Casting my inner sight upon the town, I excitedly withdrew it well before we got close to the inn. There were eight presences of much higher strength. Of course it’s important to know who the important players are before setting up your own faction, but that was more or less just another excuse to go out on the town.

It may seem like I left Tagalong Girl and Ria alone frequently, but recall I’m sparing you the details of the myriad times where I never left their side while travelling the wilderness. I figured it would be a nice momentary reprieve from my presence.

Speaking of which, at the moment I was honing my skill using my Soul Strands to cast to create a mental image of the area. Soon, I could just leave one or two behind to keep guard while I— well moved up to a kilometer away, but that was a kilometer farther than I could move now without worry. I foresaw a wondrous future where I could cobble together an army of clones using simple spells.

Back in the present, more or less was like looking at piles of cottony squiggles, which actually made it much easier to parse. It lacked detail, but with what amounted to 10 additional eyes with 360° vision, some overlapping, some separate, the simplicity(read:poor quality) eased me into the practice. I could see that presence observing us, but I wouldn’t have been able to identify them as anything more than a curious citizen without cheating and using my regular eyeballs.

Taking in the sights, while it lacked paving stones, the buildings rising up on either side of the road stood a fairly regular three stories tall. More so than their height, each floor impressively jettied out about four feet. Surely this would darken the town rather ominously in daylight, but at night the difference felt negligible. However what truly felt eye catching were the struts— that phrasing simply doesn’t do them justice, they were more like ornate inverted flying buttresses. Getting more room on the second, third, or even fourth floors was all just a happ side effect of having reason to create magnificently artful timbers. Rising dragons of the asian variety stretched from ground to sky, collections of various weapons, simple patterns, or mural that told a story.

Again, the region’s woodworker’s showed off their pride. Despite numerous crevices, all remained clean and well taken care of. So in a classic show of arrogance from an outsider who didn’t fully understand the customs of the town, several of the mural timbers were not properly cleaned, drawing my attention. Positioned quite close to the entry, without any aura of death, and with shutters designed for surreptitious peeking, they looked to be a mere scout.

“Why might one keep watch over those entering a city?” I quietly asked Tagalong Girl.

“Threats and boons, to be the first to secure contact, or seize goods, this usually only happens if someone is in dire straits, since it’s usually more effective to be proactive. Watching those who enter a city, especially those coming in at odd hours, there should first be an attempt to identify them, determine what they are bringing into the city, and if trouble is likely to occur directly or indirectly. Bureaucracy is a third option where someone will mechanically follow rules to watch people because those in charge of deciding what poses a threat don’t trust their judgement.”

“Mmn, good, good.” She managed to emphasize the issues that we would likely run into. Extemporaneously working on multiple levels made me wish I had something proper to award her with. “In any case, rest like your sister while I secure the lodgings. I’ll bring the two of you in afterwards. At most I’ll give you a numeric puzzle tonight, you need to catch up on your sleep while we have a proper bed.”

Tagalong Girl remained unwilling to question my decision, and nodded as Sparky trotted to a stop beside a large building with a kinetic pattern on the sign. A smoothly rotating lotus with curved spokes creating a moire pattern behind. While likely utilizing the simple technology used in grandfather clocks, being unnecessary made it all the more appealing.

Stealing a glance behind me, the three or so people still on the streets were stall owners who’d only just finished packing up their goods. The one who’d been eyeing us as we entered remained in place. Entering the inn, while it did look nice on the outside, I could feel the inexperience of the establishment.

While fancy, tables were only placed along the walls, and half the first floor was walled off to serve as the backroom. There was no intent to serve food constantly, leaving the halls empty and dampening the mood considerably. Bare bones accommodations are all travelers require, but people spend enough time traveling alone. Floral carvings upon that raised stage meant nothing on a void stage in an empty hall.

Towards the back center of the room, the fist sized knocker gave two hollow thuds followed by some deep echo from something within the wall.

A kinetic sculpture is a charming little installation, but I didn’t quite understand the aesthetics of this mechanism. Other than the practicality of maintenance, it disturbed the other guests in the building. As long as it’s carved from wood it’s fine in this area of the chapter I supposed.

The innkeep was slow to respond, overall an uninteresting fellow. Handing over the money, I half wondered if I should seek out money instead of information. Our adventuring coffers remained quite full, but it didn’t make sense for a couple of vagabonds(one of whom was sick) managed to run around with so much money and no knowledge of how to get more.

I could be as prodigal as I liked, but Tagalong Girl already lacked a sense of normality. I could only ask her to stay in once again. Nomads are an inherently foreign group of people, hopefully upon settling down for a few months there would be enough time for her to acquire a sense of normalcy before we set out again.

“*Hmm, settling down, settling down. Tsk, relying on people living their lives is so undependable for situations like these.*” Muttering aloud, my Soul Strands had yet to be discovered, so I boldly began letting loose detection spells from my own position. While still the same spell, it was the difference between working with your non-dominant hand. In normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be so important— with 10 other locations without an optimized UI, it was a welcome decrease in difficulty.

“*Well, dear fellow, you don’t seem to mean any harm. But how do I avoid your suspicion?*” Walking at a moderate pace through town, the pursuer made no moves to catch up, even after I moved through the blind spots of surrounding windows. Purely a reconnaissance mission for him then. If only he made the first move that would be a much better excuse for a reasonable retreat.

Turning a corner, I scanned the next street to find— nothing of help. If there’d been any forgotten or loose products, or even something to create a puddle I could engineer a way for the pursuer to make a sound, but this place was too tidy! Did these expansive buildings simply have enough room? Were the peasants living such free lives they could afford to clean up after themselves so thoroughly? Glaucen’s streets were filled with stalls of goods left out overnight, was public order lacking here?

In any case, I could only make so many right hand turns before even the most novice of pursuers could realize something amiss. Things would be so much easier if I had some conjuration spells. My Inventory could let me ‘conjure’ roughly a metric ton of bones, various sorts of plant matter, or perhaps a goblin treasury, but nothing to help me cleverly escape the situation.

So I unhappily dropped a single aurum on the ground, stationed soul strand nearby, and had it use to shift it under my pursuer’s foot, with a small dash of to give it a comical glint in the moonlight.

I basically just bribed him away, how dull. After all, I had business to attend to, or try and start.

Depending on your preconceptions, an overly clean environment is just as unsettling as a place in disarray; unnaturally sterile and uninhabited despite the fact I could sense people in almost all the buildings. While villages had sturdier and larger housing the closer to Medean, Terdri certainly jumped much farther ahead in terms of inefficiently utilized space. Luckily upon reaching the northwestern quarter, streets thinned, and fish bones were cast aside in corners.

Fishy filth foresaw finding a forlorn friend or two, those transient who felt dependent on the bounty of the river, not quite able to set foot back into society properly. Unlike where a stranger can waltz into town to settle down, the prerequisite for that is capitalizing on their skills. Demand for candlemakers, cobblers and clothiers could increase with population, it did not take much additional effort on the part of other professions to sustain new denizens. With taxes levied by the church, an additional wainwright might steal enough business to drag down his established competitor into bankruptcy with him.

Or an old fletcher might have supplied arrows to the town for years, yet perhaps a displaced younger fellow settled in and took his business. The country ran low on sentimentality in many instances, so without a second glance, while the transient properly settled in, the number of vagrants in the city remained the same. Now this old man would need another source of feed, preferably something that didn’t require him to overexert rickety bones, content to just break into homes.

Unable to cast a shadow to appear ominously upon the lock being picked in the dead of night, I observed his habits closely. Literally and figuratively, barbers were too luxurious for this scoundrel— between a blindspot from his poorly cut hair and his tendency to look back over his left shoulder, I stood about two feet from him behind his right, unnoticed.

Functionally having X-ray vision, it was quite a treat watching him work with the strange intricacies of a wooden lock. There were still some bits missing, but upon focusing it no longer looked as wispy as before, just difficult to differentiate between the tumblers and pins.

“Anyway, keep quiet, although anything would startle you in this situation.” A voice suddenly commanding you from a few feet away when you thought yourself alone and stealthily sneaking in to burgle someone would always elicit a shout. My hand only momentarily clamped down over his mouth, and most of his face to be honest. Big and intimidating helped in this case “Now, you don’t look like you’ve been out of proper society for long, you’ve not joined up with any of those gangs, correct?”

“Y-yes! I mean no… sir!”

“I get according to the sermons respect is apportioned according to power, but I look far too young for you to call me that. This is just a transaction that’s all. A fortuitous fate has befallen you, no need to be nervous. You’re a respectable craftsman.”

Wringing his hands, a hastily withdrawn rake slightly bent, he certainly didn’t look less nervous. However in his eyes was the anxiousness of a new prospect— if the ocular refraction of light could be used as an indication(as a brief aside, given the flat horizon on the plains, I was coming to doubt vision worked on the principles of reflected light, but that’s yet another field of study I put off). At the very least, his stammering was much more pliable than those who clamped up under pressure.

“Now, we can leave our long-term partnership until later. You can call me Green Ascetic. Why don’t we step into that building and see if you can identify some rather special arrows that I’ve acquired?” Gently turning the man around, I slipped the rake out of his hand, bending it back into shape while pointing at an unoccupied flat.

Leading the way, I recalled my knowledge of archaic lockpicking. Mostly the differentiation between what I’d likely find in actual locks versus some arbitrary abilities that made gameplay more interesting. Three slips of the rake, once to recall the skill, once to properly test the resistances, and a third longer attempt to open it. Luckily Fletcher took a few moments in hesitation, respect was measured in seconds, and I almost took a whole minute for this simple lock.

Straightening up from my stooped posture, I presented his rake in an open hand after vaporizing the small bone used as a tension wrench.

“So swiftly! Uh, Green Ascetic, you are a professional? I’m afraid it’s something I’ve only picked up due to my nimble hands…”

“No, I’m a dabbler like yourself, both our talents lie in more productive fields. I’m not expecting you to be doing any breaking and entering. Why not introduce yourself and come in? This business is best not done incautiously nonetheless.”

“Yes, my name is Bratcha, as you know a fletcher who worked in this town for 19 years. However my business came to an abrupt stop when a strange insect attacked. With the high tension, even arrows rose in demand, although I can’t say if they would have affected that creature at all.

I did manage to keep up with demand. It’s just those passersby headed for the Randall-Varren thought it an opportunity. He and his blacksmith friend had enough extra funds to set up shop for a low price in the chaos and undercut me. Leo and I were on good terms, but not that good. Then before those beast hunters killed the creature, it managed to drag him away. I suppose neither of us were very lucky…”

“The Patriarch will reward those who show skill. So what can you tell me about these?” Having chosen this abandoned tenement for the table in the foyer(or dining room, or bedroom, or storage space— my comments on large buildings seemed restricted to the center of town) I placed the two types of enchanted arrows I’d taken from Khtraal, as well as the arrow Leitha shot me with. “This one in particular. Hopefully in removing the blood the patterns weren’t disturbed too greatly.”

Bratcha looked anxiously at the first two I’d brought out, relieved when he saw the elvish arrow. In the end it seemed like goblins may be too far removed from society to gather any proper information on their gew-gaws.

“An ancestral arrow, how could it be! Of course I can’t claim to be any authority on the matter, after all I don’t dabble in elvish witchcraft. I only heard stories from travelers, it might be better to find someone with an elf slave and have them—”

“It pierced directly through a sword; better to have a bullet-tip than nothing while hunting. Whatever you know is a start.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true. Ancestral arrows can only be made from a tree that gives its wood freely to an elf, I’m not sure what that entails, but I think it needs to be a special kind of tree. This is the toughest part of the ritual, so not many can be made. Most ancestral arrows are retrieved after firing because of this, the wood is almost unbreakable and the markings to attract spirits can be reapplied.” Bratcha gently turned the arrow over and over in his hands, while his words enticed me to snatch it and attempt snapping it in half. Alas it was my only specimen and was pointless to test how ‘unbreakable’ the wood could be. “Now I really can’t be certain, but this pattern does remind me of a man with an elvish bowyer. I think he mentioned finding some special materials whenever a more important piece was commissioned by a Disciple….”

Bratcha actually was able to go on for several minutes about how different plants could be able to ‘resonate’ with trees that grew near them, and how this ‘natural state’ could reinforce the wood further, even if just applied cosmetically. This devilry, shamanism, or magic provided a beacon to spirits, something that lasted until disrupted. Allegedly.

What materials made the pattern was more important than the exact patterns, allegedly. Bratcha made sure to repeat this frequently, as though a small mistake might make him seem more unprofessional than constantly undercutting himself.

In any case, it was more than he knew of the goblin arrows. Their form of shamanism never left the darkened woods to the north it seemed.

“That information will be quite useful in the future. Now let’s have that be the focus of a long term cooperation. I’ll be settling down nearby, but of course I’m not someone who seeks out trouble. If I hire some additional hands, I think you can easily manage listening in to the goings on and reporting to me. You’ll be generously compensated, how much would it take to reestablish your fletching shop?”