Expenditures and Expeditions

A caravan, which looked more like a rundown shack on wheels, was pulled by two freckle-aged brown horses. Their names were Rocko and Daisy, named by Graff after his two friends as a child, a rock and a flower. On the caravan's side, the words 'Graffodil's Troupe' were painted in sloppy red which looked to almost cross the border of juvenile vandalism and an eviction notice. Below the childlike text was a drawing of a lute done by Frina. It was supposed to be the caravan's saving grace on image and appeal if Frina hadn't drawn the lute to the same likeness of her own banged up instrument.

"Whoa, Rocko and Daisy!" Graff lifted the reins as much as his arms could. Traveling with Graff for so long, the horses knew how high his arms went. The horses whinnied to a stop beside a cavern where an old sword stood stabbed by the entrance's soil.

With a click of a wooden button under Graff's heel, a mechanism of small stairs unfolded beside the driver seat and cascaded to the ground. The caravan shifted like a boat at sea as the dwarven troupe master, armored in iron with a shield as large as him on his back, went down the steps. His armor clunked on his way to the horses. He patted them on their front legs. "Thanks as always, you two fighters. If we don't get back before dark, ye know the way to me aunt's house."

The backdoor of the caravan opened and Maya squinted, briefly blinded by the morning sun. As she stepped down, her black shin-high leather boots kicked a small dust cloud as they touched the ground. That wasn't the only difference in Maya's outfit. She wore magenta slacks tucked into her boots and a sleeveless beige buttoned blouse under her leather armor chest piece. Her ripped arms were very visible. On her hands and wrists were black leather gauntlets, open at her fingers, matched her footwear.

Maya felt different about her new outfit but the good kind. She felt more prepared for whatever lurked in that cave. But she obtained another agenda: to introduce the cozy innovation of sweatshirts to the world of Ghala… and possibly shorts too.

She slung her new brown leather flip-top messenger bag to the front. She took a peek at her pink sweatshirt, torn jeans, and sneakers neatly placed beside vials of red health potions. She thought about the days of preparation before they arrived at her first dungeon.

-----

The money Maya received from that eventful night was spent quicker than it was earned. Under Athalos and Graff's chaotic guidance, and Frina's as well, she purchased basic needs both fitting for a songstress and an adventurer.

Unknown to Maya that night, the One-Legged Duck was in the outskirts of a town called Hornshaw. While quaint, Hornshaw was just like any other town in Dernham. It was bleak and the damp aged wood of the buildings looked like it could be peeled off like stickers. The modest life Dernham was known for wasn't thriving but barely surviving.

The people, without the help of ale and song, meandered throughout the day's work. But a brief spark lit in the traders and peddlers eyes whenever Maya came to a store. Most of the time it was because of the shine of coin or, based on her purchases, the hope that an adventurer could spread Hornshaw's name through deeds. But to her surprise, some thanked her for the splendid performance at the tavern and some asked when her next performance would be. She didn't have a straight answer as her license was her highest priority but that lit a spark in her too.

The first day, Maya was begrudgingly assisted by Frina with her everyday clothing. Equipped with Athalos' hat of coins, they toured the tailors' shops. It had been awhile since Maya went shopping. After the trauma of bills from Earth subsided from her memory, she made a day of it. It was also her first time shopping with someone else. She picked some dresses but also bought one for Frina as thanks. The bard thought nothing of it but Maya was certain she enjoyed the company as well and that Frina liked the dress. The bard stared at it for ten seconds and apart from performances, it was the longest she gave anything attention.

The next day was spent on armor and weaponry. At the blacksmith's shop, Graff wore the chest piece of iron armor like a nightgown. His head popped up from the armor's collar. "Every dwarf knows the blood of iron! With the right strike at the forge, this armor will go the distance! Ye'll be beggin' yer enemies to land a hit! Ha! Have to admit, this one's pretty swell for a human's craft."

"I'd really like not to get hit, Graff." Maya was unsure about the recommendation. Just looking at it felt heavy. She looked at her hands and felt uncertain of her capabilities. "I don't wanna die in a place where I don't know how to fight. The only place I know that I can fight on is the stage."

"Bah! We'll teach ye a thing or two! Because like it or not, danger is a many in these lands or any."

"The dwarf isn't wrong, Lady Maya," entered Athalos from the aisle of longbows. And to the blacksmith's frustration, he knocked the neatly arranged bows down with his staff. He thought it was rumble in the sky signaling rain coming and walked on towards his companions. He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. But the dwarf was wrong too."

"Wha—"

"Out with it, speaker of tongues!" grunted Graff.

"As a connoisseur of cowardice, might I suggest leather armor instead." Athalos proudly suggested. With a face of ecstasy, he caressed each part of his body as he mentioned them with the texture of silk. "The joints are unburdened. The waist swivels as if greased. Why get tired after a mile walk when you can get tired after two? Light exercise, anyone?"

"Ye should be jailed and the key smelted!" shouted Graff with a hammed fist in the air. He pointed towards the other customers who covered their children's eyes.

"Me?" Athalos looked down at the general area of where Graff was. He had a smug face that worms frequently saw from birds that landed in front of them. He embraced his arms like a maiden protecting her bare bosom. "I'm not the one begging to be hit, am I?"

"Wha—" Graff's jaw dropped. His bourbon eyes turned to the other customers and realized their frightened eyes shifted towards him. With a pale smooth face, he pleaded to them with wide hand gestures, "No, no, no! Madams and sirs! I find no joy in such carnal— Masochism isn't my— M-My friend here is ill at the dome!"

Graff took off the iron chest armor and opened his arms. "See?! Nothin' but a harmless dwa—"

Athalos heard the crash of iron on the floor then, in the corner of his mouth, addressed the customers, "It would be highly naive to think he'd stop undressing there."

The customers rushed out of the store. They had to save the children. Graff chased Athalos with an iron helmet but the shopkeeper, who had already lost all his other potential buyers, staved him off to keep the damages to a minimum.

Maya discreetly distanced herself from the two and feigned no association. She also needed space to review her options. Leather armor was suited for agility and, as Athalos put it, that also meant running away. In all honesty, that was all Maya needed to hear.

She soon purchased the leather armor over the counter after she haggled the shopkeeper dirty to half its original price. Whatever skill that was, Graff and Athalos wanted that too.

And the third day was a trip to Hornshaw's guild hall. The state it was in was the saddest of all buildings. The floor creaked with every step. The railings on the second floor were snapped. Never mind vermin, there were bats perched on the ceiling above. There was a lone receptionist, an old woman who looked like a whistle would tip her over, who happily tended to their business. The last new adventurer applied two months ago and she thought she wouldn't live to see the next.

While it was the cheapest of their expenditures, it took them until dusk to get Maya's novice-in-training quest. Graff thought he felt a wrinkle on his face and wondered if the old woman was contagious. Athalos felt himself grow old. Frina liked the trip the most and loved the guild hall's charm.

-----

Maya looked at the five pieces of silver on her palm. It would only buy her five days at any tavern or an inn with a rating lower than three out of ten. She sighed, "Guess I'm back at the bottom."

"What are you saying? We never left! Unless you count hell, up is the only place we'll go!" Athalos came down the caravan and placed a hand on her shoulder. Then he was puzzled. He squeezed his hand on her toned shoulder and her hardened biceps as if checking whether bread was still edible. "Well I'll be! I didn't know we had the coin for a mercenary! We might just get back before lunch!"

"It's me, Athalos." Maya dryly said.

"F-Forgive me, Lady Maya!" Athalos retreated his hand. He couldn't believe the sensation of Maya's muscles on his hand. He felt ashamed. While Maya underwent Graff and Fina's weaponry training for two days, he wanted no part of it and all he achieved was a failed rabbit hunt again. He muttered in disbelief and jealousy, "What manner of teachings did that dwarf impart to Lady Maya? Was it Frina?"

Graff stood by the old sword, the tip of his iron helmet only reaching the sword's guard, and crossed his arms. He called for their attention, "Ladies and pea-brain! Here we are, metal-armed and belly-upped, at the Graffodil's Troupe's first expedition!"

The three other members lined up side by side. Maya tugged on Athalos' shirt before he wandered directly into the cave. Frina, at the right, slow clapped with an unamused face.

Graff continued in an exuberant voice such as he used when he did a show's introductions. He stretched his hand towards Maya and Athalos. "We're here to fight for the right of an adventurer to take on whatever he or she may face! To Lady Maya, the fiery future star of Ghala, and to this blundering idiot whose survival in this treacherous world remains a mystery!"

They awkwardly clapped but Athalos clapped the hardest.

Graff flicked his braided ponytail then continued with an arm stretched to the cave's dark entrance, "This cavern that will test our resolve to be who we are is called The Den of Tests! And we shall smite—"

"HELP! PLEASE HELP!"

Graff turned to the entrance where a man limped out from the shadows. The man took two more steps before he fell on the ground. Everyone rushed to his aid.

Maya, the first to arrive, turned him over and a chill ran down her spine. The man had three deep jagged slashes across his torso. She was in shock at how much blood pumped through the wounds. "Oh my god."

Graff and Frina arrived and, from one look, they both knew that not even the grandest of healers could save the man.

Frina dared not turn away. She felt anyone's last moments shouldn't be spent alone.

Graff turned to Maya, who desperately tried to apply pressure to the wounds, and shook his head. He crouched down to the man's gasping and gurgling face. He asked, "What's yer name? What did this to ye?"

The man shook his head, blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. "My name… My name is Jeff…"

"Oh god." Maya pressed her mouth on her shoulder. She dared not laugh. She recalled a scene from a movie about undercover cops. With strained willpower to respect the man's final words, she bit her lip until it bled.

"Please…" The man's words crawled. "Save my companion… It still… has… her…"

The man was dead and Graff brushed his hand over the man's eyes. Graff was worried. He stood up and spoke, "Seems to me this won't be a stroll… I say we rescue the valiant Jeff's companion."

Maya, free from repressed laughter's torture, looked at the man's bloody torso and her bloodstained hands. Suddenly, the dangers of adventuring felt real to her. But she agreed with wariness. "We can still save her. I just hope that we don't meet whatever gave him those wounds."

Frina nodded and spoke sternly, "Nobody should be held captive."

Athalos, who was at the west side of the entrance— he never reached the man where the group was— rose his staff high and shouted, "Side quest!!!"