Fleur didn’t know how bad the town of Millwater truly was until the three were strolling about the “real shops” as Maribelle told them. Dilapidated buildings coated with moss and damages stood strong against the shattered stones for the pathways, the occasional harpy yelling to them to peruse their stock. “Don’t trust them,” Maribelle whispered, “You’ll be locked inside and stripped of your gear in that one. This one.” She ushered the two inside a slightly better put together storefront, The Pigsty, according to the etched in writing.

  “Pigs?” Dave whispers to Fleur, her looking back to him.

  “What of them?”

  “Ah, didn’t think you had them.” He’s promptly told to shush by Maribelle, expertly navigating the short shelving, adorned with randomised equipment and food, some clearly spoiling without anything to cool them.

  “Welcome, little blacksmith.” An older harpy at the front desk watches the three like a hawk through her one good eye. A cap of mauve covers her hair and a glass eye stares forward, uncaring of their situation. “How interesting; a friend, and a man here. A man who seems to know of the Thieves Association.” All eyes go to him, genuinely confused before tapping a small barrel, a triangle already carved onto its front. “Back when it was about, that sign meant there was loot.”

  “Is that what happened to this shithole?” Fleur throws out a wing, before recoiling at the feeling of her feathers getting covered in some juice from a wilting cabbage on the shelving. “Fucking hell.”

  The older harpy merely chuckles, watching Fleur’s disgust. “Blacksmith, what are you buying?” Maribelle picks up a basket with wheels, ignoring her as she methodically starts to sift through the verified junk. “Man, word of advice. This town would pay just about anything to have even just a few chicks.” She's cut off by Maribelle laughing.

  “As I said Dave. As I said. Those chicks would learn to bring in bleeding heart travellers to be stripped of their stuff and likely killed to prevent the word from spreading.” Maribelle shoves a small bag into the cart. “Then you’ll likely be killed so they have less mouths to feed, or worked to death. Hands are quite valuable.”

  Dave looks from Maribelle’s stone cold expression, to Fleur’s shock and disgust, to the almost giddy look from the raggled and unkempt shopkeeper. “You’re not wrong,” She chuckles, “But such is life here. Only the strong survive here.”

  “Only the conniving survive here.” Maribelle practically slams the basket onto the countertop, the shopkeeper looking through the meat, nuts and camping supplies. “Ten.”

  “Twenty.” The two watch Maribelle and the shopkeeper debate prices.

  “Fleur, how much can one get you?” Dave whispers, trying to wrap his head around it.

  “COL, GEL or MEL?” Fleur whispers back, clearly unsettled at this entire event.

  “Huh? Uhh, Harpy coin?”

  “One COL will get you a loaf of bread, or a pack of nuts. Most jobs will offer around ten COL an hour and pay daily.”

  “Wait,” Dave narrows his eyes at Fleur, “That private room was only an hour of work?”

  “You can’t just pay for a room every time.” Fleur points both her wings at Dave subtly.

  Maribelle’s voice reaches the two, both startling at her laughing. “Sixteen is absurd. Thirteen.”

  “Sixteen.” By now the older harpy levels a glare at Maribelle, who returns it. Dave nervously pats down his gambeson, eyes twitching between the two as his mind drifts to the no longer bloodied spear on his back.

  “Fourteen.” Fleur tries to intercept the deal, Maribelle curiously looking at her. “I doubt you’d want the image of your shop marred by a blacksmith sticking around for long?”

  “Deal.”

  “Every store?” Fleur genuinely looks shocked at her sister, while the three weave through the street again, slightly overpriced items in Dave’s inventory. “I call bullshit.”

  “No need.” Maribelle shrugs. “Dave here needs everyday clothes, and while that article I've forgotten the name of is very attractive,” Fleur almost trips over a stray rock in bewilderment, “He needs something normal.” She looks back to see him following closely behind, picking at the making of a beard on his face. “Along with something to remove those unsightly hairs on his face.”

  “Agreed.” Dave plucks a brown hair from his chin. “I’ve always hated beards.” Both girls question the last word, unfamiliar to them. “Where are we going?”

  “The true market to try to take the first pick of what the harpies here pilfered.” She takes a sudden turn, the other two almost slipping down the sudden stairs they have to descend. “Keep quiet this time, please.” The small staircase opens into the mouth of a cave, swarmed with harpies at market. The ceiling is low, forcing everyone on talon or foot to traverse the few stalls flush with assorted goods at steep prices. Clothes, armour and weapons mostly make up the goods, but some spices and items the three can’t identify fill one in particular.

  “Step right up!” One harpy draped in lamia silks proudly parades a parcel around, earning attention from some in the crowd. “My group has successfully raided the mail guild! Hundreds of parcels around the harpylands, available as randomised goods! Try your luck for ten COL a piece of your choosing! A nice love letter between lovers a continent away? Gems and jewellery? A nice ornate artefact? Who knows! Could just be a straight up brick for a second time!”

  “That's pretty fucked. Who raids the mail guild?” Fleur looks forward to Maribelle who keeps walking.

  “They do.” Maribelle shoves past two harpies with little interest.

  Another of the harpies comes into earshot, perched on a pole advertising weaponry and armour. In her talons is a longbow of green wood. “The poor mercenaries kindly left us their gear to sell in exchange for the four lives they took during our,” There's a pause as she mimics a small giggle, wing over mouth for a moment, “Friendly spar.” Sarcasm laces her entire sentence. “Why buy from bastard blacksmiths if mercenaries give us their gear for practically free?”

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  Fleur tries not to glare, looking away from the bloodied gear for sale. “Nothing said the town was this bad.”

  “It has good PR.” Maribelle weaves through another small group. “Entire groups here head out to spread the good word of how nice the town is, invite merchants quietly and even hire mercs for ‘pest control’. I bet the three that attacked us were sent to ‘harvest’ you two, but got greedy. I didn’t owe shit that day. Nobody seems to make it out alive.”

  “Foreign goods here.” Maribelle stops at a harpy with a book in talons, who occasionally calls out to the crowd between turning pages and moving black hair out of her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Any clothes for a man?” Maribelle slightly nods her head towards Dave, who has come to a stop between his two friends. The harpy uses a loose feather, clearly not from her, to bookmark the page before looking at Dave. “Ah, a human. I am unsure if I possess anything a man once wore.”

  Fleur steps forward, wing outstretched to interrupt the merchant. “Any upper clothing from a centaur or lamia would work as well.”

  “Then I possess a few that may fit.” The merchant ducks into a storage tent, bringing her book with her. The three outside wait for her reappearance with bated breath. Fleur suddenly shifts her eyesight to a few harpies openly watching the three, weapons openly displayed and the group whispering among themselves. She didn’t like how they made a checkpoint for the few exits the three had available

  “Group to our right, same leathers as those we offed in the shop.” Maribelle just sighs at Fleur’s words, clearly unamused at this point.

  “They are likely waiting for us to leave to get revenge. Too crowded and too many casualties here.” The shopkeeper exits the tent, four shirts in her wings. “Dave, see if any of those will fit.” He gingerly nods, taking the top shirt, a thick v-neck short sleeved shirt of red fabric. He holds it to his body and checks himself over, thinking if it’ll fit.

  Fleur looks him over as well, trying not to eye him up and make him nervous. “Too short on the length. Next.” The next one is too short on the arms, Dave sadly putting the shirt back on her wing while she watches the situation in amusement.

  The next shirt is a nice aquamarine tunic with a partially open front, unmarked with embroidery and in great condition. Fleur honestly thinks it's a great fit. “That’ll work.” Maribelle nods her agreement as Dave tries the last shirt but neither are even slightly interested in the unfortunately brown shirt. “How much is the blue-” She’s interrupted by Maribelle who insists the aquamarine is actually blue, not green. The other two watch the sisters argue their case before the shopkeeper turns her attention to Dave.

  “That’ll be fifty COL, although you can pay by giving me a chick.” The argument instantly ends, both glaring at her, “A chick would help my business. A nice tunic is almost paltry for how much a chick would bring in.” She ducks back into the tent for a moment, coming out with her book and the tunic. “So, payment form?”

  “Isn’t fifty COL a bit much for a centaur shirt?” Fleur starts negotiations. She gets an idle, almost bored response as the shopkeeper shrugs her shoulders.

  “Maybe, I’ve no idea how much the centaur pays for tunics, but it’s goods imported from a special source.” The shopkeeper doesn’t even look up as she argues her price tag. “He can pay with a chick, mind you.” Dave shakes his head, really not wanting to do this.

  As the group get into their debate over price, gradually lowering the price and how much a centaur shirt would normally cost, Fleur can’t help but notice more enemies start to appear, crowding a few more of the exits available to them. “Maribelle, I think we should take the thirty COL price, They are slowly blocking us in.” Maribelle slowly looks around, slowly nodding before just handing over thirty coins after counting. “You don’t have ten Col coins?” Fleur then spots a camper backpack, clearly of Lamia make, out of durable fabric. She quickly discards the idea before the group begins to move. They’ve been ripped off enough in her opinion.

  The path through the crowd is somewhat chaotic, with the three trying to hide themselves behind what different clothes they could pull over their current outfits. Dave uses his inventory system to change while the girls find hidden spots to change a shirt, or put a small hat on. Dave admired the tunic he was now wearing as the three walked in a larger group, moving quietly past three members who were actively watching the crowd in the cave. None dared give eye contact and Dave hid his arms the best he could. They got through and began their walk to the blacksmith.

  “Holy fuck, that worked.” Fleur whispered after three minutes of walking.

  “They’ve definitely noticed by now, we should expect some of them in my place.” Maribelle keeps herself grounded, even as her voice starts to choke. “What am I even supposed to do? This group is just about everywhere. They'll relentlessly hunt us down.” She turns to face Fleur, just to gasp and grab at the two with her wings. “Run! Follow me!” The three immediately break into a sprint, yells starting behind them.

  “Simple, we kill every assassin that shows up.” Fleur baulks at the idea they could be in real danger.

  “[Master of Arms], [GrandMaster], [Arquebus], [Assassin].” Dave confusedly listens in as Fleur’s face progressively loses colour with every new word Maribelle spoke with no emotion.

  “All in the same Party?” She childishly complains, just to start grumbling despite the danger they’re in. “Fuck this, fuck that. We’re getting you to Birchlea.”

  “But my shop! I know it’s silly but I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to just give it over to them.” Maribelle hops down some stairs, a shadow passing overhead. “[Seeker] her the next time she flies overhead.” Fleur nods, trying to fly in the narrow corridors.

  “Why not just burn it down?” Dave suggests, Fleur genuinely surprised at this suggestion. “They won’t be able to take it if there's nothing left, and it’s like closing a chapter on your life.” Fleur is even more flabbergasted when she seems to actually consider it.

  “[Seeker]!” Fleur front flips, taking aim at a harpy who clearly did not expect actual resistance. After the initial bolt strikes she takes off in a rapid retreat, the assisting bolts chasing their target. The next turn reveals the blacksmith, door knocked off its hinges and a bored harpy out front snacking on jerky. Her crimson eyes widen as she realises those are the targets, trying to both put the food back in her void bag and draw a spear at the same time.

  “Burn it!” Maribelle bounds at the now very scared harpy. Dave swoops up the dropped steel spear, fingers grasping the sturdy wooden pole. Maribelle sticks her dagger deep into the harpy’s chest as Fleur hops into the store, jumping back out to take aim at the wooden ceiling.

  “[Flare]!”

  Dave can only watch in amazement as the magical bow forms a magical string, which Fleur quickly loosens, magic quickly forming an orb that embeds itself into the wooden roof. Multiple harpies scramble around the corner at the yell, just for the orb to pop with a blinding flash, then sustained light.

  By the time the harpies regain their sight, the doorframe has been blocked with the broken door and crates behind it. They quickly devolve into coughing as they spy the light above them. A fire that quickly spread to the wooden parts of the house.

  The three sat outside the town on a faraway hill, watching the slowly setting sun illuminate the town of Millwater, a fire spreading among the buildings. Maribelle rests her exhausted body against Fleur who idly rubs her dirty hair with a wing. Dave was rummaging through his inventory, trying to remember everything inside. Maribelle sighs, finally feeling every ache and pain in her somewhat abused body. “Hey, Fleur? When we get back home, can we splurge on a private room for us three in the bathhouse?”

  “Hell fucking yeah we can.” Maribelle giggles, slowly sitting upright. The sound of metal clashing causes both to look in Dave’s direction. The tin armour sits in a heap in front of him.

  Dave picks up the chestplate, heaving it to Maribelle. “I believe the armour in my inventory is yours.” Maribelle sweetly smiles at him, gently rubbing a wing over the shiny tin. “I think the tin will look great under the firelight, personally.” Fleur cackles at this, looking back to the burning town.

  “Good fucking riddance, scum of Terra.”