At the cost of a tacky shield and potentially a new reputation, Fenrir walks out of the shop with four more gold coins than he had before.

But is it really worth the cost? Fenrir wants to be known for fishing, not garlic!

The Divine Garlic?

The Garlic Brigade?

No, he could never name the crew something like that. Neither they nor The Shoebill deserves to have such a horrid name associated with them. Not even Bonekraka deserves to be associated with such a bad name.

“Hey, Corwin, we’re going to need some new rods. Got any places in mind?” Fenrir asks. Corwin and Oleander got some gear and rods of their own after that fight with Bonekraka, but one of the new rods went overboard during some fishing when a particularly strong fish got hooked, and one of the first two rods they had slipped out of Cassiel's hands into the water when Serra surprised her with some teasing. Therefore, they're back to needing two new rods.

“Ah, I know of a few places with excellent rods,” Corwin responds.

Fenrir is happy that Serra isn’t in-game and with them right now.

“Sweet. Mind taking me to one of them? We're going to need another two more rods. I think. If Oleander helms the ship, and Tabs and Bone do their own thing, then that leaves four of us able to fish.”

“That sounds right to me, captain. Will your pet be doing anything?” Corwin asks, looking down at Rock.

Fenrir looks down at her as well. “Nah. She just has to sit around looking cute. Isn’t that right, girl?”

Rock lets out a happy bark. Fenrir rewards her by rubbing the underside of her chin. Rock happily rolls her head down against his hand and lets her tongue hang out from the side of her mouth.

“Wait a second,” Fenrir pauses. He pokes Rock’s tongue.

It feels softer than before. Now that he thinks about it, it’s beginning to turn slightly reddish as well. There’s even a tiny bit of saliva in Rock’s mouth when he picks her up to look inside of it.

Rock happily pants and hangs in the air as Fenrir examines her body. He turns her around, holds her upside down, stares at her face, and gives her a bit of a shake.

Corwin looks the most concerned between the three of them.

“C-captain? Are you sure that handling her like that is safe for her health?” Corwin asks.

Fenrir looks at Corwin and turns Rock around so that she can look at him as well. They both nod.

Corwin learns not to question anything involving Fenrir and Rock.

What Fenrir has learned from his thorough examination of Rock is that she seems to be becoming more… natural – more like a realistic puppy. He’s already noticed that she’s been growing larger, but now that he’s really paying attention, she’s growing more features as well. She was just like a low-poly puppy model made out of smooth rock before. Now, her tongue is growing softer and lighter in color, her ears and tail are more flexible and have little spots of rock sticking up from them to give them a bushier appearance, and she looks like she has more joints and flexible body parts in general now.

Her torso was just one block of rock when she first turned from a rock into Rock. That same torso now looks like it has several cracks in it that allow her to properly bend and twist her body.

“Rock, I don’t want to say that you can’t evolve if you want to, but try to at least stay like a wolf, alright? I can’t just spam the B button to stop you from evolving, and I don’t want you suddenly turning into something super different. You need to stay as a cute puppy, okay?” Fenrir explains to her.

Rock barks and licks his face in agreement.

“They do say that a dog is a man’s best friend, do they not?” Corwin chimes in.

“That’s right! Plus, if you think about it, we’re both wolves. We’re part of a pack. I’m the alpha of the pack and Rock here is my co-alpha,” Fenrir says.

“Do packs of animals usually not have just a single alpha?”

“Boring packs do, but we’re all about equality here – we’ve got to be equally awesome. Rock is my partner, not my subordinate.”

“If you do not mind my saying so, you certainly are quite the odd one, Fenrir.”

“I get told that a lot. Anyways, let’s go to one of those rod shops.”

Corwin leads Fenrir and Rock to another one of the shops that he knows of, this one being back near the docks.

There is an incident that involves Rock getting into a staring contest with a cat along the way.

Fenrir carries Rock the rest of the way to the shop to make sure that she doesn’t get into any trouble.

The cat follows along with them off to the side, always in Rock’s sight, but forever out of her reach.

Rock makes many disgruntled whines and growls. She even tries looking up at Fenrir with big puppy eyes to hopefully convince him to allow her to attack the taunting feline, but alas, she is given no such permission.

Rock lifts a paw and smacks Fenrir in the face.

“Did you just… smack me?” Fenrir asks.

Rock barks, but she follows it up with a lick which makes Fenrir instantly forgive her.

“She is going to be spoiled if you do not punish her for misbehaving,” Corwin says.

Fenrir and Rock both look at him as if confused by what he just said, eyebrows raised and heads tilted. “So?” Fenrir asks.

“Such an odd captain. Now then, the shop is right there.”

The three head indoors. Fortunately, Rock is allowed in most shops as long as there aren’t any clothes on display. Or rocks.

Fenrir was walking around the city looking through various shops the other day. One of them was a “materials” shop which had various types of rocks and ores on display.

Rock was salivating the moment she entered the shop.

Fenrir learned not to take Rock into such a shop again.

“Hey there! Here to get yourself a new rod for the tournament?” the shopkeeper asks as soon as the trio walks inside.

“How’d you know?” Fenrir smiles and asks.

“It’s what everybody else has been coming in here for lately! Take a look around and let me know if you see somethin’ you like.”

“Will do, thanks.”

Three walls of the shop are covered with rods of various types. Some of them are casting rods, others are spinning rods. Some are for trolling, others are for fly fishing. In the center of the shop are a few stands with pots and cages meant for crabbing, there are shelves with colorful lures and different types of lines, and there are other tools such as nets, tackle boxes, and floaters.

Fenrir looks like a child in a candy shop, or like Oleander in a bar full of masculine, burly men.

He wonders if Corwin knows about Oleander’s previous escapades.

Fenrir starts picking up items and taking them over to the counter. He picks up a tiered tackle box, some scissors to cut line and pliers to help pull any stuck hooks out of fish mouths, some floaters and a few lures, a net that has an extendable pole long enough to reach down into the water from The Shoebill’s deck, and then checks on the price of everything to see how much he has left to spend on rods.

Everything that he has picked out so far amounts to one gold and fifty silver. Not too bad. At least, that’s what he thinks until he actually looks at the rods.

There are price tags on each one, and they’re all anywhere from two gold to over twenty gold.

One of the rods is almost thirty gold!

“Why… why’s this one so expensive?” Fenrir asks, holding the rod.

“Ah, that one! It’s the nicest one we’ve got. It is more than worth the price, I assure you. The line there is made out of the silk of a giant cave spider. You know about those?” the shopkeeper asks.

“Giant spiders? I uhh, would rather never learn about them.”

“Hah! Don’t worry, that’s how most players feel about them. Their webs are more durable than steel. You collect enough of their silk and you’ve got yourself a fishing line that isn’t going to snap no matter what’s pullin’ on it. A fish is goin’ to tear your arms off from pulling on your line before it snaps. That’s what happens when you use the silk from something that weaves it to capture dragons and ogres. Damn things are the kings of the underground.

“So the line is the only reason it’s so expensive?”

“Only half of it! The rod there, try bending it. Bend it as hard as you can. Don’t worry, it won’t break.”

Fenrir looks hesitant to try and bend what looks like such a beautifully crafted rod, but he does it.

It bends, and bends, and bends, but never snaps. It returns to its original position as soon as he lets go of it without any evidence of him having just bent it.

“What kind of wood is this?” Fenrir asks.

“Steel oak.”

“Let me guess, more durable than steel?”

“You got it! These trees are damn rare. You’ll find about one of ‘em for every five hundred or so regular oaks, and you can’t tell the difference between them until you take an axe to it only for the blade to crack against the bark!”

“Then how do you chop it down?”

“Lots of axes.”

Fenrir wants to question that but instead nods and accepts it. “Fair enough.”

“So, you want that beauty?” the shopkeeper asks.

“I wish. It’s about ten times more expensive than I can afford,” Fenrir says with a sigh.

“Just win the tournament and then come back here for it!”

“What’s the reward anyways? I keep forgetting to ask about that.”

“Two hundred gold coins, all the meat and material parts from the final catch, and then a special reward that nobody knows about yet. Last time it was a ship, before then it was a mansion in the city, but this time the rumors are that the elf king is in charge of the final reward.”

“What’s he like? I keep overhearing people talking about him.”

“Don’t know much about him myself other than that he’s the blue bitch of the west.”

“So, he’s like an elf and male version of Indra?”

“Supposedly.”

“Got it, thanks.”

Fenrir returns his attention to the rods.

There’s one other rod that catches his attention and is affordable. It looks cool enough for him, too.

The more he looks at it, the more he realizes it’s unlike any other rod in the shop.

Its blank is almost pure white – as white as his hair. A few swirls can be seen in the smoothed wood which makes it look like it was designed that way on purpose, but Fenrir figures that it’s just a natural pattern. The reel itself is made out of iron and some light red wood.

Fenrir realizes something.

With the white blank and the light red reel, it matches his hair and eyes respectively.

But how much is it?

He looks at the price tag.

Two gold. It’s cheaper than he thought it would be, but that only leaves him fifty silver.

“I will take this one, captain,” Corwin says.

Fenrir looks over and sees him holding a dainty rod that looks like it will snap from even the slightest bit of bending. He looks back at the white rod. He really wants it, but it wouldn’t be fair to selfishly buy it for himself and leave Corwin with one so lackluster. He looks at Corwin again and opens his mouth to talk.

“Please, Fenrir, do not worry about me. This is more than enough for me, and I can tell how much you want that one,” Corwin says first.

Fenrir looks at the price tag on it. It’s only twenty silver.

“Are you sure?” Fenrir asks. “I don’t mind trying to get us equal rods. I don’t want you—”

“I promise that it is alright, captain. Consider it my thanks to you for bringing Oleander to this city. Without your choice to come here, I never would have met him.”

“You really like him, don’t you? You’ve only been together for a week.”

“I know. I worry that I may be moving too fast, but my feelings are what they are. Now, please purchase that rod for yourself. It is a very beautiful rod, and you eye it so wantingly.”

Fenrir smiles at Corwin’s explanation. He’s always been good at reading people, and he doesn’t sense that Corwin is lying, so he must genuinely feel as strongly as he does for Oleander. “Got it. Thanks, Corwin. Glad to have you with us.”