Some time ago…

  Henry stared, slack jawed as he entered Peak’s Point. The blacksmith’s shop was not to be confused with Point’s Peak, the lovely tavern. Peak’s Point, rather, was a different establishment entirely. No relation, of course - both Gregory, the innkeeper, and Hank, the blacksmith, would be quick to shout. What they could NOT seem to agree on, however, was who had come up with their name first. It was the source of a long rivalry between the two, and quite too many court cases besides - only to be technically settled when a judge decided that the two businesses were far too different to compete each other, and to please stop bothering him about this entirely because it is 3 in the morning, thank you very much.

  That didn’t stop the dirty looks they’d give each other from across the square, however.

  All of that nuance was lost on Henry, however. Fidgeting hands gave away how out of place the laborer was before he shoved them into his pockets. He tried to compensate for them, doing his best impression of a nonchalant walk as he strolled the shop front. He tried to match the vaguely interested gaze he had seen adventurers make. The kind of gaze that said, “Yes, these are all normal tools that I use quite often.” Henry thought he was pulling that off rather well. It helped that he had no idea what many of these items that lined the walls were in the first place.

  Shelves were lined with some kind of flat rocks, each of them with some kind of softly glowing rune on them. Some of them were so thin, they seemed they might break if he looked at them wrong. Henry had an urge to reach out, poke one of them off of its stand to see if it shattered. He thought better of it. Some of them were quite sturdier, a kind of good, strong thickness he could appreciate. However, the runes on those glowed brighter - hinting at more power being stored within. Henry wondered if he could feel that power, if he were to reach out. That, too, he thought better of. Tragically, it seemed the only things he might be willing to touch - good, honest tools and weapons - were kept behind the counter, and behind the shopkeep.

  And therein lied the problem. Henry was having a hell of a time not staring. Behind the counter was the biggest fishman he had ever seen.

  Henry considered himself a durable, strong man, but the fishman put him to shame. He was about a head taller than Henry, with muscled arms about as thick as Henry’s legs. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of wasted fat on his body - a fact that was made evident by the complete lack of a shirt on that scaled skin. The scales on his front were mostly white, while much of his head and what Henry could see of his back were a light brown.

  In fact, were it not for those scales, everything from the neck down could fit in perfectly in a human bodybuilding contest. Could win, even - a frame like that could be one of the greats. His head was a different story entirely. Because his head… well.

  His head was a fish. A codfish, to be exact, complete with little fins on the side and back of his head that looked comically small when paired with such a muscled frame. A further oddity; black hoses of some sort were attached to Hank’s back. They traveled up, where they each hung from a small hole in the ceiling, their source unseen. As Hank occasionally moved, some hidden mechanism pulled in and let go enough slack to keep those hoses relatively unobtrusive.

  The fish’s eyes blinked, and he folded his arms. This jostled the various hoses that reached down from the ceiling, a subtle noise that called attention his way. “Greetings! I’m Hank. How can I help you today?” his voice was a smooth bass with just a slight bit of rumble to it. It was the kind of voice that could lull someone into relaxation. It was the kind of voice that had seen things. And could tell you everything was alright. Henry might have wanted to swoon. If it wasn’t a bodybuilding fish. That… was not quite his type. Wouldn’t stop his wife though. Maybe Henry could watch.

  Henry nodded to Hank, clearing his throat as he approached the man. “Right, yes,” he kept most of his uncertainty at bay, hidden. “Looking to set out for a job. Could be violent. Need some gear. A sword. A halfway decent enchantment. The, ah, normal affair.”

  Hank, however, remained silent. Fish eyes examined Henry from head to toe in agonizing silence. Henry felt, in this moment, more test subject than customer. He couldn’t help but swallow. A bead of sweat rolled down his head. Hank’s flippers twitched a bit. Then, finally, the fish head turned slightly from side to side.

  “If you knew what you were doing,” Hank sighed. The fish eyes blinked. Its brows furrowed. “You’d know there is no standard affair. Point of advice. At least know what kind of weapon you want before you go shopping for one.” Hank leaned forward slightly, and placed two meaty hands on the counter in front of him. “As you are, I could sell you the finest blade with the most powerful attachments. Wouldn’t help. The magic would fail you, sir. Once it gets down to brass tacks, an artifact in your hand would be little better than any mundane blade.” Hank nodded his fish head towards the door. The fins flopped around a little. “Take it from me; go back to your life. The rough and tumble won’t suit you.”

  Henry gulped. He clenched his fist slightly, hardening his expression just like he attempted to harden his will. One hand dug into his pack, clutching something. It made the sound of rustling paper - a map. Achieved at great price. “I’m going out. With or without gear. I…” the laborer cleared his throat, forcing strength into his words. “I have to. Let me buy something. Help my chances, at least.”

  Another silence hung between the two of them, until Hank finally seemed to relent. He made an irritated clicking noise as he turned away from his counter, resting his gaze on the weapons and runes to the side. Henry got his first good look at how those hoses attached. To his shock, they were not attached to any mechanism - Rather, they were bolted. Straight into the angry, reddened flesh on Hank’s back. Henry gulped. Tried not to show his uneasiness. “...Fine. If you’re determined to get yourself killed. We’ll get you something. You won’t be able to use the more powerful Attachments, even if I did sell them to you. But maybe…” the fishy weapons dealer raised a hand to fishy lips, tapping them as he slowly considered.

  “Well, why not?” Henry protested. It was his turn to lean forward, to put his meaty hands on the counter. His turn to try to look imposing - even if this fishman WAS clearly the bigger. “I can swing a weapon with the best of any of them. I’ve been in a tumble.” He gripped the edge of the counter, feeling old aches from his calloused knuckles from a few desperate struggles. He narrowed his eyes, channeling the pain from those times. “Try me.”

  “Maybe more than most. The point still stands. You see…” Hank picked up a few different runes as he talked. All ones on thinner stone, their glow barely perceptible. He weighed them in his hands, considering, looking Henry over again. “Magic… has a will of its own. See, different types of magic are attracted to different types of people. For all of man’s effort to shape, bend, force it to our means, it always keeps at least some amount of will. So if you want to use a certain Attachment, well…” Hank shrugged, the hoses lifting with his shoulders. “You gotta earn it. Trials, tribulations, victory, the like.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Henry snapped, gripping the counter again. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. Or overcome.”

  Hank didn’t seem to react, merely taking his time as he examined options. “Don’t mistake me. I’m sure you’ve accomplished a lot.” Hank seemed to settle on a few objects. He hefted a decently long spear. A solid looking shield. A few runes to go with it. One by one, he began to place the items on the counter. “For most of us, our accomplishments are the steady kind. Day in, day out, slowly built brick by brick. For weapons though…” Hank shook his fish head. “Weapons want to be used. So they want to belong to someone that can use them. It seems to look for…” Hank paused, thinking of the words, “Momentous occasions. Brutal combat. That sort of thing. In short,”

  Hank leveled his gaze at Henry. “The requirement is to provide a Sense of Pride and Accomplishment for unlocking different Attachments.”

  The fishman began holding up some runes in front of Henry, gauging his reaction. “If you’re so determined to get yourself killed,” he swapped one rune out for another, “Let’s see if we can’t get you to live a little longer.”

  —--

  Currently…

  Shraeh walked behind her new… companion? No. That seemed too intimate. Acquaintance? Too dry. Partner? The pink-skinned nottling might take that as an invitation. Horrifying. Shraeh came up with a decision, finally: She would simply never refer to their arrangement by name until Kalli did it first. That would be wisest.

  It would also give her time to observe Kalli before coming to any conclusions about her behavior. Shraeh had heard things, of course. First, there was what some people thought about nottlings. Untrustworthy, scheming, dirty. Villainous. Illogical, all. Even if there were inclinations, Shraeh would not do one the injustice of assumption without careful consideration. Second, there were opinions to be shared about Kalli. Scandalous ones. Then there were facts, history, events. By themselves, each could amount to nothing of use. Taken all together? Still only a shred of the truth. Shraeh stared at the nottling’s back, considering. What gossip had been tainted by assumption? What facts had been misinterpreted?

  What of her own biases? Could she name them?

  She pulled a silver necklace up and out from where it was tucked away underneath her modest, concealing breastplate. As she did, Shraeh glanced to and fro, gauging and weighing the actions of those around. She counted glances and weighed the heaviness of steps. Nottpoint had been abuzz with talk of the nottling since the… ‘incident’. Shraeh still wasn’t sure what to call that. Regardless, she could only come to the conclusion that the subject was still on the minds of most. She read it in the hurried glances that heightened her nerves. She measured it in the higher than average berth they were given, leaving them blessedly uncrowded.

  Fingers found the small charm on her necklace. A small, smooth oval, its edges marked by near a hundred ridges. On the face was engraved a symbol most holy. One thick line came down to a tapered tip. Two lines branched off near the bottom, perpendicular, before curving down. A pitchfork. A symbol of defiance. Of unity. Of strength. Of freedom. Shreah ran her scaled thumb over that pitchfork in a rhythmic side to side, her breathing calculated and steady. She may need to call on Notadae’s strength, in time. For now? Cooler heads and logic would prevail.

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  “What makes you suspect the Peak’s Point?” Shraeh asked. She noted the bard was humming, but it was a tune she could not place. “Is it your… earthsong?” She kept her inner skeptic at bay, for now. Getting into a discussion would be… suboptimal.

  “Naaaaah,” Kalli responded. She reached her hands up in a stretch, then behind her head, where she interlaced her fingers. Kalli leaned back slightly as she walked, using her tail to keep her balance. It occasionally twitched, to and fro; Shraeh was aware that some animals used tails to communicate emotion. But could this be a dog’s happy wag, or a cat’s warning of overstimulation? Or it could be something else, Shraeh supposed. In any case, Kalli simply kept walking. The bard kept looking straight ahead, either ignoring or oblivious to the judges and stares of those around her. Shraeh thumbed her necklace in thought, before scratching at the scales on her face. Where she had used makeup to draw a little heart.

  Shraeh had considered offering to draw a heart on Kalli’s face as well. It made Shraeh look very cute and unintimidating. People had said so. So logically, it was true.

  Kalli continued. “It’s not like it tells me where to do, or where to go.” Shraeh tensed her forehead as she thought, slotting away the new information. “It just like, plays music.” Kalli shrugged. “Whatever kind of sounds our Good Girl Gonottion. - G to the G to the G - thinks is appropriate. Sometimes it clues me in. Or sometimes it just helps me rock out.” Kalli looked back over her shoulder at Shraeh. She had an open-mouthed smile that let her abnormally long purple tongue drape out of her mouth. Her eyebrows were narrowed, and her hand was doing a peculiar symbol. Kalli’s middle two fingers were bent down, and her thumb tucked inside to hold them. Index and her last, smaller finger - pinky? - instead stuck straight up.

  Shraeh’s free hand, the one not holding her necklace, mimicked the symbol as she committed it to memory. She had one less finger, but it was still an easy symbol to reproduce. She tucked her middle finger in. Held it with her thumb.

  “Heeey!” Kalli switched into a grin, and suddenly twisted around to walk backwards. Both hands changed their symbols. Now, both of the Bard’s index fingers were pointed straight at Shreah, and the lizard tensed. Kalli’s thumbs pointed up to the sky, with the rest of her pink fingers tucked in - a spell? Shraeh tensed as her mind raced for possible arcane gestures that could be, before -

  Ah, guns. Kalli was ‘giving the finger guns’. She had heard of this one.

  “Look at you!” Kalli kept walking backwards without a care. Shraeh sent her eyes forward, dancing between each nearby townsperson, on edge in case Kalli walked into catastrophe. “You’re a rocker too!” Of course, watching out was difficult with the bard’s incessant distractions.

  “Yes, but,” she paused somewhat before continuing, considering. But, she had already started the sentence; might as well finish it, now. “For you, shouldn’t the rocker symbol be more like,” she tucked her first and last fingers in somewhat, until they barely pointed past her other knuckles. “This?”

  Kalli’s eyes narrowed, although her stride didn’t change. A sign of displeasure. Shraeh tensed again. Had she miscalculated? Already, she contemplated a few different ways she could counteract her own misstep. But, contradictingly, a smile had begun to creep into the nottling’s pink face. “Ohhh,” she chuckled. “Lizard’s got jokes. Alright.” Kalli put her ‘finger guns’ away, instead opting to rest her hands behind her head. “Alright alright. Game on, Shraeh. Game on.”

  Ah, beans. What had she stumbled into?

  So caught up in her ruminations, she almost didn’t notice the obstacle until it was too late. “Monk, behind you. Careful.” Kalli made a quick glance forward, over her shoulder, and took a quick step to the side. Shraeh followed suit to avoid trampling over the man. He was sat, not quite directly in the middle of the street, but directly in their walking path. Bony legs lay crossed over one another. Sunken cheeks and dark shadows under his eyes stared blankly forward, even as Kalli narrowly avoided tripping over him. The Monk’s robes were in good enough condition. Relatively new and intact, even - he was no beggar. He blinked. Occasionally. His chest rose and fell. But those were the only signs of life in the man that looked like he could waste away any moment.

  A few coins scattered on the ground in front of them - donations left by hopefuls or perhaps other worshippers of Nottori. The enlightened god of self acceptance. Shraeh paused in her tracks as she stared at the monk, feeling a stab of pity lance through her heart. She clutched her own holy symbol, the pitchfork amulet. It was similar in structure to the monk’s, but its symbol showed a foot. Nottori’s holy symbol. “How much power are you channeling, Monk?” she found herself muttering aloud. “Will you become yourself again before death?”

  “Shraeh. Come on.” The mirth was gone from Kalli’s eyes. The bard wrapped her hand around Shraeh’s, giving a pleading tug. Kalli seemed to look everywhere but the monk. She bounced on the balls of her feet, glancing to and fro. “Just… one crisis at a time, right? Monks give me the creeps. Let him accept his death or whatever.”

  Shraeh took a deep breath in, closing her eyes before she exhaled. “If it were truly him accepting it…” she began a protest, but let it die halfway through. “How much of you is left in there, Monk? How much is Nottori?” she mused, before she forced her foot to take a step away. It was like dragging lead. But Kalli was right. One crisis at a time.

  She clutched her amulet tighter with empathetic pain. The Monk would live for now. Henry might not. She could come back later.

  The two walked in silence for a bit. Their destination, Peak’s Point, was still a few minutes away. It was Kalli’s idea; Shraeh was content to see how it played out. See what new angles this could give them.

  “Where was I?” In a flash, it seemed, all of Kalli’s earlier discomfort had been forgotten. At least she walked forward now. Thank Notadae. “So, yeah. Earthsong didn’t tell me to go here, but it makes sense, you know?” Kalli shrugged, while Shraeh still puzzled over the sudden change of mood. “Before we fucked, I could tell he had been out and about. He was a bit scruffed up, you know? He had that look in his eye, like,” Kalli shrugged, one hand leaving the back of her head to gesture vaguely into the air. “Like he had seen something. Like he was in danger. So if he expected danger, maybe he came to get himself equipped. Where else would he go from here?”

  Shraeh held a hand to her chin, and let that mull over in her head for a bit before responding. She shook her head. “No. You assume too many variables,” she decided. “And too many leaps of logic. Every statement you made has a myriad of possible causes, so much so that no exact conclusion can be drawn.”

  “Nah,” Kalli shook her head with a grin. “His new belt came from here. Recognized the symbol.”

  “Ah. You should have led with that.”

  “Psh. And miss the chance to sound smart? In your dreams. Oh hey. We’re here.”

  Indeed they were. From the outside, it didn’t look like anything special. But Shraeh had heard of Hank, the fishman blacksmith. Good things, mostly. Kalli, once more, led the way by swinging the door open far more forcefully than necessary and making a few big strides in, arms spread upward to either side. Shraeh decided to observe for now. Bards were supposed to be great with people. Clever manipulators and shrewd negotiators - this was a rare chance to see one in action. Shraeh began to focus, taking note of Kalli’s mannerisms and approach. She filed away each subtlety in her mind, hopefully to digest (and possibly use) properly later. For starters, Kalli’s loud abruptness made her look the idiot, which could be useful. It also would be effective at forcing attention towards her. Kalli’s posture was wide open. Showing she had nothing to hide, perhaps?

  “Haa-aank!” Kalli sang as she approached the fishman’s counter. Shraeh followed, only to be immediately distracted by the hoses attached to the fishman’s back. Her eyes followed them upwards, to where they disappeared in the ceiling. Her brow furrowed. Why keep the source out of sight? Would laypeople find that disconcerting? Shraeh moved her eyes back to the hoses themselves. Contrary to wherever the silent source was, Hank seemed to make no effort to hide those. She pursed her lips in thought. The hoses were fine to be visible, but not the source of what they pumped?

  People. People were… odd,

  “Oh god,” Hank sighed, heavy and weary, as he rested scaled hands on the countertop. He shook his fish head left and right, slowly, letting his rear fin flop behind him. “Not you. Not now.”

  Kalli simply moved forward, striking a similar posture. She leaned forward, placing her own hands on the counter opposite Hank’s. Her back was more arched than weary, her neck craned slightly upwards in order to look Hank in the eye. “Ahhh come on Hank. You know you missed me. How about I cut you a deal, hm?” Kalli’s rear, and tail, began a gentle sway back and forth.

  “I’ll suck your dick for a silver.”

  Shraeh choked for a moment in surprise, stumbling as she tripped over nothing. She couldn’t stop her eyes from widening, staring at the pink nottling in shock.

  “Pass.”

  “Two silver. Final offer.”

  “You know your offer is supposed to improve when you haggle, right?”

  Kalli blinked in a short pause, tilting her head to the side. “But I am offering you a better deal.”

  There was another short pause between the two. Shraeh used it to try to piece Kalli’s tactic together, in vain. Clearly, the bard’s stratagems were far too complex for her to follow.

  Once again, Hank shook his head. “Look, Kalli. Doesn’t matter how many times you ask. You’re not sucking my dick.” Hank moved away from the counter, breaking eye contact as he began to move a few things back and forth. Leaving them no more organized than before he started. “Especially not… well. You know. With Henry.”

  “That’s bullshit, Hank.”

  “What’s bullshit? The thing about Henry, or my cock staying out of your mouth?”

  Kalli scoffed. “Both.” She straightened her back, pointing a finger at Hank. “But, come on. Real talk, if you want to bring Henry up. Even if I could, I wouldn’t… do that, to someone. You know that.” Kalli ended that sentence softly. Neither of the two looked at each other as they shared a moment of silence. “Look, did he… come by, recently? In the past week or so? We’re wondering if you might know anything.” Kalli leaned forward a bit, moving a hand closer towards Hank - but just out of reach. Shraeh shifted her position to watch. Kalli’s eyes had widened slightly, her eyebrows raised just a touch.

  Hank paused in what he had been doing, debating something in his mind before setting a small hammer down on a shelf. Finally, he replied. “You know I don’t tell people my customer’s business. It’s private.” Shraeh could see no sign of the large fish man relenting, yet Kalli pressed forward anyway.

  “I know.” Kalli breathed, and nodded gently. “I know, I know. People love you for that. It’s just…” Kalli sucked in a steadying breath. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t so important. He’s still alive, Hank. He’s…” Kalli’s eyes met Hank’s once again, pleading. “He’s suffering, and we don’t know how much longer he can hold out like that.” Kalli’s hand closed the rest of the distance between them, letting it linger on the scales on Hank’s bicep. “Just… a hint. If you suspect anything. That’s all.” Shraeh noticed the first crack in Hank’s stern exterior. The fins on his head flapped. Hank took a sharper breath thank usual. His muscles stiffened, his grip tightened on a shelf.

  Kalli delivered the coup de grace. “Please. For Henry.”

  “Damnit.” Hank suddenly moved away from Kalli as he let a sigh escape. With the sigh, left considerable tension. His fish eyes closed for a bit, one hand gently grabbing onto one of his fins, which he rubbed between thumb and index finger. “Wait here.” he muttered before turning around with careful steps, to avoid becoming tangled in his own hoses. He walked away from the two, pulling more hose down from the ceiling to give himself more slack before reaching into a drawer.

  “Told him it was a bad idea.” His head’s rear fin flopped back and forth as he shook his head, pulling out a map. “He wouldn’t tell me why. I could barely get the location of him, and even that was only so I could advise him properly on gear.” He scoffed. “Rookies always forget the basic gear.” Hoses in one hand, map in the other, he returned to the counter where he placed his map. He pointed one scaled finger at the nearby mountain range - one considered largely inhospitable to most. “There. He was going there. Just the base of the mountain, he claimed. That’s all I know.”

  They had their destination.