Chapter 5

“Missy, did you come to share my bed?” Called out a drunk from a table at the center of the room before I took one step inside.

That was fast.

Ignoring the drunks and assorted morons causing a commotion, I approached the long table masquerading as a desk. Just like in the stories, a pretty, late-twenties early-thirties woman in leathers sat behind it making entries on a scroll.

I waited for her to pause. Since she didn’t look like she planned to recognize me anytime soon, I initiated the conversation: “Excuse me Ma’am, what do I need to register for the Guild?” She still didn’t respond, even with the excessive unflattering commentary towards us and women in general coming from the peanut gallery. Some of the viler insults came from the female adventurers themselves.

“Are you sure you want to play it this way?” I asked quietly so only she would hear.

“Give it your best shot, kid,” she replied even quieter without moving her lips.

“Yo fatso,” I hollered at the bulky man who started the commotion, “Do you know of anyone that has a way to help this poor overworked old woman hear better?” The targeted drunk, aka ‘fatso’, was the only one at his table not laughing.

“Please be gentle.” I called out to the man stood up in thick studded reinforced leathers. Cringing in mock panic, “Take this ancient hardworking woman.” I gestured at the attendant. “Even if she is well, well, well past her prime.” Smirk. “Making more work for her isn’t very nice. Remember the cardinal rule of respecting your elders.” The place abruptly quieted when the receptionist lunged at me with her full body across the desk. I danced back, easily avoiding the tackle. The room stiffened but wasn’t hostile.

“Grannie, do you need help up?” Smiling, but very on guard, I watched the blonde receptionist stand and brush herself off.

“Lars, I hope you were not planning on trouble. I did warn you that your next demerit would reduce your rank.” The receptionist regained her composure, reseating herself with a hostile glare at the large bearded man in the center of the room. The chair under him suddenly gained three hundred plus pounds. “And you, rookie. Not bad. Decent reactions and a facile mind. Keep it up.” The noise level returned to a low roar ignoring us. Mostly.

“What can I do for you, kid?”

“What do I need to join the Guild?”

“Do your parents know where you are?”

“No. Nor would they stop me if they did.”

“Why do you want to join the Guild, kid?”

“Fame, fortune, slaying the Princess, rescuing the dragon. That sort of thing.”

“Don’t you mean saving the Princess?” She wanted to see where this led.

“Pish, have you ever met a Princess that, after five words, you didn’t want to strangle?”

“Met many Princesses, have you?” I received a frown.

“Too many and too many Princess wannabees. The lot of them should have been drowned at birth.” The worst were the ones that openly admitted they were Princesses in college. “Have you met any?”

“A few, one wasn’t so bad. I’ll give you seven days to get a recommendation letter from a respected craftsman located in this city.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing you will have a problem with.”

“You mentioned rank to Adventurer Lars. How does rank work?”

Placing her quill back down. Theresa spoke about fighting and survivability assessment along with reputation. Rank level began with A and increased based mainly on those criteria.

“What about the higher ranks?”

“To qualify for D-Rank and higher,” she elaborated, “one has to achieve notable achievements and enough tasks satisfactorily completed for the Guild.”

At even higher ranks, reputation was even more important than strength, according to Theresa’s lecture. But a high strength was still necessary, for those individuals represented the Guild as a whole.

“So, anyone D or higher would be a respectable member of society and a strong warrior?”

“Pretty much. But being respected in the Guild is more important than society.”

“So, Lars has some hope then?”

“There is no hope for Lars. He is a good man and a great teammate. But he is a drunk when not active.” At first, I thought she was going to make a joke at his expense. But she was serious.

“Poor guy. What about E’s and higher, are there many of those?”

“E’s are very rare. Most adventurers retire before then. It’s not something for you to worry about for a very long time.”

“For the letter, is one good or is more the better in this case?”

“One will be fine. Any acknowledged Master with a shop in this city is acceptable.”

“Cool. Richard will do then. Thanks, Theresa. See you in a few days.”

“Hey kid, describe Richard,” she called out to me as I neared the exit.

“Ya tall,” I had to really stretch, since he was over a foot taller than I was, even at seventy plus years, “beard, jolly, doesn’t like his neighbor, really doesn’t like his neighbor’s hubby. Ta.” I waved over my shoulder.

Unknown to me, but strongly suspected, I acquired another tail.

Scrivener’s shop wasn’t all that far and a simple request for its location led me to it. A stack of coarse parchment paper and an inexpensive bottle of ink, along with Quills, sand, razor and a few children’s practice guides cost me a gold. The young lady directed me to where I could purchase various types of sacs and carry packs. From there I went home, deposited my stuff, waved in a random direction to my not so imaginary followers and entered the tavern for dinner and letter practice, followed by returning to the inn to sleep after they shooed me out.

“So, she does know the old Smith ... nothing unexpected. Keep following her. Let me know if anything else pops up.”

“Ernest was also following her,” added the scout. “I saw him twice.”

“That too is not unexpected. She just got in town two days ago and is too careless not to make waves. Now go.”

“Yes, Guildmaster.”

...

“Sweets, ale and Mattie’s place? Besides visiting small shops, she has bought nothing else since the scriveners?”

“No, Guildmaster, she has been spending most of her time with Master Richard and journeyman Deana.

...

“Olaf’s and Darnell’s, in and out. Spent also time in Marcene’s, and carried a bag out? How did she find those two oddballs?”

...

“No deviation in her activities. She is in a waiting pattern. But who or what is this girl waiting for?”

7 day. First, I visited smith Mathew. The jacket fit perfectly, so too did the gloves, pants, and bustiers. He showed me how to adjust the tension in the shoulders if there was ever an issue. Not that I expected there to be. I paid and thanked him. I also gifted him with a small keg of Koo’s best medium ale. I waved goodbye and headed out to Olaf’s.

Alura’s boots that she made for me were a little higher heel than my comfortable two-inch ones that I had lived in since arriving on this world. The black shimmer dress fit tighter than my new gloves. No wrinkles, pinches, pulls or bunches. A superior tailoring even compared to my new jacket. Sitting was a hair tight across the hips and upper thighs, but that was to be expected. Alura suggested that slightly tugging on the hips before sitting would help. Straightening my dress when I stood was normal, it appeared. I received a funny look after I questioned the practice.

She helped me in and out of the dress, since the outfit was not made for one person to lace the back up. I’d have to ask Yvonne if she would be willing to assist me with that later.

A hug and a glowing appreciation, together with a sizeable tip, helped bolster my dressmaker’s lack of confidence.

With my packages in storage, I headed straight to the adventurer’s Guild. They had waited long enough.

“Is the old lady around?”

“It’s the little birdy, she came back to me.” Hollered an already drunk Lars. The sole woman across from him quieted him with a sharp tone. It was still early morning and few adventurers were in attendance.

“Here, I thought you forgot about us. Was there an issue getting the recommendation?” The receptionist was more alert this time. She still wrote on her scrolls while looking up at my entrance to her Guild though.

“Nah, the old coot was having fun making me do all sorts of errands. Here’s his recommendation. Richard told me not to read it.”

Theresa opened the scroll and read it with a strange expression. “Lars, get your ass up and go to the yard. Rhonda, administer a ‘C’ test for the girl.”

“C?” Clarified the woman across from Lars.

“I don’t have all day.” The receptionist made a shooing motion with her quill. “Kid, go with Rhonda, do what she says.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied to my elder. Getting an eyebrow twitch in response.

I followed the mage out back. Lars joined us shortly after with a wicked thin bladed axe with a back facing spike, and a good-sized shield. That shield alone had to weigh over ten pounds, if not more.

“Lars, and you, what is your name?” The mage addressed me.

“Cynthia.”

“Cynthia, your task is to beat Lars. The bout stops when I say stop. Understood?”

“Is it really safe with him already drunk?” I worried he would get hurt.

“Nah, the big guy will be fine. He won’t do anything dumb.”

They wouldn’t believe me if I told them, “I’m ready.”

“Don’t you need a weapon or armor or anything?” Rhonda, the moderator, asked.

“I’m good, I don’t use weapons. Just my fists.”

“Ha, a brawler!” The big man laughed pleasantly. “Come girl, show me what you got.” I walked across the thirty-foot circle, Lars met me half way and took a quick short swing to test me. I danced aside working my way to get a clean shot at his shield. My speed was a noticeably faster than Lars’, but his real-life fighting experience was years beyond mine. The big guy realized my goal, and even if he didn’t understand why I was targeting his shield, he still kept it angled away from me.

An opening appeared and I took it. At the same time, he started his counter attack. The titanic BOOM! echoed through the yard, shocking Rhonda and the few Guildies inside, let alone the neighbors. As for poor Lars, he was on his ass with a hole in his wooden shield the size of a soccer ball. I aimed under the arm that held it so as not to harm the drunken sod.

I backed off silently, waiting for him to stand. “Fuck, my shield...” He stood, “Girl, what was that?”

“A Skill.” Strike, a medium one. I used that one on the shield so I wouldn’t have to use a different one against him and cripple my sparring partner. Or worse.

“Hell, the crack is all the way through too. Theresa, you owe me a new shield,” he called out to the receptionist, who probably wasn’t the receptionist, standing in the door separating the Guildhall from the yard.

“Again, girl.” He sobered immensely or wasn’t as drunk as he first pretended. Probably both.

His shield work greatly improved with less of it there and that he was now taking our spar seriously. Between his axe, his experience and my lack of truly skilled real-life opponents, the contest was close to even at first. VR and real life were completely different. Most players relied heavily on their toons damage reductions and ancillary skills; besides that, their pain feedback was set very low. Whereas I had no damage reduction so needed to learn how to move. Yet, I was still not comparable to a professional warrior.

At one of his regular quick back-slashes with the pick head I darted forward and lightly tapped his chest. I stated ‘Boom’. Clearly.

I had three light and one medium cuts on my arms. None too deep and all of which were already healed, just a touch bloody. I quickly wrapped the deepest one so that no one could see my insanely fast Regeneration.

“Hells. Thanks, girl, for not following through. I yield,” Lars grimaced.

“Winner: Cynthia,” declared Rhonda. The few people watching were stunned. Even drunk, Lars was considered the second-best fighter in the city. Not that I knew that, or who was first, at the time.

“Go to work, people,” commanded Theresa from inside the crowd. “You, come with me. Lars, go sober up, you just lost to a kid half your age.”

At the registration desk Theresa asked, “What do you want, girl?”

“Umm. I was kinda hoping I could get my Guild card.” Theresa gave me a dirty look; that was not what she meant and I knew it.

“So, you want to play it that way,” she returned my words back to me from the other day, filled out my card and handed it to me.

“Thank you, Guildmaster. I’ll be good, I promise.” I had strongly suspected today that Theresa was the Guildmaster, when she assigned both Lars and Rhonda to my test.

“Humph, that is what I am worried about.”

“I have to go get ready for a party. See ya later.” I skipped out the door, just to further tease my new Guildmaster.

Richard had rented a carriage for me for the night. So that was one less trouble, plus he was escorting me.

“Rhonda, what the fuck was that?”

“She has the ability to chantlessly cast spells. It’s probably limited to one. The power of the Dark magic spell greatly aided her natural strength.

“What circle spell is that?”

“Third, I think. And it’s a modified spell or an original one.”

“Do you expect me to believe that a fifteen-year-old girl can chantlessly cast a third circle spell and time it perfectly with her punches? What about magic items?”

“Boots, pants, top all have the same enchantments.”

“Same? What are they?”

“Durability and cloth regeneration.”

“And the rest?”

“She is the one that killed the basilisk last week. Solo. There were plenty of witnesses.”

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Theresa asked fully exasperated.

“Master put a seal on it for ten days. Trent on his side too. The knights that went to subjugate the beast continued on their patrol after the beast was slaughtered.”

“Since you can tell me this now, it meant your master removed the seal. What else are you not saying?”

“No known potions were used; the girl was out for a few hours from the poison and weak for the next single day. She also only claimed the fan and the two eye teeth. The rest was purchased by the merchants and mages. The girl gifted Sirs Lakewood and Xera with the eyeteeth and each trooper got a gold from the girl’s own hand.”

“Go on.” Guildmaster Theresa popped a headache pill.

“Unless that girl is a Goddess class actor, she is not acting,” Rhonda noted.

Pop. She swallowed a second pill. “Tell me you are kidding. An E class with the attitude of a Royal on vacation.

“I overheard one of the troopers talk about her breaking free of the Basilisk’s Breath and ignoring the effects from a second Breath completely. That was not confirmed.”

“I have to assume it is. Are all the visiting Royals accounted for?”

“No one knows them all.”

“Fuck, I hate Trent’s parties,” Theresa said out of the blue.

Now, it was Rhonda’s turn to be confused.

“She mentioned that she had a party to attend tonight. The only one that matters one should be his. But who invited her?” Theresa questioned.

“I don’t know.”

“ ... I hate wearing dresses...”

Yvonne agreed to help me with the finishing touches for the party. I kept my word that I would be no trouble for her, causing her attitude to normalize, mostly, over the week. With the destruction of her kneecap, walking was uncomfortable for my innkeeper and stairs even worse. The disgruntled ex-warrior’s life as a knight ended a few years ago when she took an ogre’s club to the knee, almost severing the lower half of the leg completely. She had taken over running the inn as a way to stay close with her ‘family’.

My only concession to makeup was a stinging lip paint, a shade or so darker red than my normal lip color. The tiny brush took forever to coat my lips. The stinging side effect wasn’t much, but lingered for a minute or so. The dye, I was told, would last a week. No swelling or any other effects were mentioned even if there was some. I had tried it on the underside of my wrist two days ago and was satisfied with the results. On me, the color lasted less than two days instead of the seven or so promised.

I ended up liking the color and used the lipstick occasionally, since it couldn’t wipe off from any means other than time.

My sole piece of jewelry was a simple silver clasp gathering my hair at my nape that I borrowed from Deana, Richard’s Granddaughter and new friend. I still hadn’t come across a jeweler I liked.

“Remember, no one at one of those kinds of parties will be any good or have anything besides ill intent, watch what you eat and drink,” my landlady reminded me for the third time today.

“I’ll be watchful of the viper’s den, I promise, Auntie Yvonne.” She didn’t like it when I addressed her as landlady or Goodwoman. Keeping with my new character, I made an effort to address every person by their status or title. I used that extra formality as a protective barrier to distance those I felt should be kept at arm’s length.

I counted on people, especially the nobles and wealthy, to increase my status subconsciously. It was a trick I learned when dealing with both sides in my plant. ‘Supervisor Hoxy, Manager Stevens...”

“Are you sure you aren’t a Princess?” Yvonne stood back and looked at me in amazement, after I was all buttoned up and ready to go.

I knew exactly what this body’s appearance was. I spent long hours one weekend with a hard to come by character appearance change item to flesh out what I admired most about this particular type of woman. I even paid a friend to help me design the face on a 3D character generating program.

Sixteen, clear and clean, with a perfect face: jaw, cheekbone, and brows. Crystal-clear blue-eyes. Medium set lips with a hint of opening, straight, deep dark-violet mid-length hair. Straight, strong shoulders tapering to a smaller but not tiny waist. Full B cups, high, round and firm.