look at the two of them. It was as I guessed, the capper was male. Despite her status as a prisoner, the woman was gorgeous. The dirt on her skin and the grime in her hair did nothing to hamper her beauty. Probably an aelf.
“Eat you? What nonsense is that?” the capper laughed. “You were caught trespassing in our land, days from the Summit. This is only a safety precaution. If yer not going to eat, that’s no problem of mine.” he turned around to shine his light in my cell. “What about you, half-man? Are ye on hunger strike too? Cook doesn’t like it when you lot turn down food.”
“I’ll take it, I love colcannon.” I stuck my hands through the bars, and he put a bowl in my hands. After ladling a giant dollop of mash, he topped it with black chunks of sausage. The smell was divine, and I could see the bits of fried carrot and cabbage mixed in with the mashed potato. What more could I ask for? “Thanks, mate. This looks like proper home cooking. You wouldn’t happen to have any gravy on the cart, would you?”
The capper looked at me, taken aback. I guess my cheer threw him off. True, I was in a cell, but when served good food, how else would you react?
“I’m sorry, lad,” he said. “Spilt it on me way down. Was a good one too. Wild boar’s head and plenty of onions.”
“Damn, that must have been amazing. Oh well. Still, thank your Cook for me, yeah.”
“Will do, lad!” He grinned from ear to ear, his demeanour changing as we continued our conversation. On second thought, cappers weren’t that ugly or backward. Was the tooltip outdated? “You know your food do, ye?”
“I do.” Thinking on my feet, I came up with a quick story. “I grew up working in my uncle’s tavern. Cooked the meals, scrubbed the pans, played some songs for the guests. You know how it goes.”
“Boy, I do lad. There is an excellent little place near the stables, Klinkle’s. If you ever get out, step in and say, hi. Best stews and brews in town.”
“Now that I have you here, mister—I didn’t get your name, mate.”
“It’s Gorin Biggut the Second, but I like ye. So, you can call me Gor.” The aelf was looking at us, confused. Despite her hunger strike, Gor and I were chumming it up like old buddies. Within moments his tone had changed from rough to cheerful. It was a jarring shift, but I guess that meant I was using my Charisma just right.
“What did you need, lad? Is your cot too high for you? We mostly put big folk in here. We have a cell block for people our size, but the warden was worried them other cappers would gobble you up.” Gor looked back at the aelf. “Not literally, of course. They’re just a rougher crowd than what a jovian is used to.”
“I appreciate that, but I wanted to discuss something else,” I said, lowering my voice. Both of my fellow prisoners were focused on us now. “What am I in here for?”
“By the Shades, man. How drunk were you?”
I shrugged.
“You came to the city saying you were here to sample our local brews. We didn’t think it was a big deal. Jovian merchants often stop by to sample local products.” Everything sounded pretty standard so far. What did the Devourer of Worlds make me do? Rather, what did she make these cappers think I did? “Well, you got absolutely sloshed, lad. Then you whipped out your guitar and started a lovely ballad dedicated to all the girls in the crowd. What was it?”
He scratched at his big green head, trying to remember. Getting impatient, I felt tempted to rush him, but I reasoned my Charisma was helping me get through to him. The last thing I wanted to do was blow it. “That’s right! You called it ‘She’s So Lovely’. Said it was perfect when scouting for girls. Then the capper lasses gathered round, you looked around the crowd and changed the words to ‘She’s So Ugly’.”
Oh. That did sound like something I’d do. Maybe the Devourer of Worlds hadn’t strayed far from how I got after half a dozen pints. Or did she drop me off in the pub and did I do all of that myself? I’d never know.
“Well, the shaman’s daughter was out for her coming of age drink, lad. Ye pissed off a lot of people.”
“Can’t I make a public apology?” I asked. “As makers of good brews, you should know. You can’t hold a man liable for what he does under the influence.”
“On the contrary, lad, when half a barrel down, ye speak yer heart’s truth. That’s what we cappers say. Sit tight. We’ll get to yer trial in a year or two. I’ll tell Cook you like his food. We’ll figure something out.”
A year or two. No. Fucking. Way.
Dejected, I looked around my cell. The wooden box with a hole on top was clearly the toilet. I didn’t see any toilet paper, but there was a washbasin and two cups. I imagined they practised some sort of self-bidet. The lack of soap seemed very unhygienic though. It didn’t matter. I was going to get out. I didn’t know how or with what, but they weren’t going to keep me for long.
Next to the bars to my right, sat a cot. It was pretty high for my new size, and I cursed my measly Brawn score of one when struggling to climb onto it. I had to be missing something. Surely, the Cosmics had a rule preventing one of their ranks from dooming a prospective champion. Or did they have the freedom to do whatever they wanted to the people in their retinue?
I scanned the menus at my disposal. My guitar wasn’t in the cell with me. I could summon it, but then the Cappers would likely take it away and take precautions to make sure I didn’t do it again. Besides, what good would a guitar do now? Crossing my legs, I focused on my meal. Cook was talented, indeed.
Brainstorming options, I opened my status again. I hadn’t paid attention to the traits the last time. ‘Unassigned’ drew my attention. How did I miss it before? When I focused on it, a screen appeared in front of my eyes.
『
Jovians are blessed with two traits when they come of age. You have one and may pick another.
You may choose from the following three options:
Nimble Hands:
Your natural Control and race have made your fingers agile and dexterous. Whether you’re picking locks or pockets, weaving cloth or playing an instrument, nimble hands are your friends. Your base Control is twice as effective when your hands are involved.
Finders Keepers:
Closer to the ground, you’re more likely to spot anything shiny and useful. You may activate the trait to discover something that may help you out of a predicament. Gain an additional charge for every ten Perception. Charges replenish after a full night of sleep.
Blinding Charisma:
A winning smile is useless if people can see right through you. Sometimes, a distracting smile or an intimidating aura needs a little bit of help. 25% more Perception is needed to resist effects born of Charisma.
』
This wasn’t going to be an easy choice. I didn’t know what enabled me to pick a trait, and when I’d get the chance to pick again, but they all looked handy. Curious, the perks were very specific to my current situation. It was as if the system was wary of what I needed. Maybe the Cosmics didn’t have full control over it, and the system was designed to give everyone a chance at survival and success.
Finders Keepers looked like the best option, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t intend to invest in Perception. Still uncertain on how the system worked, I wasn’t sure whether I would have the points to spare. So, I discounted it as an option.
At first, Blinding Charisma looked like a brilliant candidate, but I didn’t know how stats scaled for everybody else and how much Charisma I’d need before getting use out of it, so I avoided picking it as an option.
Nimble Hands was the opposite. In the long term, I could see it becoming a vital perk for my growth, but it wouldn’t help me get out of prison. Even if I knew how to pickpockets, Gor didn’t come close to the bars, and I doubted he had the keys on his person. Still, it felt like a better option.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said, making me jump.
Chapter 5
Baby Don’t Lie No More
Sitting up, I looked at my fellow prisoners. I heard snoring from the man, while the aelf woman lay on her cot, looking away from me. It wasn’t either of the two, I was sure. It was too early for me to lose my sanity: barely an hour had passed of my existence as a conscious prisoner.
I went to select the perk again.
“Seriously, that’s a bad choice,” it said again.
“Who’s there?” I whispered, worried that I might actually be going insane. “Please be real.”
“You’re not crazy,” the voice laughed. “Look up.”
There was nothing on the ceiling. No hole, grate or any other opening for someone to talk through. All I saw was the same rocky surface that constituted the walls. It looked like the cappers had only bothered carving out the floor and raising the ceiling where required. Even then, it was only high enough for someone of capper or my stature to traverse quickly. Full-sized folk like the aelf woman would probably have to crouch to get through.
I lay back down and focused on the screen. Was it my conscious trying to stop me? I was reaching for my selection again when a fingernail-sized spider rappelled through the screen.
“Do you see me now?”
A shrill, lady-like scream escaped my lips as I smacked the little bug away.
“Hey! That’s not nice!” the voice exclaimed. “I just want to talk.”
“Spiders don’t talk!” I hissed. I didn’t want my neighbours to think I was crazy. “You don’t have the brain capacity for speech, let alone vocal cords.”
“I didn’t think you were so small-minded.”
Was it making a joke? Whoever heard of a spider making a joke? I really was going insane. Then it was there again. My attack hadn’t dislodged the spider from its silken stand. Now, it was swinging back and forth through my screen.
“Look, if you’ll just listen, I’m here to help.”
“Do a lot of people accept help from talking spiders?” I asked. I let the screen remain where it was. With its blue glow as a backdrop, I could see the spider easily.
“No, but you’d think in a world where gods walk amongst men, Cosmic powers are a proven entity and monsters don’t just inhabit myths and fairy tales, people would be more open-minded,” the voice answered. “I’m merely using this spider form as a conduit. A friend called in a favour, so I thought I’d offer you some help.”
“Why would anyone want you to help me? I don’t know anyone here.”
I jumped into an upright position on hearing a soft meow next to my ear. It was Boots. As soon as I was upright, she jumped into my lap. She was a lot bigger than I remembered her. No. Boots was the same size. I was just smaller.
“No, I’m not saying that, Miss Purrfect,” the spider said.
Boots meowed again.
“Fine. Miss Purrfect says you do her scritches just right. She wants to help, so that you’ll be in a better mood when she visits for future sessions.”
Oh. She was the antagonist here. Boots caused all of this. However, looking at the cat and realising she’d brought a friend to help, I couldn’t stay mad at her. Or, was this some mind trick she had brewing? As much as I loved cats, trusting one felt like a bad idea. Oh well. Nothing I could do about it now. So, I scratched the top of her head, and Boots’ ears went flat. She closed her eyes and purred.
