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[center][h1][color=black]𝕬 𝖓 𝖙 𝖆 𝖊 𝖚 𝖘[/color][/h1]
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[h3][i]Black Mines >> Barthen's Bartered Goods[/i][/h3]
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As Bookie praised him, Antaeus perked up. He had been afraid that the overseer would be mad, especially if the Genasi-boy really was one of the mine's greatest assets. But Bookie almost sounded like he had expected this--they did say every boy dreamed of being a hero at some point, after all. With his encouragement and agreement to write a letter, Antaeus felt much better about his chances--until the Firbolg mentioned killing. When he clarified it as a hunt, Antaeus nodded and felt relieved. He had been in a few scraps, just the usual kind of stuff boys got into in their primary school days or a few wrestling matches when things got too rowdy in the barracks. But he had certainly never killed, except for that one time his mother made him wring a chicken's neck because he was going to have to learn how to cook for himself at some point. It had been a lot different than he had imagined it, and of course a little bit disturbing...but he didn't see anything wrong with hunting or killing animals, so this Quest wouldn't be quite so harrowing as he might have thought. As Bookie handed him a quest journal, Antaeus broke into an excited grin and held the book up like some kind of holy artifact.

"Really!? Oh man, thanks so much Mr. Bookie! I mean it!" He pocketed the book, then headed over to the cart he had just dumped out. Sifting through it for a moment, he found a piece of coal small enough to use for a writing implement, and pocketed that too. He would need to keep a journal, a record of his adventures, from now on...maybe some day he could sell it as a book or something. What would his family think of him then--a hero whose tales were read by folk all across the lands? Heading back towards the entrance, he grabbed Bookie's large hand in both of his own and shook it warmly. "And thank you for everything else, sir! It's been a pleasure working for you!" With a skip in his step and a whistle on his lips, the boy headed to the barracks. A few hearty fare-thee-wells with his coworkers followed, but several of them merely laughed him off. 

"We'll take bets on how long it takes ya to wash out, boyo!" came the usual jeer. "You may be big but bein' a hero ain't no game of pretend! Don't get yerself maimed before ya come back--we need ya down here in the tunnels!" Still, Antaeus knew they just didn't want him to be disappointed if he failed. And some of them were probably sad to see him go but too gruff to show it. After gathering his things--his shovel and pick held under his armpit, his block and tackle slung over one shoulder and his climbing kit over the other--he headed out into the town proper.

With the Harvest Festival drawing closer, the whole town buzzed with activity. Antaeus wouldn't say he knew everyone in town by name, but he had always been a sociable sort and thus had developed an eye and an ear for who was who around town--especially when it came to those who had a bit of credit to their name. Today he could see a few folks who wore different clothing, and were of different stock than the usual. One of those caravans full of settlers must have come through...which would probably mean he wouldn't be alone in trying to join the garrison. He frowned as he thought about having to endure a lot of competition before being accepted into the ranks. Speaking of ranks, however, he stopped at one point to let a patrol of militia men march past, admiring how in-sync they were and the look of their equipment.

Ah! Equipment, that was what he would need! Just going out into the woods, even with the Red Bear around, would no doubt be dangerous. He had never really held anything that could be considered a weapon except his tools, and he had never been trained in any sort of martial art. A deer would probably run rather than fight unless he forced it into a corner, but he had always heard that boars were mean as archdevils and would gore a man even if they weren't being threatened. So what exactly would he need?

His pickaxe could work as a weapon in a pinch, but it wasn't really suited for that specifically. And to play it safe, perhaps he should...get something he could use from further away? A sling or a bow of some sort? He shook his head as he crossed the street, the militia now gone. He hadn't ever shot anything before, and trying to learn it on the fly--especially if his prey fought back--didn't seem like a good idea. What about...javelins, though? In previous Harvest Festivals, when he participated in the Games, javelin and disk tossing had been some of his best performances. If he used a proper one with a metal tip, maybe he could kill something as large as a deer with that. He would have to get close, though...but even as large as he was, the boy knew some ways to be surprisingly sneaky. Still, it might be a good idea to consider a trap of some kind, something he could snare a prey with to slow it down while he moved in for the kill.

He heard someone banging on timber with a hammer, and looked up to see a group of people repairing the door to a house. He grimaced and shook his head with a sigh. It was hard enough for anyone to have anything here on the frontier, even if their town was more prosperous than most. Why did these robbers have to go and ruin other people's livelihoods? To Antaeus, someone who had always worked hard and been raised by a hard-working father--even if he was cold and unsociable--the very idea of someone else stealing what you had worked for because it was easier for them made him boil with anger. Luckily his own neighborhood hadn't been hit yet...but how long would that last? The boy made a mental note to check with his mother and sister the next time he saw them. They might need to make sure the house was locked extra tight, maybe even board up windows. Anything that might slow down a robber even a little bit would give them a chance to either escape, or call for help. And if he became an adventurer, maybe he could even catch the thieves.

The cobbled roads soon led him to Barthen's Bartered Goods, the only store he knew of that would probably have everything he needed. He walked in confidently, still holding onto his various tools, and looked around until he spotted Mr. Barthen.

"Excuse me, sir!" he called out as he approached. "It's me, Antaeus." They had done business together before, and in a relatively small town like this the storekeepers often knew most of their customers by name. But he wasn't as familiar with the other man as he would be Bookie or the Boss (which was what he called Mrs. Nartur), so once again a slight bit of hesitation crept into his voice.

"Ah, if I could make a request, sir?" he started. "I've just gotten Mr. Bookie, down at the mines, to write me an introductory letter to Captain Ork." It was fairly well known that Bookie and Barthen were good buddies--and from some of the stuff people said, Antaeus often got the impression that they must have been some kind of young hellraisers or something back in their day. Some folks said you couldn't trust Barthen as far as you could throw him, but the Genasi-boy had only ever wondered why you would want to throw somebody for no good reason in the first place. "I want to become an adventurer, and I think I have a pretty good shot at it." He tried to stand a little straighter, hands on his hips, feet spread about shoulder width apart. He flexed, his bronze skin bulging with muscle. "And I'm sure most of my work would involve helping out the town--I want to be a hero, and slay giant monsters, and defeat evil!" Here he couldn't help but let his excitement bleed through despite his nervousness, and he lifted one clenched fist in a sign of determination. "So, if you're willing, Mr. Barthen, I uh...I guess what I'm trying to say is I'd like to ask you to make an investment of sorts in me. Would you be willing to give me a few silvers off some of the equipment I'm going to need, just this once? If it ends up not working out for me I could even bring it back, if you'd like. But when I'm the real deal, I know I'll need weapons and armor, and I know you've got the best stuff in town, so I'd end up spending more money here later, you know?" He held up his coin pouch. "I've been saving up from working in the mines, but even now it's not much. But it's not just my money we're talking about either, you know? Just look at that caravan that came in today--if I were an adventurer that protected the town, or a hero that drew the crowds, I bet even more of them would come!"

He tried to give his most winsome smile, and held out his hand for the storekeep to shake. 

"So what do ya say, sir!?"

He didn't have much experience with haggling, but at the least he knew lying and trying to deceive someone was likely to just make them angrier at you. So nothing he had said was a lie, and it was clear to see his enthusiasm now that he had gotten his momentum rolling. Still, though, he had no idea what was going on in the merchant's head, and he knew that his own thoughts had always been somewhat simple. Would simplicity, honesty, and good old fashioned straight forward-ness win the day here?