Tristan

Tristan felt great after his confrontation with Dungeon Delver Dave. It hadn't been anything he'd particularly wanted to do, but now that he'd done it, he found himself heaving the same sigh his father always had after finishing a commission for the Longblooms. Like his father, he too would move on. There was comfort in knowing the moment was over and done with.

They'd left the guide-writer back at the entry portal to the raid, and the man had looked more than a bit shaken. At least enough to stop him from moving on to the next group of raiders the moment they emerged from the huge doors.

Honestly, Tristan just hoped his words had gotten through. If Dave still didn't add any sort of disclaimer, well, then Tristan had at least done his part to try and make a change. He could be proud of that. Maybe he'd give the man a year or so, just to see if any changes would appear. As a swordsmith, Tristan wasn't exactly sure how the whole 'publishing' business worked, but he was pretty sure it was as slow as any other craft tended to be.

After they'd moved away from Dave, the remnants of the raid had decided that they should have one last hurrah before they went their separate ways. Drannis had suggested his "favorite bar," and Manama had been all about that.

"I'm always looking for more good places to sing my new songs," the bard said, "especially since I figure I'll have a scathing one coming out soon. I'm toying with the title now, but so far I think 'Double Crossed' has a fun ring to it."

That earned him a few chuckles from the group.

The biggest issue for Tristan, though, was that he just didn't have the energy for it. It wasn't that he didn't like them. It was harder to explain than that. He loved Opie and Chessa almost like siblings, and he knew it would likely be a while before he got to see them again. He also thought Kitara, Manama, Xanax, and Drannis were nice enough people. Thanks to their raid, he'd kind of bonded with them, even growing to enjoy their company.

But the big swordsmith didn't really want to go. He didn't want to be out and about, not with others. Maybe not even Sophie. For the first time in a while, he was feeling worn down in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness. And it wasn't exactly mental tiredness, either. He felt...

Socially tired.

That was it. He was like a pitcher that had been poured so empty there wasn't even a drop left, and now he needed a chance to refill himself.

So why had he gone along this far? Why was he walking through the streets of Perpetua with a rowdy, excited group of very successful raiders?

Momentum. It was easier to go along with it than to stop it.

At least that was the case right up until they passed a shop that looked to offer something he could actually use. The front window was impeccably clean, and through it he saw all sorts of devices that looked like they might have been the offspring of some fancy, promiscuous clockwork machine.

Tristan knew a tinker's shop when he saw one--even though this was the first time he'd ever seen one with his own eyes. He was excited by the finely-detailed machines, devices with such small components he'd never be able to hold them, let alone manipulate them with his thick fingers. But he also knew that this might be an opportunity he couldn't shy away from. Tinkers were well known for thinking of solutions that fell outside the norm, and that was precisely what he needed with his bag.

As he stopped by the window, Sophie pulled up beside him. "Everything OK?" she asked. Her eyes followed the others, who were still walking, having not yet noticed that they'd stopped.

"Yeah," Tristan nodded and raised his voice. "I think I'm going to make a quick stop in here first. I've still got that storage bag that I can't really use," he reminded her, though even as he said it he could tell that it sounded like an excuse.

Slightly ahead, Opie must have noticed they'd stopped, as he turned back and gave Tristan a look almost as judging as a member of the Tier Guard would give a suspect. Chessa must have heard him, as she rested her hand on Opie's shoulder, gave a gentle tug and said, "Sure, Tristan. Just catch up with us when you're able."

Tristan, smiling awkwardly, was about to say something back but Sophie beat him to the punch.

"I'll make sure he doesn't get too lost."

The group waved farewell and resumed their merry march toward whichever bar it was Drannis had recommended.

After receiving a quick nod from Drannis, Tristan whispered, "We're not going to catch up with them though, right?" He still had the uneasy smile plastered on his face.

"No worries, Tristan. I can see how drained you are already," Sophie replied, "and Chessa gets that, too."

"Good," Tristan said, feeling his smile become much more genuine. It was as if a load of steel had dropped from his shoulders, though this time he hadn't been aware he'd been carrying it. He opened the door to the shop and was greeted not by the tinkling of a single bell, but instead by a chorus of them. It was even more surprising once he noticed there wasn't a single bell to be seen.

A hasty "Welcome, welcome, welcome!" came a very high-pitched, and oddly nasal voice from deeper within. "Welcome to Egg's Egg-straordinary Emporium! Whatever you want, I've got it! The finest gadgets, gizmos, whoozits, whatsits, and much, much more!"

Tristan stopped short a few paces into the shop and looked toward the counter, which had seemed to be the source of the voice, but he saw no one there. "Umm, hello? I was... kind of hoping you might also have some ideas on a repair, though perhaps it's more of an upgrade--?"

The next words came even faster than the last, so hurriedly it was like they were on a deadline. "Oh sure, sure, sure, I do some seriously amazing upgrades! I can take plain-Jane jams and turn them into glorious gawkables! No matter what you think you have, I can always find a way to make it good, better, best!"

A small, peppy avian man, maybe half Tristan's height, hopped up onto the store's counter. His beak was slightly parted, his arms opened wide, and his eyes--one of which was hidden behind a heavily-modified monocle--gave the impression of pure delight. What drew Tristan's attention most, however, were the avian's wings: only the left was natural. The right was a clockwork replacement made of cogs and gears and metal, and it was also exactly the same size as the left.

"H-hi, are you Egg?" Tristan managed to ask before the avian man got going again, rushing every word as though afraid it might be his last.

"Yes, yes, yes! That's me, and welcome to my shop! So what've you got that needs repairing or upgrading? I can't make any guarantees until I see the item, of course, but I can say that I'll probably be able to help regardless. I'm just that good!" The birdman had gotten all that out in the span of only a single breath.

Tristan walked closer and produced his magical storage "[PRIZE]" bag, though before he could even consider handing it over, the shopkeeper flapped his wings and zoomed toward him, only stopping half a pace from the item itself. He was hovering midair, flapping his wings just enough to keep from bobbing too severely.

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"I don't see anything wrong with this. Though if you're looking for an upgrade, then I could definitely talk about a few extra features–-or would you prefer more storage? I can make that happen!"

Tristan grimaced slightly. "Yeah, I know this is going to sound a bit odd, but, I actually want to work on a clasp of some sort--and before you get started," he said, holding up a hand so the avian shopkeeper wouldn't interrupt yet, "I actually have to do the work myself. But I'll definitely pay you for your expertise, ideas, and any help or guidance you can provide me."

The birdman cocked his head to one side, letting his monocled eye inspect the bag more closely. "What d'you need a clasp for? Odd, odd, odd. Looks like the opening is perfectly acceptable as it is--oh, unless you want it to be more private, because this one looks like it might be openable by anyone, and that could be really bad, bad, bad if you had something important in there that you didn't want others to have access to."

Tristan found himself exhaling for the avian, who seemed to have exquisite breath control to force out so many words so quickly. At least, at this rate, the salesman wasn't going to drain too much more of Tristan's social battery. "Yeah, let's just say it's that. So, how would you go about doing that?"

"Well, may I?" The birdman held out one hand, clearly asking permission to interact with the bag. When Tristan nodded, suddenly a flurry of tools popped out of a bangle that Tristan hadn't even seen around the avian's wrist before. Tiny marking devices, a measuring tape, two different meters measuring gods only knew what, and other odd things zipped and prodded and whirred around the bag.

"Yes, yes, yes, I could work this out for you in no time, but you say you need to do it yourself? Do you have any sort of tinker training?" He looked up at Tristan with visibly broadening disbelief. "You've got big muscles, sure, but this isn't going to be a brute force job. It'll be fine and delicate. No offense, but, well, maybe a little offense. It'd be much easier for someone with actual skills in the trade--like yours truly--to handle this."

"If I don't do the upgrade myself, I won't be able to use the bag," Tristan said definitively.

The avian tinker stopped fidgeting and adjusted the lens of his monocle with a twist. "That's... Oh, oh, oh! It's a Core thing, isn't it? Well, why didn't you just say that from the start?"

Tristan was about to ask when he was supposed to have offered that tidbit, since the birdman was so talkative, but he thought better of it.

"What kinds of skills do you have, anyway? If you have to be the one to do this, I need to know what you'll be working with. Are you just a swordsmith? Am I going to have to make this some sort of metal junction, or--?"

"I'm also an enchanter," Tristan offered.

"Oh! Great, great, great! Manipulating the essence of items will make joining the components far easier! Do you have [Augment] already?"

"Yes, but I've never used it."

"Even better! No bad habits yet! Yes, yes, yes, I can surely help you with this! But--and this is super important--whatever you do, do not rupture this magical storage bag. Also, and totally unrelated, you're planning to do this work outside of my shop, correct?" He gave a smile that was entirely too sweet.

Sophie put a hand to her mouth and faked a cough, but it was clear she was holding back a laugh.

Tristan sighed. "Yeah, I guess I will be."

"Egg-cellent! Yes, yes, yes, this we can certainly do together! And by together, I mean me giving you all the wonderful notes and procedures, writing down all the tips and tricks, and you do the danger--I mean fine tuning bits far, far, far away from here! Wonderful!"

"Can you make the notes super detailed?"

"And simple, simple, simple! Of course! I've done this type of thing a time or two before, and I'll be glad to help--for the right price."

"How much are we talking here?"

"Well now, let me think. Since you'll be doing all the labor, but you'll potentially be getting some of my trade secrets..." For the first time, the avian man stopped talking quickly and looked downright thoughtful. With only three flaps of his wings, he flew back behind his counter. "Yes, yes, yes, and I assume you'd also need all the components. Plus the time to write out the laborious notes, and probably a timer spell to make sure--" He looked up at Tristan. "How long do you think it would take you to get started on this? Are you planning to do it right away, after getting far, far, far from here?"

Sophie had taken a seat in a nearby chair and was now petting Poof contentedly, though she still hid a laugh every time the shopkeeper insisted on the distance.

"Yeah," Tristan answered, "it was what I wanted to do today."

The beaked face turned back down to the desk where one hand was busily scribbling some sort of figures using a quill and ink. "And assuming you only have barely minimum competence--no offense again, of course--that'll take you maybe a day. Yes, yes, yes, so three days should be plenty of time." He looked up at Tristan again. "Due to the sensitive nature of some of these adjustments, the annotated plans will disintegrate in three days' time, so make sure you don't leave them near anything combustible!"

"What?!" Tristan's eyes bugged out.

"All part of the process--and a requirement, of course--to protect my business. Do you find that agreeable?"

Tristan sighed. He supposed he didn't really have a choice, unless he wanted to try to find a different tinker. With as eccentric as this one seemed, it might not be a bad idea. But all tinkers kind of had that reputation. It was just part and parcel with the Class.

"I guess it all depends on the final price."

"Patience, patience, patience! I'm calculating. Just a moment more..." With a few more scribbles, the avian man circled something on his paper and dropped the quill he'd been writing with. "Twenty-five gold."

It was a testament to how much Tristan had grown and experienced since leaving Woodsedge that the price the tinker quoted didn't actually sound unreasonable. Back home, twenty-five gold would have been a productive month's salary. In this time and place, however, and with as helpful as a magical storage bag could be, it truly sounded like a fair price.

Tristan sent a message to Sophie in party chat, just to be sure.

Tristan: Is this as good a price as I'm likely to get? Sophie: Definitely sounds like a fair starting point, given all he's providing.

Tristan strode forward to the wooden counter and placed twenty-five gold pieces on the surface before extending his hand to the avian. "You've got a deal."

"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!" the avian man said, sweeping the coins quickly out of sight as he grinned widely and then shook Tristan's hand. "You've actually caught me at a very good time. Yes, yes, yes, I've only got one other commission currently, and I'm practically finished with it. Should only be one, two, three hours tops. It's not even time-sensitive, so I can work on yours first! Then I'll get right back to work on his, with no one the wiser!"

"Should I leave the bag here...?" Tristan asked, unsure what the process would need to be.

"No, no, no. There's no need for that at all. I've seen your bag and I think I know the kind of clasp that'll work best for it. I could put all the pieces in a little bag for you right now, but of course without the notes--the very user-friendly notes, I should stress--what good would all the bits do? Just come back, hmm, in an hour? Yes, yes, yes, an hour sounds good. I'll have it all written down for you by then."

"Wow, that's super fast!" Tristan said, beaming. "I could actually stay, if it'll be so--"

"No, no, no! Absolutely not. Again, no offense--but you're gigantic, and you'll just get bored in here, and then you'll turn into a big, big, big distraction, and we can't have that, now can we? No sir, not at all. So I do insist, please, that you and your lovely lady friend please find entertainment elsewhere in the meantime. And thank you! I'll be seeing you in an hour!"

Tristan smiled and thanked the avian tinker on the way out. As he passed by Sophie, he could see that she was shaking her head with a knowing smile. He only wondered what that was about for a moment before she sent a message.

Sophie: You should have haggled with him. You overpaid by at least a few gold.

Tristan read the message twice, realizing now that he had missed the hint she'd given him before in calling the quoted price a "starting point." But he smiled it away and gave Poof a loving scratch on the top of her head.

I actually have enough gold that getting slightly overcharged isn't going to break the bank, he thought with a certain amount of pride. Besides, if he really does help me upgrade my bag by myself, then it'll be well worth it. I just hope his notes will make the process even half as easy as he's saying.

What was certain was that the following hour felt like an absolute eternity.

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