Lando Splaywhisker

Let the [Artists] keep their paintings, the [Musicians] their love songs, and the [Poets] their babbling verses that went on too long; Lando Splaywhisker knew that the physical manifestation of beauty was iron. Cold, black iron, which was honest in a way that nothing could hope to match: either you could lift it, or you could not.

Bouncing up and down on his footpaws, Lando looked around the room, smiling approvingly at the rows of cauldron bells and weighted maces that decorated his new gym. Between them were benches – or at least, disassembled benches that still needed to be put together – and bars that were more elegant than any symphony and stronger than any string of pithy words.

Forget a crown,forget a throne, this was his palace; this was the place where Work Would Be Done, where Gains Would Be Made, and where Some Would Be Got.

His very own gym. He'd dreamed of it for years and years, laboring in the adventurer's guild and learning as much as he could from Theikal, the salamander [Guild Trainer]. He'd studied texts and scrolls, committing every detail of the body that he could to memory.

Looking around, Lando still couldn't believe that it was real.

Walking back and forth across the floor, and of course pausing once each direction to admire himself in the large mirror he'd painstakingly carted to Westown from his small house, Lando did his best to visualize what it would look like when it was all done. He still needed to acquire more equipment, but the space that it would fill was already marked off and set aside.

He'd seen the sorry state of adventurers in Oar's Crest, and knew that for far too many of them the System was the only thing they focused on in their efforts to improve themselves They spent all their time thinking about stats and levels and skills and classes, struggling for marginal improvements when there were absolutely massive opportunities to be gleaned in sculpting, shaping, and strengthening their bodies. Five or six points of Might was equal to a primary class level – depending on the primary class, that is – and often easier to obtain. Extra Endurance was often the difference between succeeding at learning a new skill and failing, and there were all sorts of other physical stats that could change one's world.

In the same vein, while it was somewhat heretical to even think, Lando was convinced that a person's body was easily the greatest system they'd ever have access to, and it made him angry that so many people neglected it.

After a quick set of thirty pushups to cool his temper, which always got a little heated when he found himself thinking about the slobs and slackers, Lando stood back up and took a few deep breaths.

"Gotta keep it cool, gotta keep it cool," he muttered to himself. He was like a [Missionary] or a [Priest] spreading the Good Words of Sweat and Iron, so it was important to keep himself under control.

Rolling his shoulders and walking over to the far corner of the room, Lando adjusted the small crystal-music player and started up one of his favorite tunes. A hard, pulsing beat filled the room, and Lando bobbed his head while walking over to the mirror once again and posing in front of it. He lifted his paws over his head and flexed his muscles, admiring the way his reflection showed off his Aesthetic. While most people would have thought the stat useless, he knew just how powerful it could be in the right situations. Admittedly, said situations were comparatively rare, but still. That was just the way of things, sometimes.

Before he could move to his next pose, which would have him twist his torso and stick his paws behind his back to emphasize his shoulders and chest, Lando's right ear twitched. A strange sound was interfering with the music, throwing off the beat.

He turned and saw the reason right away. A kitrekin with golden fur and mismatched eyes was standing next to the hole where his door would eventually be hung, looking sheepish.

Walking back to the music player and silencing it with a casual flick of his paw, Lando walked over and said, "Can I help you?"

The other kitrekin nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but started gagging before he did so. He held up one finger while he gasped and hacked, and apologized when the fit passed.

"My name is Rummy Goldpoint," he wheezed. Lando thought his voice was a little weak. "I'm, uh, going to be your neighbor, I guess, and I was actually hoping to ask for a favor."

Lando laughed. His first customer already!

"Not a problem," he said, walking around Rummy and rubbing his paw through his whiskers. "I'm Lando Splaywhisker, and though I'm no miracle worker, there's no physique that a lot of protein and hard work can't fix."

At least, he hoped that was the case. The poor fellow was stick thin, with no real muscular definition to speak of. That was peculiar, Lando thought, pausing where he stood and squinting, because he vaguely remembered hearing Mister Vales say that his neighbor was a [Smith] and in Lando's experience, [Smiths] all had some serious arm, chest, and shoulder muscles.

"Uh, actually that's not what I meant," Rummy said somewhat apologetically. "It's about the music."

Lando stopped and frowned. "What about it?"

"It's, uh, too loud. A little bit. Or actually maybe quite a lot of…bit. Some, yes! Somewhat. Is there any way you can turn it down? I'm in the middle of a project, and it's, uh, making it tough for me to focus."

Lando felt his smile fall off his face. His tail flicked back and forth, and though he wasn't looking in the mirror he could tell that his eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

He spoke very, very quietly.

"You want me… to turn down my music?"

Say this for Rummy, he seemed to sense the struggle inside of Lando's heart just then, because he nodded weakly and turned away to have another fit.

Extolling himself to keep it cool – the Good Words of Sweat and Iron deserved at least that much! – Lando took a deep breath and said, "I'll see what I can do."

Rummy nodded quickly, muttered a thanks that got caught up in another fit, and hurried to leave. Lando watched him go, then walked over to the crystal and turned it back on. He fiddled with the volume a little bit before deciding that he liked it loud, and returned it to its original level.

Before long he'd be the premier private [Trainer] in Oar's Crest. What did he care if some scrawn-bucket like Rummy complained about his music? This was the Temple of Sweat and Iron, and every temple needed its hymns!

Rummy Goldpoint

Gawain's graces, the heck with that guy!

Stomping back into his forge and scratching at his throat so that his little…friend would stop bothering him, Rummy mulled over the conversation he'd just had. He'd never been a big fan of muscleheads, and there was no doubt in his mind that Lando was one of the worst he'd ever seen. What had all that posing been?

"I bet at least half of his total stats are in like Vanity or something," Rummy grumbled, picking up his scissors and settling back down to his little workbench. The seat wobbled back and forth a bit as he did so on account of the fact that its legs had been tailored for his old workshop. He sighed. It was time to make some adjustments.

Kneeling down next to the chair's front right leg, Rummy tapped the wood with his scissors and said, "[Remove Excess]."

The skill activated, sending a blue ribbon of light toward the wood. Moving like a worm, it wrapped itself around the chair leg before tightening into a single ring near the bottom. There was a brief flash, and then there was a cut, with a little wheel of wood rolling out toward Rummy.

Sitting back down, Rummy gave the chair an experimental wiggle and was pleased when it didn't move at all.

Tossing the scrap over to the corner where he'd set up his catch-all, Rummy returned his attention to his workbench, where he'd been working on removing a series of nicks and dents from a kitchen knife that one of his customers had brought it. Generally speaking, this was the type of work he was best at: as a [Lacksmith] Rummy excelled at getting rid of bad things than he was at adding good things. The latter type of job was technically doable for him, but required a lot of thinking about problems in reverse that Rummy didn't like much.

Still grumbling to himself about Lando, Rummy set out a sacrificial bit of metal, then picked up the knife and scratched his claw against the biggest dent in the blade. Not for the first time, he wondered how on earth such a defect had been created. Had his customer smashed the knifeblade on like a rock or something? Tried to cut through a steel rod? He had no idea, but that wasn't his problem. His issue was how to get rid of it.

Before going any further, Rummy went ahead and created the sympathetic bond between the workpiece and the sacrifice. When he was satisfied that it was solid and would work for his purposes, Rummy took out his wax pencil and traced a circle around the dent. He brought his scissors out once more and set them against the edge of the blade. The tool, which he'd made for himself after reaching level twenty, made short work out of the knifeblade, and the broken bit fell to the floor, where it would remain until he swept up at the end of the day. Or longer, if he forgot.

Next he took a piece of similar-looking metal from the messy pile he kept next to his bench and loosely set it on top of the gap in the remaining blade, then focused his attention on the overlapping bits. Resting his paws on both seams, Rummy closed his eyes and activated [Remove Gap], feeling the familiar tingle race down his arms as the skill activated. The [Remove] family of skills was the primary pillar of his class, and this particular one combined his patch piece with the original blade as well as any [Weld] or [Fuse Skill]. Better, actually, since Rummy could immediately follow it up with [Remove Weakness] to get rid of the brittle spots and points of failure inherent in such a patch job.

With the bulk of the real "work" done, Rummy activated [Remove Color Difference] and watched the the colors change before his eyes. He picked up the knife and wiggled it around it a bit, admiring his handiwork.

Just like that, the blade looked as good as new.

Sadly, he hadn't really "fixed" the issue in the strictest sense of the word, he'd just kind of moved them around. As such, those differences and defects had to go somewhere, and most of the sacrificial metal he'd set down earlier crumbled away into dust.

He undid the bond and then tossed the remaining scrap away. Maybe he'd manage to use it again for another project, or maybe he wouldn't. Such things weren't really worth worrying about; making waste was simply the cost of doing business, and discarded scraps of everything were easy to find in Oar's Crest.

With the biggest problem facing him solved, Rummy turned his attention to the rest of the knicks, marks, and scratches along the knife blade. They were less substantial, so it shouldn't take as much effort to get rid of them.

However, before he could even start thinking about getting to that, a pulsing sound filled the air again, this time even louder than it had been previously. The sound was agonizing, and Rummy had no choice but to set the knifeblade down for the time being. He'd return to it eventually, but there was another project he needed to work on first: finding a way to soundproof his forge so that it wouldn't be so unfathomably loud.

Getting up, Rummy walked over to his big scrap pile, where he stored the really good broken bits of things he found and scavenged around the city. While he didn't have an especially clear vision of what he wanted to make, he started grabbing things with abandon, operating under the assumption that something would eventually pop up in his mind and give him some direction about how to go about completing his job. A bit of this, a bit of that, and all would be well.

However, it quickly became obvious that no matter how he twisted and arranged his pieces he didn't have anything that could actually absorb the sound. He brought his paw up to his chin and rubbed his whiskers. Hmm. Maybe he was thinking about this wrong; perhaps he'd be better off finding a way to make the sound bother him less instead of trying to find a way to stop it from coming into the shop.

With that reframing, Rummy had an immediate idea that he could go put into use right away. Another of the new tenants was a [Chandler] and [Soapmaker] – he'd seen her unloading boxes of candles earlier – which meant that she was bound to have plenty of wax on hand.

He'd have to come up with a more permanent solution at some point, but for now he'd be fine if he just went and got himself some good earplugs.

Yes indeed, that was what he'd do!

Red Star

Red Star watched the golden kitrekin – Rummy, she reminded herself – walk away from her shop with a small box of wax earplugs tugged under his arm. Quite the fussy one, he was…even by the standards for a kitrekin.

Still, as she swept up the errant bits of wax off her desk and into the little scrap bowl she'd melt down later to reuse, she earnestly hoped that her little creations would help alleviate some of the tension that was already starting to bubble between the tenants of the Westown strip. Such tension was inevitable, Red Star knew, but even after all her life experience she found herself wishing that it didn't have to be.

Walking over to the back of her shop, Red Star grabbed another box of little soaps from the pile she was steadily whittling away and brought it to the counter. The beeswax soaps inside were honey scented, and shaped to look like little honeycombs. Red Star was especially proud of them; she'd harvested the wax and honey herself the previous summer from one of the great hives out in the old emberberry orchards, working in close contact with the bonsai treant [Grove Tenders] so as to avoid taking too much or unduly frustrating the bees.

That had been a productive trip. In addition to what she'd gotten from her hive sisters, a few of the treants had even willingly given her some of their leaves and branches. Infused as they were with Green Spirit, treant materials were excellent ingredients in both soap and candle making, filled to the brim with lovely oils and sticky sap.

With the weather warming, Red Star would have to make another trip out to the groves soon to visit with the treants and some of the other creatures that lived out there. Red Star enjoyed such journeys; for her there were few things in the world that could compare to the wonder of wandering the old forgotten paths and seeing all the ways that the Lines made themselves known in nature. Beyond that, there were always lovely things for her to collect and use in her work, which was no small part of the fun.

After arranging the little beeswax soaps into slightly offset lines of six on the counter, Red Star went and grabbed a box of candles and brought it over to the window. Kneeling down, the elkin started stacking them together, with the plan of eventually turning them into a little pyramid. The red and white wax was smooth but firm, and they smelled strongly. Emberberry spice and vanilla was not Red Star's favorite scent to make – that honor belonged to Mintrose or Dream Hyssop – but they were her most popular candles by far, and Red Star hoped that their vibrant color would catch the eyes of people passing by.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She looked out the window at the long road that led from the city's gate to the dungeon and beyond it to the abandoned part of Westown. As a child she'd been terrified of the sprawling mess of buildings on account of the horrifying stories she'd been told by her parents about shambling shadow creatures that ate rowdy children. In her imagination, the buildings themselves had been just as twisted as the creatures that infested them, but from where she now stood – or knelt, rather – Red Star could see that they weren't all that different from anywhere else in the city. The Lines were here too, in the angles of the building roofs and the arrangement of the streets and alleys.

Walking to the door of her shop, Red Star looked down the street toward the dungeon once again and marveled at it. Such a perfect example of the Ley was truly rare; it was something of a miracle that Mister Vales had managed to be the first person to come into the abandoned part of the city and start putting the ambient energy in the area to use.

Of course, Red Star doubted that Mister Vales knew that he was sitting on a veritable gold mine. He was somewhat more attuned to the ethereal than most humans, but lacked the appreciation for the subtleties that the Lines tended to employ, which was fine by Red Star. With the exception of [Witches], the Ley wasn't meant for humans; those who swam in the waters of its mysteries tended to lose their minds sooner rather than later.

"Alright Dandelion, let's go ahead and start digging here."

Red Star looked over in the direction of the voice, and saw a surprising pair. A bonsai treant inside a barkbody worked next to a fiend, carefully digging out a small garden bed. The barkbody carried a collection of small blooms on its back, and it was planting them in the holes made by the fiend.

What in Gawain's name was a bonsai treant doing out here? So far as Red Star knew, it was highly unusual for them to leave the grove, though she had heard tales of it happening now and then.

Trusting her curiosity, which had yet to lead her astray, Red Star wandered over to the pair and waited for them to notice her. That didn't take long, with the treant looking her way after only a few more plantings.

"Can I help you?" it asked.

Red Star introduced herself and offered to help with the planting. She was rejected, as she'd expected to be – treants were remarkably fussy about such things – but saw that the gesture had had its intended effect. She learned that the treant was named Kai and the fiend was Dandelion, that they both worked for Mister Vales, and that they were working on beautifying the strip. That last fact was something of a relief, because treants had an innate sense for the symmetries for the Ley and a knack for following the Lines, which meant that the odds of something throwing off the subtle energies during the planting process were almost zero.

She confirmed this by watching Kai and Dandelion work for a few more minutes, pleased by the way Kai fussed over the location of each plant.

After asking if she might some time talk to Kai about small matters – a common rite for building rapport with treants – Red Star returned to her shop. Or at least, she started to when her stomach rumbled and the smell of warm roasted vegetables coming from down the street proved too strong to ignore.

Walking quickly, Red Star walked toward the building beneath the shoddy sign that said, The Soup Station.

"Excuse me," she called to the open door. "Are you actually open?"

Alanna Deskin:

"Sort of? Go ahead and come on in," Alanna called, turning back to the pot of soup on the stove in front of her and giving her wooden spoon a stir. The thick broth, filled to the brim with potatoes, carrots, onions, and chunks of beef, was almost solid, and she grunted with exertion to scrape the bottom.

Tapping the spoon on the lid of the pot and resting it on the pot's handles, Alanna gave the elkin who came into the store her finest smile.

"I couldn't help but come this way," the elkin explained with a laugh. "My stomach demanded that I try your cooking."

"My gramps will be glad to hear you say that," Alanna said with a chuckle of her own. "This is his recipe. Would you like to try a bowl?"

"Of course. How much?"

Alanna waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. We're just trying all of our recipes to see how the new cooking crystals we bought and installed work. We're not going to start charging until the strip actually opens up. Are you a tenant too?"

The elkin nodded and introduced herself as another tenant of the strip, and the two talked for a few minutes while the elkin ate and Alanna stirred her soup. The young woman was grateful that Red Star actually had manners; the snappy girl with the weird sparkling eyes who'd come in earlier hadn't, as the dirty pot in the back that still needed to be clean could attest.

After a second bowl of soup and some pleasant conversation, Alanna bid farewell to Red Star and went to the back to wash out the dirty bowl and the spoon, making sure to lower the heat under her soup before she did so in order to keep it from sticking to the bottom and burning.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Alanna regarded the few dishes in the back like they were a venomous snake. Cleaning up was a challenge, and would continue to be so until the fiends who worked for Mister Vales or her grampa managed to get the old pipes working. The water was clean, they'd tested it… but getting it into their wash basin in an amount that wasn't a trickle or a flood was proving harder than anyone had expected.

As such, Alanna and her grampa had brought in a few jugs of water in addition to some of their ingredients that morning, and Alanna poured one into the washwater basin and got to work scrubbing and scraping the dried film of soup off the pot's sides.

It wasn't hard work by any stretch of the imagination, but it was rather boring, and Alanna couldn't help but wonder if this was what she really wanted to do for the years to come. Running a restaurant was one of those things that sounded so romantic on paper, but so was being a [Merchant], and Alanna knew from first hand experience that the glamor of an endeavor tended to shatter right quick within a few months of real experience.

Of course, she liked making soup more than she'd ever liked making deals. Cooking was oddly satisfying and she loved spending time with grampa, who was a fount of all sorts of knowledge and stories. Still, Alanna feared that she'd be Aimless once again when he…well, when he decided that he didn't want to work anymore. Was she chaining herself to this place?

Alanna shook her head. Her parents, who were currently working the southern trade routes and would be there for at least another couple years, had a saying they were fond of: "One doesn't know the price of pepper until they travel to another city and try to sell it."

She'd never particularly cared for it, but took comfort now in the underlying idea that it didn't do well to worry about hypotheticals. For now, she was here in this place, making soup with Grampa, and that was a fine place to be. Certainly, it was far preferable to the constant nagging in her stomach that being Aimless had given her. There was purpose to be had here, even if it was humble, dirty work.

Dumping out the waste water, Alanna looked at the inside of the pot and saw that there was yet one stubborn smear of soup on the bottom, and she dunked the pot back into the basin and attacked the spot with her coarse rag.

A minute of scrubbing eliminated it, and a System notification popped up in front of Alanna's eyes.

[You have unlocked the Dish Washer class! Would you like to take it?]

Alanna hesitated for a moment before hitting the blinking 'Yes' button. She wasn't enthused by the prospect, but figured that the class might make her job a little easier in the weeks and months to come.

[Congratulations! You are now a Level One Dish Washer!]

[Your hands and arms are now slightly resistant to the chapping effects of water!]

[Might +1!]

[You can now use the Strong Scrub skill!]

Well, that was somewhat interesting, Alanna thought. She hadn't really considered the value of chapping immunity before, but it would probably really come in handy.

As for [Strong Scrub], she'd have to wait to see what it did. It wouldn't be long before there were more dishes to be done.

Turning the bowl and pot over onto the small rack the fiends had built for them so that they could dry properly, Alanna returned to her cooking pot. She gave the soup another stir and took a small taste, trying to commit the depth of flavor to her memory. Her grampa had been right: it was getting sweeter and richer as it cooked.

The door in the back opened up, and Alanna heard her grampa come inside.

"Hey, 'Lanna! Come give me a hand with these, will you?"

Returning her spoon to its perch on the pot, Alanna hurried to the back to help her grampa with the bags he'd brought from the market.

William Deskin:

William knew that his knees were no-good traitors, but the fact that his back had gone along and joined them was somewhat disheartening. He'd tweaked something by getting out of bed that morning, and loading up the cart and bringing it to the store had been miserable all day. It ached something terrible no matter how he turned, twisted, or tried to stretch, and promised to be even worse come tomorrow.

Thankfully, this was the last load for the day and he could spend the rest of the afternoon resting and relaxing with Alanna, testing out various recipes and watching the work happen all around them. Twenty five years on the road of trade and commerce had let him see plenty of cities getting built and rebuilt, but this one was the first that stirred something in his old heart.

He'd originally settled in Oar's Crest as a young man because it was cheap and offered him everything he needed, which was mostly just a place to store some of his gear between trips. The state of the city didn't matter much to a man who spent nine-tenths of the year on the road, and so he'd never really paid it much mind. However, seeing Alanna – especially watching her struggle with a bout of Aimless so bad one might have mistaken her for an [Imperial Guardsman]'s bow – had given him a different perspective on the city.

What Mister Vales was doing here in Westown wasn't just buildings getting rebuilt and opened up, it was a revival. William wasn't sure why he kept thinking that over and over, but he believed it from the top of his head to the soles of his feet and was glad for the chance to be a part of it.

"Come on, we'll stack these bags of flour up over there," he said, pointing to the corner of the room where there were a few lonely iron racks that William had commissioned from a local [Blacksmith]. The flour would be used not only as a thickener for several of their menu items, but also for the dumpling stew that William hoped would be popular with adventurers. Decades of [Caravan Guards] had loved the stuff, and adventurers were generally cut from the same cloth. Good hearty soup that stuck to your ribs, capable of chasing away a cold night or a stinging loss in the dungeon.

William paused and drew out the small notebook he carried in his pockets these days and grabbed his pen too. That's a good line. We should put it on the menu.

Alanna nodded and grabbed a bag, grunting as she picked up and carried over to where William had pointed.

William followed after her, gritting his teeth at the fresh wave of pain that shot up from his hips to settle just below his ribs. He staggered across the room, dropped the flour, and went to grab another bag.

Alanna stopped him. "Let me do it, grampa. You look like you could use a good rest. Why don't you go up front and try the soup? You were right about the flavor, it's definitely getting better."

Seeing the honesty of his granddaughter's smile caused William to take her suggestion more seriously. Under other circumstances, he would have never let himself stop working until the job was finished – only fools listened to that dangerous little voice that tried to lead you astray by telling you there was no harm in taking a little break – but his back and knees were hurting pretty bad and a break sounded mighty nice.

He grumbled something about coming back in a few minutes, but it was mostly for his ego, which was nearly as sore as his back. Then he went up front and tried a few tastes of the soup.

"What do you think?" Alanna called up. "Isn't it good?"

William crinkled his nose. "It is, but I think it still needs some more pepper. I'm going to add a few shakes."

Without waiting for an answer, William grabbed the pepper from the spice rack above the cooking crystals and sprinkled some more into the soup. He gave it a good stir before taking another taste and nodded. Sure enough, that was the ticket. Yes sir indeed.

Paradise was the seat of a comfy wooden stool after a day's hard work, and William took himself a little trip while he waited for Alanna to finish up. He scooped himself a bowl of soup and started to eat, thinking after a few bites that having some good bread – with some herbs baked in and a crispy crust – would be, well, good.

William had a thought. The cafe-thing down the street was run by a [Baker] around Alanna's age. William remembered Mister Vales telling him that. Maybe he could go down there and arrange for some sort of exchange. There were always deals ready to be made, and maybe he could arrange some sort of agreement where the [Baker] would make them bread and they could offer the cafe a specialty soup that wouldn't be available at The Soup Station proper. Something simple, like chicken noodle.

Hmm, William quite liked the sound of that. He'd have to run it by Alanna and see what she thought since they'd agreed to share all of the decision making for the shop equally, but he suspected that she'd be amenable. Maybe this two-pronged value play might even end up having a third leg. William smiled at the thought.

Alanna returned from the back and sat down on the stool next to William's. "Alright, I got everything put away. We'll have to come up with a better solution for the vegetables though, I'm worried they're going to break that rack."

"We'll make another trip to the [Blacksmith] if we need to," William said, nodding. "There'll be plenty of time to dial that all in once we open properly."

"Any ideas about the pipes?"

William shook his head. "I tried to go and see Lester, but he's ill and his wife said to come back another time."

"Lester?"

"He's an old friend of mine. Retired [Plumber]. I was hoping that he'd be able to take a look and maybe see what we've got going on."

"That'd be nice."

"Sure would be. I'll go talk to him in a few days if Mister Vales doesn't fix the problem first. Now, let's talk about what we're going to try making tomorrow."

And with that, they sat there and chatted about different flavors they wanted to try until another person came into their store.

It was a salamander dressed in the armor of the [City Guard]. She was carrying a couple canvases under her arm, and looked somewhat nervous, with her eyes darting from one side of the room to the other.

"Hi, I'm Wureini," she said, extending her hand and lowering her head like she was embarrassed. "I'm…something of an [Artist], and I know this is forward, but I heard that a bunch of new shops were opening here in Westown and was wondering if you might be interested…in buying some art to decorate your walls with?"

She looked pointedly at the bare walls all around the room, and William laughed. He hadn't really been thinking of decorations at all, but sometimes products just fell into your lap and it was a poor merchant that didn't take advantage of such opportunities.

"That'd be great," he said. "Let's go ahead and see what you've got, Wureini. Here, Alanna, you come over and look too."

Huddled close to his granddaughter, William leaned forward and took a good look at the first canvas.

Tenant Character Sheets:

Lando Splaywhisker:

Primary Class: Mace-Swinger (Oar's Crest Adventurer's Guild), Level 21

Secondary Class: Barbody (Self), Level 15

Tertiary Class: Trainer (Self), Level 13

Might: 44

Wit: 30

Faith: 33

Charisma: 27

Persuasiveness: 28

Ambition: 19

Vanity: 51

Greed: 20

Stubbornness: 20

Aesthetic: 59

Intimidating Presence: 14

Rummy Goldpoint:

Primary Class: Locksmith (Davell Bottlebrush), Level 19

Secondary Class: Tinker (Self), Level 11

Might: 28

Wit: 37

Faith: 21

Endurance: 17

Craftiness: 30

Absent-Mindedness:19

Pragmatism: 12

Tendency to Panic: 11

Citizenship: 4

Red Star:

Primary Class: Truthseeker (Arcturus Majora), Level 39

Secondary Class: Chandler (Self), Level 30

Tertiary Class: Soaper (Self), Level 18

Might: 40

Wit: 65

Faith: 61

Esoteric Understanding: 55

Intimidating Presence: 24

Diligence: 35

Focus: 18

Diplomacy: 42

Charisma: 27

Citizenship: 2

Alanna Deskin:

Primary Class: Merchant (Nelson and Marielle Deskin), Level 14

Secondary Class: Cooking Hobbyist (Self), Level 10

Tertiary Class: Dish Washer (Self), Level 1 (+1)

Might: 10

Wit: 16

Faith:13

Hopefulness: 7

Greed: 3

Pragmatism: 6

William Deskin:

Primary Class: Retired Merchant (Teneketon's Merchant Company), Level 37

Secondary Class: Carpenter (Harrison Deskin), Level 6

Might: 36

Wit: 55

Faith: 31

Endurance: 23

Ambition: 33

Rationality: 34

Ruthlessness: 14

Pragmatism: 30

Greed: 29

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