Gwenivere sat at the bar, staring into the tumbler of whiskey in front of her. It remained untouched, though she wanted nothing more than to take a drink. After everything she and the rest of the others had been through, she felt that she deserved that much.
Yet, she refused. Five years of sobriety – forced by circumstances or not – ant too much to her to be discarded just because she was feeling a little down.
It was so frustrating. By all rights, she should have been happy. She had managed to escape that hellish island – or more appropriately, the harpies that made it ho – and found civilization. She was safe and healthy, which was more than she could have said even a few months before.
But she wasn’t happy. Not even a little.
“You gonna drink that?” ca a drawling voice from behind her.
She didn’t even look up before she said, “Not interested.”
“Not that kind of conversation,” he said.
That was when she glanced in the direction of the voice, and when she saw the speaker, Gwenivere couldn’t help but snort in laughter. “Seriously?” she muttered.
“What?” the man asked, as if his appearance was perfectly normal. Perhaps it was, given the circumstances. However, Gwenivere refused to believe that there were many other people walking around looking like Clint Eastwood had suddenly decided to take up kenjutsu.
“This can’t be the only ti soone’s questioned your sense of style,” she said. It wasn’t the first ti she’d seen the man. Ironshore had a sizable population, but in the past few weeks, they’d crossed paths a few tis. Still, that didn’t make his outfit any less ridiculous.
“What’s wrong with my sense of style? It’s the white hat, ain’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have been so bold,” he said, removing the item in question. He set it on the bar. “You didn’t answer , though. Are you going to drink that? Or just stare at it?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she admitted, tapping the rim of the glass. She could feel a subtle sense of ethera wafting off of the liquor, so she knew it would go a long way to getting her drunk.
“Alcoholic?” he asked.
She just nodded, still tapping her finger on the rim of the glass. It would be so easy to just take a drink. No one would bla her, either. And it wasn’t like it would really hurt her. With her attributes, as well as the availability of healing, she didn’t think liver disease would be an issue.
But she knew a slippery slope when she saw one. That single drink would inevitably lead to two. Then three. And before she knew it, she’d be back where she had started, drinking herself into oblivion every night.
Before the world’s transformation, she hadn’t even realized how much of a problem she had. She was young and pretty, and she liked to party. There was nothing wrong with that. It was only when she’d had it all snatched away that she had co to realize just how dependent on alcohol she had really beco.
The first few days were the worst. Even after she’d allocated her starting points appropriately, she’d felt the symptoms of withdrawal, and they hadn’t abated for a week. As terrible as that was, it would have been much worse if she hadn’t had the adrenaline of imdiate survival to take the edge off.
Gwenivere never wanted to experience that again.
Even so, she was sorely tempted to drink the glass of whiskey in front of her. So tempted, in fact, that her hand was shaking.
“Been there,” the cowboy said with a sigh. “Not alcohol, mind you. That was never my drug of choice.”
“What was?” she asked, glancing in his direction.
“Everything else. Cost my marriage. My kids. More jobs than I can count,” he said, his gravelly voice tinged with regret. “I got clean a coupla years before all this, but even with all that, with everything that’s happened, I still crave it. I still need it.”
“How did you do it?” she asked.
“A friend introduced to a new way of lookin’ at life. A new code to live by. Back before the world changed, it felt a little silly,” he said. “Tellin’ people I practice Bushido wasn’t real popular at parties and family reunions. Most folks looked at like I’d gone plum crazy.”
“Bushido, huh?” Gwenivere asked. “What does that an? I’m not familiar.”
“Way of the warrior. Think of it like a code of chivalry,” the man said. “Righteousness, loyalty, honor, respect, honesty, courage, and consistency. In a nutshell. Now, most folks can get behind those values, but the second you attach a word like Bushido to it, people start backin’ away. Especially in the old world where callin’ yourself a warrior was…well, a bit odd.”
“Not so much anymore,” Gwenivere said.
“How about you?”
“I don’t really have a code. Left to my own devices, I probably wouldn’t have stopped drinking. But there’s sothing about being stranded on an island and struggling to survive that promotes sobriety,” she said. “If only because I couldn’t exactly go down to the pub and get a drink.”
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“I can see that.”
She sighed. “So, what do you want? I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t interested. And this little conversation hasn’t changed anything,” Gwenivere said. He was handso enough, in a rugged, well-worn, and way-too-old-for-her sort of way, and she had to admit that he was easy to talk to. However, she had no interest in any sort of romantic entanglents. And even though they’d only spoken for a few minutes, Gwenivere could recognize that the cowboy wasn’t a one-night-stand sort of guy. She didn’t want to deal with the inevitable attachnt that would co from that.
“I got a job for you,” he said. “It’s dangerous, but it could end up bein’ very important to this town’s prospects. Pay’s good, too. Plus, we’ll be helpin’ people.”
“Two questions,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“First – what’s the job? I need specifics.”
He glanced around, looking as if he wanted to make sure that nobody was listening. The bartender – a dwarf with a truly glorious beard that hung well below his waist – was on the other side of the tavern, cleaning tables, and it being early afternoon, there wasn’t much of a crowd. Sure, a few people were around, but they were well spaced and more interested in their drinks than listening to a conversation between a pair of humans.
The residents of Ironshore didn’t exactly look down on Earth’s native species, but they didn’t really respect them, either. Except for the Druid, though Gwenivere wasn’t sure whether that was respect or fear.
After ensuring he wouldn’t be overheard, the cowboy said, “There have been so disappearances in the mine. I’m goin’ in there to investigate, but I need sobody to watch my back.”
“That brings to my next question,” she said. “Why ?”
“Honestly? The only other person I trust in this town turned down.”
“And you trust ?”
He shrugged. “After a fashion,” he admitted. “No reason not to trust you. But that’s not the main reason.”
“What is?” Gwenivere asked.
“You’re tough. Almost five years of survivin’ in the wilderness ain’t easy,” he said. “You did it. So did your captain, but I can see in his eyes he ain’t up for this kinda thing. He ain’t a coward. He’ll fight if he has to, but he won’t go lookin’ for trouble.”
“You think I will?”
He nodded. “I think you’re bored,” he said. Then, he tapped his finger on the bar, adding, “I think you’re like . You need sothin’ to focus on or you’ll start goin’ down a bad road. I know all about self-destructive habits.”
“Is that it?”
“You been livin’ underground, right? You probably picked up a few things along the way,” he said. “Maybe I could find a few dwarves to co with . A gno or two. There are even so other humans around that’d probably jump at this kinda chance. It’s an opportunity, and not just a paycheck. Though that’s generous, too. But no – you do this, and Ironshore’ll rember it later. That’s how these people think. They invest in the sorts of folks who show that, when push cos to shove, they’ll do their part.”
Gwenivere stared at him for a long mont. The last thing she wanted was to go back underground. She still had nightmares about so of the things she’d seen in the caves where she and the other survivors of the plane crash had taken refuge, and she didn’t think that would stop anyti soon. Perhaps ever.
But what the cowboy said made sense, at least from what she had seen. And if the pay was as generous as he claid, she could outfit herself better for when she went back to the island to rescue her friends.
“I’m not bored,” she said. “I just don’t like sitting here and doing nothing while, even now, I have people back on that island who are waiting to be rescued. They can survive, but without and the others, they’ll eventually co face-to-face with sothing they can’t handle. I know that, but I also know I can’t just go back. Not yet.”
“You sayin’ you need a distraction?”
“I am, and this sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered,” she said, still eyeing the drink. It was such a struggle not to just down it right then, but she pushed away from the bar and added, “I will need so new equipnt, though. Armor and a weapon, at least.”
“I can do that. It just so happens that I know the best Blacksmith in the world,” the man said with a lopsided smile.
“What’s your na, by the way?” she asked.
“Colt.”
This ti, she couldn’t contain her laughter.
“What?”
“Okay, so you’re dressed…like that. And your na is Colt?” she asked. “I an, it’s on the, but…is that your real na? Tell the truth.”
“Course it’s my real damn na,” he replied, the smile gone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Co on. You can tell ,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. It felt like she was rubbing shoulders with a brick wall. How high was the man’s Strength?
“It’s my real goddamn na.”
“Sure, sure. Colt. I believe you,” she said with an exaggerated wink. “I bet your real na is like…Marion or sothing.”
“My na is not Marion,” he growled.
“Like I said, I totally believe you. Now, how about we go visit your Blacksmith friend? Along the way, you can tell exactly how much I’m going to get paid for this,” she said. Then, she added, “Colt.”
For a mont, she could see his jaw flex. Then, suddenly, he relaxed, and his crooked smile returned. It was a remarkable turn that impressed Gwenivere, so she let the teasing go. Instead, she followed him out of the bar – after paying for the drink, of course – and across Ironshore to what looked like a construction site. A foundation for a huge building had been laid, but that was the extent of the progress. Only one figure – a stocky woman with dark skin – seed to be working on the building.
Colt greeted her, and after only a few minutes of conversation, the woman led them back to a shop filled with the highest quality equipnt Gwenivere had ever seen. The place practically glowed with dense ethera, overwhelming her senses to such a degree that, for a while, she just stood there gaping.
“I’m not gonna tell you to take your pick, but find so stuff you like,” Colt said. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Gwenivere didn’t need any encouragent, though she did enlist the Blacksmith’s help in choosing the proper weapon. She wasn’t strong enough to use so of the higher-tier gear, but she ended up finding a very serviceable axe and so chainmail armor that gave quite a boost to her attributes.
“I’ll have to adjust the armor a bit,” said the Blacksmith. “Co back in the morning, and it’ll fit you like a glove.”
“How much would this cost if I wanted to buy it?” Gwenivere asked. She was still wrapping her head around the currency – she’d never been exposed to ethereum before escaping the island – but she knew that the gear was extrely valuable.
“More than you have.”
“And you’re just giving it to ?”
“Not to you,” the Blacksmith said. Then, her eyes flicked toward the cowboy who was looking through the swords on the other side of the shop. “That man saved my life more tis than I can count. I’m doing this for him.”
“Oh.”
“Watch his back,” the stocky woman said.
“I…I will.”
“I believe you,” the Blacksmith said. “I’m Carn, by the way. Let know if you need anything else. Otherwise, co back in the morning, and I’ll have the armor ready to go.”
Gwenivere just nodded, hoping that she could live up to the promise she’d just made.
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