The Stick and the System

Chapter 2: The Last Laughing Guild

The laughter in the square was a living thing, and Caspian was its unwilling heart. He stood on the platform, the world's most pathetic loot drop at his feet. The mocking roars washed over him, but his focus was inward, locked on the two glorious words still hanging in his vision: [Player Chosen].

First step: the blood bond. He knew the rule. Weapon, blood, bond. He looked at his stick. It was as blunt as a spoon.

“Trying to decide if it’s a club or a wand?” a voice jeered.

Caspian ignored it. He bit down hard on his own lower lip until he tasted copper. He leaned over, picked up the stick, and spat a mouthful of blood onto its rough surface.

The crowd erupted in fresh, disgusted howls. “He spit on it!”

“That’s not a bond, that’s a bio-hazard!”

The blood soaked into the wood, disappearing. A faint amber glow pulsed once from within the grain, then faded.

< Bond Established. >

Good enough. He stepped off the platform, the noise already chasing the next victim. As he walked, the blue panel snapped back.

[Greetings, Player Caspian. I am your System. You may call me Sys.]

His stats appeared.

Name: Caspian Vance

Level: 1

Aether: 10/10

Experience: 0/100

Weapon: Primordial Wood Conduit (Bound)

“There’s nothing special about this system,” Caspian thought, and swiped it away.

He needed a guild. The rule here was simple: a lone hunter is a dead hunter. You joined up or you ended up as monster food. He approached the first booth, the Arcane Shields.

“I’m a new Hunter,” Caspian said.

The man in scale mail looked at the stick in his hand. He called to his friend. “Hey, this one says he got a ‘stick’! Is that a new type of polearm?” They both laughed. “Try the Carpenter’s Guild, kid.”

The Iron Vanguard woman just shook her head slowly, a look of pure pity on her face. “No.”

The Merchants’ Consortium man was polite. “We require conduits with commercial applications. A blunt wooden object does not meet our needs. Good day.”

After an hour, Caspian had been called “firewood,” “kindling,” and “the world’s most enthusiastic hiker.” He was ready to trade his stick for a crust of bread when he saw the last booth. Its banner was faded, showing a laughing fox on a shield. The Gilded Fox. No one was there.

A bored-looking man sat behind it. He was the first who didn’t sneer.

“Let me guess,” Caspian said, tired. “You need a janitor?”

The man looked up. “A recruit. What’ve you got?”

Caspian held out the stick.

The man peered at it. He didn’t laugh. He just nodded, like he’d expected it. “I see.” He pointed a thumb toward a dark alley. “See that? Follow it to the end. Old tavern called the ‘Hearth’s Refuge.’ They accept everyone with a weapon. Even,” he said, his eyes on the stick, “a stick.”

It was polite, but it was the final insult. The guild of last resort.

Caspian saw red. Still mocking him. But a guild was a guild. “Thanks,” he said, the word sour.

The alley was damp and stank. At the end was a tavern that looked like it was held together by spiderwebs and prayers. The sign read ‘Hearth’s Refuge.’ Caspian pushed the creaking door open.

The inside was a cave of shadows and dust. At a table in the middle sat a mountain of an old man with a wild beard and a big belly. Three tankards sat in front of him. He was snoring.

This was the guild master? Caspian’s heart sank.

The door creak woke him. He snorted, cracked one bleary eye open, and saw Caspian. A wide, gap-toothed smile split his face. He lurched to his feet, staggering.

“Oi!” he bellowed. “A visitor! A Hunter! Welcome to the Gilded Fox! First fresh face in years! Are you interested in joining?” He threw a heavy, friendly arm around Caspian, reeking of cheap ale.

Caspian was stunned. “I was told you accept people.”

“Accept? We embrace! I am Boris, Guild Master! Now, show me your conduit, lad!”

Feeling a flicker of hope, Caspian held out the stick.

Boris' smile froze. It melted into a look of deep, soul-crushing disappointment. He peered at the stick, blinked, and looked at Caspian’s hopeful face.

“Tsk!” he hissed, shuffling back to his chair. He grabbed a tankard. “I thought you were a big fish!” he muttered, and took a long, sulky drink. “Just more gutter bait…”

Caspian’s hope shattered. He was about to speak when the kitchen door flew open.

A metal serving platter shot across the room. It spun and connected with the back of Boris' head with a solid THWACK.

CLANG!

Boris' eyes rolled up. He said “oof” and slid face-first onto the table, out cold.

Caspian jumped back, holding up his stick. “Hey! Old man! Are you ok—“

“He’s fine. His head’s the hardest thing here.”

A woman stepped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. Caspian’s words died.

She had fiery red hair in a braid and sharp green eyes. She was beautiful in a way that looked capable. She completely captured Caspian’s interest.

She looked at Boris with affection and deep exasperation. “Sorry about him. He gets optimistic when he’s drunk. Which is always.” She gestured to a chair. “Sit. Ignore the drool.”

Caspian sat. “He’s the guild master?”

“Regrettably, yes. My father. I’m Elara. I manage things.” She sat. “So. Joining a guild?”

“I was told you accept everyone,” Caspian said, holding up the stick.

Elara looked at it. She didn’t laugh. She studied it. “We do. Our requirements: have a conduit, and breathe. We have two other members. Business is slow.” She leaned forward. “We are not successful. We take small quests. Rat nests. Lost pets. The pay is poor, the reputation is worse. Interested?”

Caspian, who was currently very interested in Elara, nodded instantly. “Yes. Where do I sign?”

Elara raised an eyebrow. She pulled a parchment from the bar. “Blood mark here.”

Caspian didn’t read it. He pricked his thumb on a splinter of his stick and smudged the paper. < Guild Affiliation Updated: The Gilded Fox. >

“Welcome, Caspian,” Elara said. “You’re now the fourth member of the least formidable guild in Oakhaven.”

They talked. The other two members were out on a “supply run.” The guild’s glory days were a myth. Caspian was working up the nerve to ask her for a drink when the front door burst open.

“Elara! I got us a—hey, who’s the new guy?”

A skinny man bounded in, all energy. He had a spear on his back.

“Never mind, introductions later!” he said, waving a paper. “I got us a quest! A real one!”

Elara sighed. “Tobin, what did you do?”

“Goblins! Raiding Haggerty’s root cellar! The guard won’t help! I said, ‘The Gilded Fox handles vermin!’ and I took the job!” He slammed the paper on the table.

Elara picked it up. “Goblin infestation. Haggerty Farm. Five to seven goblins. Reward: Twenty silver.” She looked at Tobin, then at Caspian, then at her snoring father. “Goblins, Tobin. They’re nasty.”

Tobin’s grin didn’t fade. “It’s our big break! We have a new member!” He clapped Caspian’s back. “Strength in numbers, right... stick-guy?”

He scanned Caspian up and down and saw his stick.

Caspian looked at the eager Tobin, the concerned Elara, the quest paper. Goblin hunting. His first real quest. He looked at his stick. A grin spread across his face.

“When do we leave?” Caspian asked.

[New Quest Logged: Root Cellar Blues. Objective: Clear the goblin infestation at Haggerty Farm. Reward: 20 Silver, 100 EXP.]