Chapter 93

Branded on the Lid of Each One.

75% Human.

I’d taken a detour that filled my belly for two days before continuing south to Jewelweed. I could now let my cloak flow open as I walked among the humans. I did have to keep my hood low so that my face was recessed in deep shadow.

The more human I became, the more I felt feverish. Chills crept beneath my skin, but I ignored all the discomfort. Ignored the cravings for dreambons. I was almost at the percentage I wanted to be at, and I was doing an excellent job of drawing less and less attention with small changes in my posture, pace, and demeanor. I studied humans as they laughed and did my best to mimic the trills. Jewelweed was a city full of people and laughter, so it wasn’t hard to pick up a few human mannerisms to add to my arsenal.

Since cities were more familiar to me now, and I had a bit of a grasp on the chaotic sprawl of roads and intersections, I didn’t need help finding the Wild Indigo alchemist shop. The shop occupied the first level of a two story building. Few people were inside, and the mood was calm and quiet. Library-like. Liquid bubbled in various glass tubes upon a table in the corner. Someone was bent over the glassware while rubbing their chin.

“Good day, traveler,” a woman said. “I’m Indigo. This is my shop. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Good day,” I said. “I’m looking for cowbell roots.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve none. What for, if I may ask? Perhaps I can find you a substitute.”

“It’s for my friend. Hawkin. He needs some for a beer.”

“Unusual.”

“It’s for his forest.”

“I don’t follow,” she said.

“Do you know where I can find cowbell roots?”

“I charge for foraging information.”

“How much?”

“Thirty silver.”

“That’s fine.”

“Aleesa,” Indigo called softly. “I’ll be in the back with our guest. Please tend to the table.”

“Yes, madam,” Aleesa said and scurried behind the main table piled with ingredients and several scales.

“Follow me,” Indigo said.

I followed her to a room filled with cabinets. In the center was a round wooden table littered with dried nature, coiled cordage, and a sprawl of maps. Indigo threw open the window shutters, letting in the midday sun.

“Cowbell roots” she muttered as she followed her pointing finger over several labeled cupboards. “Have a seat, please. Make yourself comfortable.”

I sat. She promptly exclaimed, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a map. It was torn, missing a good half. She unfurled it upon the table, weighed the corners, and studied the map. She rambled for a while, and by the fifth time I pointed to a crescent shaped lake, she discovered for herself that the crescent lake was indeed the location where cowbell roots grew like weeds.

“Where is this place?” I said.

“I… … don’t exactly know,” Indigo said. “What I do know is that this area is around Omes Arbor, which is the next city south of here. I’m sorry. Foragers' maps are hard to come by—many like to keep them secret—so often they offer only a clip of information when I get my hands on them. This one’s torn, obviously, so we’re missing a lot.”

“Omes Arbor,” I said.

“Just south of here.”

“That’s quite helpful,” I said.

“Talk to Wex Hill. She owns Poppy Wings, another alchemist shop in Omes Arbor. Good friend of mine. She might be able to help point you the rest of the way.”

“Just south of here?” I said.

“That’s right. Off a fork. Follow the signs. If you’ve gone to Lavenfauvish, then you’ve gone too far. If you’ve reached Holldam, then you’ve missed your destination by two cities.”

“This is a boon,” I said.

“Pleased to have been of assistance,” Indigo said with a genuine smile.

I paid, we bid each other farewell, and I explored Jewelweed some more.

One of the only things familiar to me was the smell of beer, so I followed that to the nearest tavern. A wooden sign read “Hearth’s Light” and swung on forged iron rings above the front doors.

I put myself at the bar and the bartender approached me.

“Early bird,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Beer,” I said.

“No shit.”

I laughed an inhuman laugh.

“Alright buddy, let’s calm it down. This is a respected establishment. None of that creepy adventurer stuff. You want a beer, or you want to leave?”

“Apologies,” I said. “I’ll have your best ale.”

“Grand Tavern Ale from Bitter Teat brewery. It’s a crisp ale.”

“I’ll have that,” I said.

“Coming right up. Have a seat.”

“Can’t. I’ll break the stool.”

The bartender squinted his eyes at me as he slammed a tankard down before me. The beer was crisp and light. Better than Hawkin’s beers. I quite enjoyed it. It was lip-smacking good.

The bartender wanted little to do with me, so I engaged my Merchant Options and used flattery and bribes through tips to disarm the tension. I leveled up from the bribery. Level 414 Merchant. After exhausting my mana, the bartender and I were in good standing. I chuckled at his jokes which went a long way and earned me his name and a handshake that bonded our camaraderie.

“Fantastic, Jesse,” I said. “I’d like another, please.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Jesse said. He slid another tankard of crisp ale my way. “Cheers.”

“Delicious,” I said.

“So what brings you to town?”

“I’m a merchant looking for cowbell roots.”

“Never heard of it,” Jesse said. “You sell roots and stuff?”

“Anything. Food. Snow. Beer.”

“Beer? No way.”

Jesse was curious since he was looking to expand the tavern’s offering. I told him about all the beers I had and shared one of Hawkin’s Super Tavern Ales. The simple barrels that had started as Poor man’s Ales had evolved into beer that Jesse considered buying from me. So I let him sample some more.

“I’m looking for a good house ale,” he said. “That’s all I’m really missing. Nothing too expensive or fancy. Something nice and easy for the working folk.”

“I withdrew a 15.5 gallon barrel from my inventory and set it down beside the counter with one hand.

“Damn, you’re stronger than you look,” he said.

Oops, I thought.

He continued. “You’re not offering to sell, are you?”

“I am.”

“Don’t hardball me here. I’m only willing to buy a barrel like that for 5 gold.”

After going through the maze of my Merchant Options, I secured a price of 7 gold per barrel. Jesse bought 10 barrels.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jesse said after I helped him roll the barrels behind the bar.

We lifted them onto curved racks over a pile of others right behind the bar. “Hawkin” was branded on the lid of each one, as well as over a few staves on one side. I stood back to read them. Hawkins name repeated ten times; one upside down. Front and center over the bar for all patrons to read.

Jesse stood beside me and clapped his hands together.

“Nicely done,” he said. “Appreciate doing business with you.”

“Appreciate doing business with you,” I said.