Dungeon Item Shop

Fresh scrubs the floor of the shop. It’s late in the evening. They had spent the rest of the morning together. After they left the park, the three of them had walked around the church district and Basil basically gave them both an elaborate tour of the area. Despite her multiple attempts to get them to go into the cathedral itself however, both of them declined, much to the priestess’ disappointment. Despite that and the somber mood of the late morning, it ended up being a lot of fun and Fresh thanked Basil excitedly, before quietly slipping a silver Obol into her palm with a wink as they parted ways for the day.

She and Jubilee walked back to the store together as the sun was starting to come out. Jubilee had asked her why she asked Basil about something dangerous like that and the girl had explained that it was because of the terrible dream she had had a while ago. Jubilee had scolded her, telling her not to ask too many weird questions. But it wasn’t in a harsh tone, it was more of a cautious warning for her sake. Basil didn’t seem too suspicious of her question though and had gone on an elaborate tirade.

The girl crawls forward, scrubbing away the next spot of mud that some adventurers had brought in to the store yesterday. The two of them swept every day, but sometimes the floors just needed to be cleaned properly. They don’t have a mop, so she’s down on her knees with the hem of her robe and her sleeves rolled all up as she scrubs it all by hand.

“Why are we working again?” asks Jubilee, polishing the chickens with a damp rag. “I thought you wanted to take the day off.”

Fresh looks up towards them and smiles. “Thanks for helping me, Jubilee. Even if it’s your vacation too.”

Jubilee looks back at the chickens. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Fresh scrubs the next spot clean. She wants to make the store spotless for tomorrow. She needs to get back to work. If what Basil had said was true, if what the black-fountain had told her in her restless dreams was true, then time was running out for her. She has to be ready and she isn’t even near to being close enough.

She slaps the dirty, wet rag down on the next spot and vigorously scrubs it clean. She’s going to have to stop it from happening, somehow. Though she doesn’t actually know how just yet. What does that even mean? How do you ‘stop’ a hero from being summoned to the world? Where? How? When? With what? It seems like something that’s far outside of her league. Way beyond it, in fact. The priestess’ words echo through her head, together with the distant trickle of the fountain outside on the plaza.

She can still picture it, Basil’s face as she was happily explaining to her, apparently not shocked that she didn’t know about something that’s common knowledge here. Every odd hundred years or so, the gods choose a hero to come to the world. Some being of grand, holy power. The highest incarnation of man, a shining sun that rises to wash away all of the darkness of the lingering night. An avatar of the holy, sent to stop a great darkness from digging its roots into the world. Literal divine intervention. The last hero-party existed apparently only ten years ago.

Was this new happening set into motion ninety years too early to stop her? Herself specifically? From doing what? Living a quiet life as a shop-keeper? Or did the gods choose a hero to stop some great, malignant threat to the world that she simply knows nothing about?

Does it matter?

The wet rag slaps against the next spot and she moves forward, scuffing her knees along the wooden boards.

Witches are beings of darkness, under Basil’s classification and the fountain seemed displeased as well, that’s enough for her to assume that it simply doesn’t matter if she herself is the big target or simply a bystander. The flood of light will come to wash her and this new life of hers away just the same. It will swallow everything indifferently, leaving only the holy and the bright upon the surface of the world.

Fresh lifts a hand and grabs the hem of Jubilee’s outfit.

“What?” asks Jubilee, looking back down towards her.

She doesn’t say anything and stays there a moment longer, before letting go and crawling forward to scrub the next spot of dried mud with the rag that is beyond filthy now.

How does she stop the summoning of a hero?

She can’t kill the gods, obviously, which are apparently a real thing too. Somehow that’s the least surprising thing that she learned today, though. The black-fountain is, to her at least, deistic in a sense to begin with. It has to be, right? To have access to such reality bending powers? To be able to transfer her soul, to craft this body she now inhabits. Was it a god too? Maybe. It’s her god, if it is. She owes it that much, despite its harshness to her in her restless dreams.

So how does she keep this life of hers safe? How does she keep her friends safe? How does she keep the black-fountain safe?

The wet rag slaps against the spot. Muddy water begins to seep out of it. The wet collecting at first, but then spreading out and seeping into the grooves of the wooden floorboards. The droplets of black-water sinking into the foundation of the building. Fresh watches, as a ray of lazy sunlight shines in through the window, shimmering off of the surface of the dark-tinged muck and it reminds her of something.

It reminds her of the man from the witch’s sect. The man who had told her exactly what it is that she needs to do.

She has to believe in something. But what? What does that esoteric, poetic statement even mean?

The witch of the black-fountain sits back upright, looking around the store. She needs a purpose. A goal. She needs something to believe in. Money? Her friends? The store itself and what it symbolizes? Her eyes wander down to her wet hands, covered in grimy stains.

“Jubilee?”

“Yeah?” asks Jubilee, polishing the chicken on the same spot as before.

“I’ve been sneaking out to go to the dungeon on my own at night.”

Jubilee turns back to look at her and then looks back to the chicken, continuing their work. “Yeah, I know.”

She looks up in surprise. “Huh? You knew?” asks Fresh.

“Yeah? You think I can’t hear you trampling out in the middle of the night? It’s like a dairy cow trying to waltz in an alchemist’s shop.”

“Jubileeee~!”

“Sorry.” Jubilee rotates the chicken a smidge to the right. “I’m just trying to say that you’re not very graceful.”

Fresh sighs. “You aren’t mad?”

“Why would I be mad? You’re an adult. You’re allowed to do whatever it is that you want with your life. If you want to go die on your own in the dungeon, that’s on you.” The room is quiet for a moment. “It’s a little selfish of you though.”

Fresh looks at their back which is turned to her. “Huh?”

Jubilee stops working, but doesn’t turn around. “How do you think I’d feel if you died?”

Fresh scratches her cheek, looking at her friend who had said something she hadn’t expected. “Jubilee…?”

The rag squeaks as Jubilee scrubs a spot on the chicken. “We’d go out of business. You make all of our stuff, goo-brain!”

Fresh laughs, having for a moment expected something different. “You’re a good friend, Jubilee.”

“I know. Get back to work,” says Jubilee, waving her off. Not bothering to turn around to look at her open arms. “No hugs.”

“I’ll get you one day,” says Fresh, crossing her arms again, her wet palms staining her dress.

“I doubt it.”

Fresh returns to her work. “I want to become stronger, Jubilee. That’s why I’m going to the dungeon.”

“Stronger for what? We live in the middle of the city. There’s nothing here.”

Her eyes wander to the antidotes, shining with a dull light from the shelves. The vague shift of colors in the matte glass moving, like the shadow of an old woman. “There are a lot of things here, Jubilee. We’re not safe. You know it too.” Jubilee turns their head towards her. “The merchant’s guild, the church, the adventurer’s guild,” lists Fresh. “It’s all… built on money. But what happens if we run out of money? What happens if we make the wrong person angry? What happens if I mess up and someone finds out about me?”

“We just won’t let any of that happen then.”

“But what if it does? What if my dream was real? What if there’s really a hero coming?”

Jubilee shrugs. “Then I guess we’ll die.”

“Jubileeee~ I don’t want to die and I don’t want you to die!” she protests. “This… this is all I have.”

Jubilee rotates the chicken back into place, framing it with their fingers as they step back a step and nod, satisfied with their work. They turn their head back to her worried face. “Then we’re going to have to kill the hero.”

Fresh looks at them, surprised. “Huh?”

Jubilee walks past her towards the counter. “If the merchant’s guild gets uppity, we’ll just have to put them into their place.” They begin sorting through their change in the bowl. “If the adventurer’s guild gets weirded out for whatever reason, we’ll shut them down.” They begin sorting the coins, separating them into their denominations. “And if Basil or the church get wise? We’ll close their doors for good. Orphans and all.”

“…Jubilee?”

“- And if a hero does come?” Jubilee slides a coin across the counter, staring into her eyes. “We’ll slit his throat in the night.” Fresh stares at her friend, they were usually very honest and brash, but this was a level further. “Get your bag, your freaky book and some potions. We’re going to the dungeon to level you up some more.”

Razmatazz

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