FollowVesto Slipher’s day had not gone well. It had started with a knot of dwarves trying to dig a mine in his backyard. They claimed they needed a new source of lastite and all the signs pointed to his property as the location of an extremely rich vein. The stumpy little shits had torn down his gazebo and dug a hole six staves deep before he could stop them. Things had only gone downhill from there, culminating in his latest Chosen One refusing The Call. He needed a drink. No, he thought, I need several drinks.
Things hadn’t improved when the Uber he ordered had finally shown up. The guy was driving a Celtic Chariot™ for Kalir’s sake. Sure, those things were fun and you could get them into places where a standard carriage would never fit, but they rode like shit and were often cramped as hell. This one, at least, was the extended model. That was offset, however, by the fact that the horses pulling it had eaten something that disagreed with them and they were shitting and farting the entire trip. He’d never been so happy to arrive at the Dramatic Squirrel in his existence.
He stood outside the tavern as the Uber clattered off, leaving a stench in its wake that rivaled anything he’d ever encountered. “Do I really want to do this?” he muttered. The Squirrel was the hangout for Choosers of the One and in his experience, Choosers tended to be very tedious people. All they ever wanted to talk about was work stuff: selection criteria, search techniques, training regimen for their Chosen Ones, and more. In his opinion, the profession had turned to shit ever since the Guild had been formed. Oh well, he thought, I do need to get this mess off my chest. That always goes better with colleagues, right? He took a deep breath and headed for the door.
Upon entering, he saw that the Squirrel was doing a brisk business for a weeknight. He was torn because he hated crowds. But, a crowd did increase his chances of finding someone to chat with who wouldn’t irritate the shit out of him. And, that was that. He headed over to the bar, figuring that he could at least have that drink he so badly needed. Waving, he caught the barmaid’s attention.
“What’ll you have?” she said, brusquely. He was craving a Vanilla Enigma but her tone said it was not the night for such a complicated drink. Instead, he opted for something simple.
“I’ll have a Phartailian Ale, please.” She nodded, pulled a pint from the keg, and set in front of him.
“That’ll be 10 xibic,” she said.
“What?” he said. “Ten xibic? For a measly pint of ale?”
“Fine,” she snapped, reaching for the glass.
“No, no,” he said. “I’ll pay.” He dug into his bag and pulled out the needed coins. “This is robbery, though.”
“What can I say, everything’s more expensive since Lord Maire Grald took office.” She held out her hand. “Now, pay up or I’m taking back the pint.”
He reluctantly dropped the coins into her hand and she walked off. That damned Grald and his cronies were going to be the death of this city, he thought. Gouging people on taxes, levying fees, and fines all over the place. It was getting to the point that you needed to be independently wealthy to live in Dewgarde these days. He looked around for an empty seat and spotted one in the back corner. Making a beeline for it, he hoped no one grabbed it before he could. He was almost there when he heard someone call his name.
“Vesto? Vesto Slipher? Is that you?”
He turned and saw Breckett Wye making his way through the crowd. That was fortuitous as Breckett was the closest thing to a friend he had in the Chooser community.
“It is. And, it’s nice to see a friendly face in here tonight.” Wye took his proffered hand and shook it heartily.
“Everything okay?” he asked, concerned.
Vesto wondered if he looked that bad. Probably, he thought. Might as well admit it. “Yeah,” he replied. “It’s just been one of those days. You know what I mean?”
“Oh, I do,” his friend said. “I definitely do. Want to talk about it?”
Vesto grabbed his friend’s sleeve and pulled toward the table in the back. “Indeed I do,” he said. “It’s the main reason I’m here, really.”
“He really refused the call?” Breckett said, incredulously.
“Yep,” Vesto replied, wiping some foam off his lip. Phartailian ale was tasty with a nice creamy head. It was the only beer he drank. The others tasted like gorgon piss. And, although there were people who paid good money for that, he didn’t swing that way. “Looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Nah, I’m good,’ when I told him he was the only person on Earth who could travel to the Dark Lands and bring back the tablets that would heal the land.” He took another sip of ale. “Or, whatever ridiculous line they wanted me to use,” he said, waving his hand.
“Must have been the Hernalae,” Breckett said and was rewarded with a thumbs up from Vesto who had raised his tankard again. “Are they not the worst?”
“You got that right,” said Vesto as he set the mug down. “I need another,” he said, looking around for the serving wench. Catching her eye, he waved her over.
“What’ll it be, boys?” she said, striking her best sultry pose. It would’ve been more effective if not for the large wart just beside her nose and the fact that she was missing quite a few teeth. And, the ones she didn’t look to be long for this world.
Vesto suppressed a shudder and said, “Another Phartailian ale for me, and get my friend here whatever he wants.”
“I’ll have a wing whiskey,” said Breckett. “Neat.”
“All right, be right back,” she said, waggling her buttocks as she walked away.
“So,” Vesto said, “Where were we?”
“Your potential hero had just refused the call.”
“Oh yeah. What is it with these young people today? When we were young, no one would’ve said no.”
Breckett shook his head. “I know,” he said. “It’s an honor to be called to a quest and they act like it’s some kind of chore.”
“Exactly,” Vesto replied. “An honor. And, they have the gall to say ‘No’? It’s just ridiculous.”
The barmaid returned with their drinks. When neither of the choosers bothered to tip her—Vesto even asked for his change—she flounced off in a huff. Breckett sipped his whiskey and said, “Did he even bother to give you a reason for refusing?”
“Yeah,” Vesto said. “Something about how if the opportunity had come 10 years ago, he’d have been all over it. But now, with family and a career, he just didn’t think it was the right move.”
“Huh,” said Breckett. “What does he do?”
“That’s the worst part,” Vesto said, taking a big slug of his ale. “He’s in the urine trade.”
“What!?” Breckett almost spit his whiskey out hearing that.
“Yeah,” Vesto said, sourly. “The guy collects pee for a living and would rather do that than this really cool adventure I was trying to recruit him for.”
“Really?” Breckett said, dumbfounded
“Uh huh, he claimed it was dangerous.” Vesto shook his head. “I said of course it’s dangerous, it’s an adventure.”
“What did he say to that?”
“A big ‘No Thanks’. And then told me ‘Good day’. Like I was some kind of door-to-door salesman or something.”
Breckett shook his head. “You know,” he said, “You’re not the first chooser I’ve heard this from. Tyze Broggs told me something similar last week.”
“Are you serious?” Vesto said. “Same reason?” Breckett nodded. “So, what, like it’s our fault that the mortality rate of chosen ones is abnormally high? Or that the ones who survive find their lives permanently altered. And often not for the better? Of course not, that’s just the way things are.”
“Kids these days have no respect for tradition,” Breckett said, solemnly.
“You know what is?” Vesto said. “They’re lazy. Nobody wants to work anymore.” He knocked back another slug of ale. “And, when they do, their work ethic is terrible.” He leaned across the table. “The last one I sent out quit in the middle of the quest. Said I didn’t tell them the whole story.” He snorted. “Well, duh. What kind of adventure is it if you know everything beforehand?”
“They want everything handed to them,” Breckett said. “They’ve got no ability to improvise.”
“Yep,” Vesto replied. “Hey, I even had one expect me to go with them. Like I’m some sort of babysitter.”
“Oh, that’s just ridiculous,” Breckett said. “Did you go?”
“Are you insane? That shit’s dangerous and I became a Chooser so I wouldn’t have to do dangerous shit.”
“Same here,” Breckett said. “So what next?”
Vesto looked down at his tankard. “I’ve got to start looking for someone else to take up this quest. I already took the money and you know how the Hernalae are about fulfilling a contract.”
“Yeah, they are kind of jerky about that. Those guys have no compassion. Like, zero.”
“Exactly.” He pulled out his timepiece. “I guess I better head out. This commission has a time limit and I’ve burned through almost half of it already. Gonna have to get an early start tomorrow.”
“I hear you, my friend,” Breckett said. He extended his hand and said, “Good luck.”
Vesto took it. “Yeah,” he said, “I think I’m gonna need it.”
