Casual Heroing

I went to the center of this city, marking the way over here in my head. There were a few signs down the road, but nothing that could really help me trace my way back. I walked for an hour already, making my way over the plaza. My first order of business is buying some new clothes. The looks I’m getting for all the blood I’m covered in are not conducive to the kind of business I want to establish.

Or maybe they are.

Not yet. Not now. Blood is not poured lightly. It makes no sense to just kill without a reason, without a purpose. And I want to know what kind of war I’ll be fighting here. Is it going to be a civil one, one of defense, or one of conquest?

A group of thuggish-looking half-giants suddenly steps in front of me, right in the middle of the market.

“Humans come to Leggiadra, now? Little infesting rats. What’s next, Elves? Swarms of dogs?”

Speciesist attitude. Not just toward Humans, also toward Elves. Could it because of the size of people?

I stare at them, waiting for them to do something else. If I show weakness, they will pounce; that’s how it usually works. I don’t suppose that just because they are bigger, it’s supposed to be any different. And being plain daylight, they will limit themselves to intimidation.

“Hydras got your tongue, Human?”

“What’s up with the blood, you tripped on your small feet?” Another asks.

I maintain my calm and give them the hint of a smile. Meanwhile, I imagine myself blowing their heads with the rifle I have in my bag. I picture those huge figures’ cranial extremities exploding like watermelons during some silly contest. I add some classical music to such a scenario, making it even more relaxing. Seeing them explode in sequence, on the crescendo’s rhythm, that would be just perfect.

What song would be the best? A classic, maybe. Hymn of Glory. Yes.

That’s the business.

I walk around the thugs, ignoring them. I still have to discover what is a staple of this magic world aside from health potions and truth stones. I’ll just try to remember a few of their faces and have them killed at a later date. People say that grudges don’t do any good… sure, they are no good for the people I have them for.

“I’m talking with you, little—“

I whirl on my feet, putting on the most furious snarl I can muster on the spot. I shift my body posture in the most aggressive display and raise my voice at once.

“I know Cordius from the Watch! Do you want to bother me more and call the Watch?! Are you trying to hurt me?!”

The scream doesn’t go unnoticed and now many half-giants, some bigger than the thugs bothering me, are looking at the little group. Suddenly, the petty criminals seem very aware of the daylight that has been shed on them. The sun is repelling their dark deeds and forcing them in hiding. Like vampires who have lost the cover of anonymity and have been exposed to the deathly rays, they scatter. A few [Merchants] look at me with wide eyes; some others, instead, watch me with interest. As every action with a goal, this should help. I don’t want these people to know just how clueless I am. The blood is part of the act, of what gives away that I know what I’m doing even if I don’t. The scream, the quick resolution, how I handled the idiots, is the part that was missing.

In the end, the thugs have been useful. I didn’t plan for it, obviously. I don’t have supernatural powers. Just a woman’s capability to adapt to any situation.

“Lady Human!” I hear one of what will be many [Merchants]’ voices today. “You look like someone who needs new clothes! Melius’s selection is what you want to browse if you need small people’s clothes! You won’t find many elsewhere!”

“Shut up, Melius!” A woman says from the side. “I’m a [Tailor], I could custom-fit anything for the Human! Come here, Lady! Us women know better than a cheap haggler like Melius!”

“Sortina, stop messing with me! You are a disgusting generalist! Just pick one class, would you? And you might be able to put together some rags, but here I have clothes made by [Tailors] who are over level 20!”

“Oh, come on, Melius! We all know how cheap you are! I bet that it was mostly their assistants’ work and then you got them to do some of the stitchings to pass the truth stone inspections!”

The half-giant named Melius stutters for a second, clearly an indication that the woman named Sortina knows what she’s saying.

Sticking with women?

Snakes and harpies, all of them. Men and women, two different kind of monsters. But monsters all the same.

But this could be useful.

“I’m sorry, mister Melius,” I say to the giant. “I’ll come back to buy some dresses from you, but I need something custom-fit for now, and having lost all my other clothes, I’m afraid I’d be more comfortable with a woman taking my measures.”

Melius, the guy who’s apparently half-a-cheat on top of half-giant, smiles sadly. Everyone knows what ‘I’ll come back later’ means for a clerk of any kind. But I do intend on coming back later. That will help foster some friendliness with Melius, and maybe he will open up more with me than if I had just gone with him.

Sortina, a female half-giant who’s rather diminutive compared to the others, is still a good half-meter taller than me. But that doesn’t matter. I had to confront people bigger and scarier than me all my life. This is just scaling it up by one notch.

…

“So, what’s the story behind all this blood?” the woman asks with my top in her hand. A Prada top, probably worth more than everything she has in her stall.

“People tried to mess with me, I got hurt while paying back the favor.”

“A scary Human,” the half-giantess nods to herself, almost sleepily. “Not the first, not even close to being the last. But whatever. What do I know? So, check out this cloth and tell me what you think.”

She hands over two different pieces of plain cloth, one green, soft like cotton, the other reddish, with a consistency similar to nylon.

“I like the green one. Can you fashion a top like the one you have in your hands? And do you think I could get someone to wash the blood from it?”

The woman looks at me, first. Then, my top.

“Why? Is there something that a [Cleansing] wand can’t take care of? Did you mix it with some weird alchemical agent? Because if that’s so, let me tell you, young lady, this isn’t going to wash away nicely. [Alchemist] do nasty stuff to clothing, and Rilizius’s ears if I know! If anything ate into this cloth, I’m not sure who can take care of it. I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life.”

“If you have a wand on you, I’ll gladly pay for the service.”

I have no idea what a ‘wand’ is. Are we talking a Harry Potter’s wand? Like that? Is she a [Mage]?

“You are in luck!” the half-giantess smiles widely, “I got mine recharged two days ago. I have no kids, but you would think otherwise if you saw all the stains I get from food and mud. But what can we do, a big girl’s got to feed herself, huh?”

“She has, indeed,” I smile at the antics of the woman to make her happy. I don’t like people who talk too much, nor those who are excessively happy and lively.

“Sortina, do you know where I might get to talk about becoming a [Blacksmith] with anyone, here? Or working with one?”

“You a blacksmith?” She says with a snort.

“Couldn’t I be one?” I frown.

“With those scrawny arms? Rizilius’s ears, my ass could probably hammer better than you. But if you want to embarrass yourself with the [Steelmakers], it’s up to you.”

[Steelmakers], not [Blacksmiths]. And the [Hunter] did mention something about my guns being made from half-giants. So, they are good with metal. Not that I can do much with that. I might see if they can cast bullets, though; even without pure smokeless gunpowder, maybe I can fashion a revolver for the long term. We’ll see. I’m used to work with heavy machinery and to alter plans, at most. Making guns in a medieval-like city? Not easy. Maybe not even possible. And I know nothing about medieval machinery – I have never taken an interest in it.

“I’d like to talk to someone. I’m used to work with some steel even if I’m not a proper [Blacksmith].”

“Well, I can maybe give you a recommendation for a guy. He and I—we are friends, let’s say. Close friends if your little ears can catch what I’m saying.”

“That would be perfect, Sortina. And I’d like to have you make a copy of my top in green, if you can. Maybe some a shirt with the reddish material. Throw in some golden buttons for it, if you can.”

“What are you, a [Duke]? Humans and their weird taste. But ok, ok. Do you always wear things that leave your belly on the open? That’s a bold move if you’ll be eating half-giant food. Don’t men find it a bit daring? You know, wearing this sort of thing, you could give people the wrong idea.”

She’s asking me if people have confused me with a prostitute before.

“It’s my business. If they have a problem, it’s their problem. Not mine. And if they want to bring me trouble, I’ll give trouble back.”

“May I fall in my ancestors’ footprints, those are some words! I like you!” Sortina slaps my back in common understanding.

We have come in the back of her shop, where she has walls and I can comfortably let her take all my measurements.

“You sure you don’t need any pants?”

“Give me something simple and matching for the green top. And if you could wash this as well.”

I take out my beautiful fur coat, now full of dried blood and a couple little holes from the gunshots.

“Giants’ legends,” she swore. “That’s one high-quality fur.”

She almost snatches it from my hands, examining all the blood that I lost inside of it with wide eyes.

“Didn’t know a little Human could bleed this much.”

“Do you think you can clean it?”

“Without a doubt. I can also mask the holes. But the craftsmanship here… who did this? Wait, what is this—writing? Never heard of this person.”

It’s a custom made piece from fur artisans. Few people are still working with real pelts after the whole problem with activists for animal rights. Price tag, around 9.000 euros. The lab that creates these pieces puts a very small tag on the neck with the name of the main artisan who worked on it; it’s not conventional, but they do make things that people order from all around the world.

“Ok, can you clean up my top now? I can’t just go around in my brassiere.”

She looks at the contraption that is holding my chest up and clicks her tongue.

“Never seen that thing covering your tits.”

“We could maybe work together on reproducing it for half-giantesses, Sortina. I bet that with a bigger chest comes a bigger back pain. But could you, please, clean my top?”

The woman looks confused for a second before she comes back to her senses and gets a stick out of her small bag. She points it at my top and whispers: “[Cleanse].”

And just like that, the blood starts dissolving, the stains slowly disappear in front of my eyes.

Magic.

A world full of magic.

Disgusting.