The doors to the Gryphon's Claw swung open. Passing through them, Whiskers looked around, catching a few errant looks himself as he walked deeper into the tavern. People of all races were present. Humans, elves, dwarves, and beastfolk alike sat and dined together, sharing mugs of foamy golden beer.
It didn't take long for him to find the trio that gave him the bag of coins. Whiskers stepped up, clutching the leather pouch in both hands.
"Hey," started Whiskers, hesitating. He didn't get the rest of his sentence out before he was interrupted by the dwarf of the party.
"Ah, damnit, Helene," said the jacketed dwarf man. His nose was shaped like an orange, and his head was so bald it looked polished. "I told ye, I told ye not to give him the coin. And do ye know why? Because here he is, asking for more already!"
The human woman in dark robes rubbed at her face, her once empathetic eyes looking to glare at Whiskers. "I get it, I get it. Look. We aren't giving you any more than that. Plus, the first place you go with the coin is the damn tavern? Really?" Her words stung, loaded with indignation and reproach.
The tall elf in white robes from their group opened his mouth to add his own two cents. But Whiskers wasn't hearing any of it.
"I want to earn my money!" hissed Whiskers, making the table go quiet. "I appreciate what you gave me. I want to know what I can do to earn my own money so I can find a way home."
He raised the bag of money, about ten gold coins within it. "This is the most money I've ever had in my life. I want to earn more. I have to."
The trio stared at him with mouths ajar. Pity returned to their eyes, and they bowed their heads. "Oh . . . We had no idea. By the gods, I'm so sorry," said Helene, the human woman.
The tall elf put a hand on Whiskers's shoulder. "We're all sorry, friend. That's not an easy way to live. Pray, tell us your name."
Whiskers nodded. In all honesty, their mood shift was a tad confusing to him. Sure, it was tough being poor, but they were so tender it was as though they believed him a survivor of some great calamity. He'd run with it, though.
"I go by Whiskers. That's what all the humans called me."
The party's moods darkened even more, and soon Helene's hand was on his shoulder as well. "We ain't calling you by some mocking slave name, friend," said the dwarf. "It just ain't right."
Whiskers blinked. Slave name? He never considered himself a slave. Though, when he thought about it, being collared and locked up in those cramped little apartments was pretty damn close.
The tall elf put a hand on his chest. "My name is Edoix Mienard. My job is White Mage, first level."
Helene lifted her hand in greeting. "Helene Thorne, first level Black Mage."
The dwarf was next, and he gave Whiskers a wide grin as he thumbed the pistols tucked under his arms. "Gymgrei Ottoson, level one Gunslinger!"
The party turned their expressions expectantly to Whiskers.
He sat there quietly for a moment, thinking hard on how to respond. Then it came to him. He stuck out his thumb and smiled wide. "I'm Whiskers! Unemployed!"
If it was Whiskers completely missing the point, or the sheer enthusiasm with which he missed it, nobody could tell. But the response to it was side-splitting, gut-wrenching laughter.
Recovering from his laughter first, Gymgrei slapped Whiskers on the back. "Alright, alright, lad. How's 'bout this?" he said through the remaining chuckles and tears beading in his eyes. Gymgrei produced a canvas-wrapped object from his bag under the table, handing it to Whiskers. "You wanna earn yer own coin? It just so happened we're in need of a front-row party member."
Whiskers took the long bundle and unwrapped it. In the canvas sheet was a sword with a leather and wood scabbard.
"You sure, Gymgrei?" asked Helene, her voice filled with concern.
The dwarf nodded. "Aye, that I am. It's an old tool, and it's better that it either get used or be smelted down into something helpful. If it turns out he ain't the sword-swinging type, it can at least be made into something to help us all out."
Edoix snapped his fingers. "Friend, we surely can't refer to you as Whiskers. How about you come up with a new name to go by?"
The offer had Whiskers scratching his head. He'd been Whiskers for as long as he could remember. He didn't really want to just throw that name away. It was a gift from home. He held his arms, the sword tucked under one arm as he thought.
"Call me . . . Whis." He wouldn't throw his name away; that was his forever. But perhaps this simple change would be enough.
His new friends nodded in agreement. Whis it would be.
Helene raised a hand and called to a passing barmaid. "Leora! Let's get a round of ale."
It took no time at all before the tall wooden mugs of ale were brought to the table. Gymgrei wasted no time in taking the drink and downing it, while Helene and Edoix raised their mugs to Whis, who had to set the sword on the table to hold the heavy mug with both hands.
Everyone drank, and they seemed to enjoy drinking. The moment the rim of the mug met Whis's lips, however, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and his ears flatten. Every bit of his instincts were screaming at him that this was gross. Still, not wanting to be the odd one out, he drank.
Whis hissed and spat and coughed, eyes tearing up as his reaction to the fermented brew was extreme. It was settled then and there that Whis did not drink alcohol. While Helene and Edoix comforted the sad cat, Gymgrei happily drank the free second mug, savoring the notes of chocolate, oak, and apple that this particular tavern was famous for among drink connoisseurs.
The barmaid came over to make sure all was well and replaced Whis's drink with a minty tea they had, hoping that would be his preference. On top of the tea, Whis used one of his gold coins to get a plate of fried fish, feeling some hunger pangs.
To literally no one's surprise, Whis was all about the fish dish. He also liked the mint tea and sipped away at it as he kicked his legs, perched happily on a stool, purring away like a motor.
"Well then, now that we're settled in as a party, Whis. We were discussing our next quest," said Gymgrei, getting a third mug of ale brought to him, alongside a tray of fried peppers stuffed with cheese and spinach.
Helene snapped her fingers. "That's right! What was it . . . ah, the slime job, right?"
Edoix nodded. "The very same. An outpost to the East has had to chase slimes out of their food stores. It's a simple subjugation job, but there's a bonus if we find the primary culture."
Whis swallowed a piece of fish and tilted his head. "Culture?"
"Like how bees belong to a hive, or ants to a colony, slimes belong to a culture. Slimes are all technically the same creature; it has just divided itself over and over again."
Whis lifted the sword he was given. "So I just hit them with this and get the money, right?"
Helene shrugged, chuckling at Whis's clueless attitude. "More or less, yeah. You definitely think like a front-row fighter already."
"There's a bit more to it than just swinging it at them, Whis. A couple of fights and we'll get the basics into you. You do much fightin'?" asked Gymgrei.
Whis nodded. "Since I was a kitten. There was a fight nearly every other day."
The party's faces were horrified. The mental image of a young Sealgari boy fighting for his life for the entertainment of slavers was enough to put off anyone's lunch.
Whis merely shrugged and returned to his fried fish, purring loudly as he devoured the delicious and flakey flesh.
Edoix coughed to clear the silence. "We will need to get you some armor. Those simple clothes could not protect you against a gentle summer breeze, less a voracious slime culture."
Helene nodded. "I'll take him to get some new armor, Gymgrei. That sword's pretty old. Take him to a smith to have it cleaned up and fitted to him."
The party left after their lunch at the Gryphon's Claw. If Whis was going to fight on their front lines, he needed to be geared up as well as possible.
As Helene said, the first stop was to get him outfitted in some basic armor.
The shop she led him to was near the entrance of town and close to the blacksmith. The building was entirely stone on the first floor, with a wooden upper floor. As they walked inside, a bell above the door chimed.
"Hello?" croaked an old man's voice. "How may I help—oh! New Wanderer looking for his first set of equipment?" he asked, pointing a shaky finger at Whis.
Helene put her hands on her hips proudly and nodded. "That's right, Mr. Wahl. I'm thinking we put him in some light leather. We don't have the time to outfit him in metal."
Whis shivered, his tail and ears fluffing out. "Metal sounds cramped. I don't think I want metal."
Mr. Wahl nodded. "I see . . . dear boy, how do you typically fight?"
Whis folded his arms, shifting his weight onto one foot. "Well, it's pretty fast. My fights were always unarmed, just using our bare claws to rip each other open, you know?"
Mr. Wahl's face drained, and Helene looked at Whis in horror. Just what sort of monstrosities was this outwardly friendly man subjected to?
"I see . . ." Mr. Wahl hummed to himself and rubbed his pointy chin. "I think I have the tack for that," he muttered and walked into the back room. Ten minutes later, he came back out with a set of clothes in a neat bundle. "I'll need to size you for the boots, but these clothes should fit your frame well. I've an eye for it, you know."
Whis took the bundle and marveled at its weight. It was dense but surprisingly light for how thick the folded clothes and leather were.
Mr. Wahl drew out a folding screen and nodded. "Go ahead and slip into it. If it all fits, you'll be good to go right away."
Whis looked at the clothes in his hands and walked behind the folding screen.
Mr. Wahl and Helene stood there, waiting for Whis. While the screen hid his body, it didn't hide the clamor of him moving around and struggling out of his own clothes. Nor did the screen hide his silhouette, which showed the cat struggling just to get out of his clothes.
With his roughspun trousers around his ankles and the linen top over his head, Whis panicked and began to flail.
"Whis?!" asked Helene, her voice rich with concern.
Bam! The screen came down, Whis flailing about on top of it with his bare naked rear in the air and his head and arms stuck in a linen tunic.
Helene's hands covered her mouth as she doubled over, eyes watering as she choked on laughter that came knocking on her teeth.
Finally, Whis got himself completely undressed and stood up suddenly, squatting down and ready for anything to come at him. As far as the cat was concerned, he was just attacked.
Helene's stomach still rolled as she fought back laughter. She had to lend Whis a hand getting dressed. It was so bizarre. She'd seen a lot of things in her life as a student of Black Magic: demons, abyssals, and even the odd angel left in stasis without a god to operate it.
But she had never seen a fully grown man not understand how to dress himself. How did he get the old clothes on? She shook the thoughts away.
It was such an odd thing as well. She didn't feel uncomfortable helping Whis dress. It was more like helping a stray child, the way he'd stare at your hands for a second while you fixed a button and then get distracted by a fly in the rafters or a noise from outside. Several times Helene had to tug Whis back into place so he wasn't squirming away.
When she finished, Helene stepped back, hands on her hips as she admired her handiwork.
Whis stood there in a leather vest and a silk shirt that had cutouts for his shoulders and wide sleeves that end at his biceps.
On both hands were fingerless leather gloves, the tips removed to make way for Whis's Sealgari nails.
His pants ballooned out near the knees, where they met his knee-high collared boots. Each boot had a metal plate covering the toe cap and a second plate that guarded the arch.
The pants themselves were a breathable cotton with reinforced leather panels on the outside that connected to the two belts that wrapped around his waist to support a bag, with loops to store vials for quick access to potions.
Whis looked every part the Wanderer now. He looked about himself, a wide smile on his face as he beamed. He very much approved of his new outfit.
"Oh, one second," Helene started, reaching around Whis's head to grab all that excess mop that flowed down to his shoulders. Pulling it into place, she tied it off, giving Whis a short, low ponytail.
As she cleaned up his wild hair, Whis closed his eyes and began to purr loudly.
Finishing the hair styling, Helene let Whis go, who slumped against her. The Black Mage stared at Whis with wide eyes as he just purred on her like a big, lazy cat. She sighed and closed her eyes. She would keep it a secret to everyone that she was gushing on the inside.
She hesitated but eventually pushed Whis off of her. It was time to go and get his weapon ready.
Whis left the shop with a swagger befitting a street cat like himself, high on life with the confidence his new threads filled him with.
Helene left that shop a whole ten gold lighter but content with what they got for that price. Having a front-row fighter would be incredibly important for the party as they knocked out jobs. It was important to make sure that front row was well protected since he would be taking the brunt of the violence while she and Gymgrei dealt the damage from afar. If he was good, that also meant Edoix only had to focus on keeping him alive, preserving his mana.
They walked across the street, where Gymgrei was talking animatedly with the large and burly smith, a Sealgari like Whis, but instead of a cat Sealgari, this man was a literal bear: arms like redwood trunks with boulder-sized muscles and thick black fur all over.
Despite the volume and animated bodies, there was no anger in their discussion. Instead, it was two masters of their craft gushing about the latest techniques, materials, and creations.
It was talk that bored Helene to death. "Alright, he's all yours, Gymgrei. I'm heading back to the tavern," she said, waving behind her as she immediately made her way out the door.
Whis waved Helene goodbye before turning to Gymgrei and the smithy.
". . . so by increasing the density of the carbon pellets added to the crucible, you prevent float and burn off, increasing the efficiency of your steel production," said the smithy, a furry finger in the air as he proudly explained his metallurgy knowledge.
"Aye, that makes sense, Ardan. But if the pellets are too dense, don't that decrease the surface area the molten iron can attack to make the steel?" Gymgrei asked, countering the theory.
Whis had no idea what was going on or what they were talking about. Instead, he looked around, poking at the different weapons on display. Eventually, that got boring as well, and Whis returned to the counter.
"Excuse me, I'm here to get a sword . . . fixed?" asked Whis, unable to remember what exactly needed to be done.
"Fitted, lad. That sword I gave ye has to be outfitted to ye so it's easier to use," Gymgrei corrected.
Whis drew the weapon from its scabbard and twisted his face at the weird feel. It didn't feel natural at all, and from the expression on Gymgrei's face, it didn't look natural either.
"Ah, that's not going to work for him at all," said the bear, shaking his head.
Whis removed the sword and scabbard, handing it to the smithy bear. "I typically fight unarmed."
The smith nodded. "Claw weapons tend to be the go-to for us; it's more natural. Hell, it's a cultural weapon for us Sealgari. Sadly, I don't have any claw weapons available."
Gymgrei nodded and shrugged. "Well, go ahead and clean that sword up. He'll be needin' somethin' for killing slimes with."
Ardan nodded and split the sword into its parts: a handle, guard, pommel, and the blade alone. The blade went into the heat of the forge, while Ardan took Whis's hands and examined them before wrapping his hands around a few examples of sword handles. Luckily, they found one that worked well, and he went to work.
The work was long and hot, but after two hours, the sword was polished, treated, and rebuilt to better fit Whis without making an outright new weapon.
Gymgrei nodded and tossed a small pouch of coin to Ardan. "Thanks, Ardan. I'll be back after this slime job to see about that new rifle I'm after."
Ardan laughed and waved goodbye. "See you then, Gymgrei, and thank you for your boundless support."
Afterward was an uneventful dinner. Not much talking to be had as the party stuffed their faces and drank their fill, though Whis stuck with tea instead of ale.
Whis trudged upstairs, following behind his party as he rubbed the day from his eyes.
"Your room, Whis, is at the end of the hall, on the left," said Edoix through a yawn.
Swinging the door into the room, Whis found it familiar. It was small. It reminded him of the apartments in the city back home. Whis was too tired to complain and collapsed into the bed, passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Their quest to kill slimes would be in the morning.