This Used To Be About Dungeons полностью

There was a brick that jumped around like a frog (which had been put into a metal cage), a quill that could do sums for you, and a hair clip that could do your hair in various complicated braids. That last was sure to be expensive, as cosmetic entads often were. As Verity moved deeper into the store, she could tell that she was getting to the more useful and valuable things, especially as many of them were larger in size. A full suit of armor sat on a mannequin and would surely cost many thousands of rings before even considering its magical property, which was apparently the ability to make anyone who struck it see through the eyes of the wearer for a full minute.

Possessed by some impish desire, she tapped the armor on the chest, and when that wasn’t enough, she struck it harder, rapping against the plate.

It was only after she’d done it that she realized that the mannequin didn’t have any eyes to see out of, but that was apparently not a problem, since she saw out of the visor anyhow. She could still feel her body, and hear through her own ears, but it was undoubtedly quite disorienting. She watched herself waving a hand. It wasn’t like looking through a mirror, because a mirror would reverse everything: she was seeing herself as others saw her. Tall, for a woman, poised but somewhat sullen. She smiled for herself and tried on various faces to see whether they suited her better. There was a sort of smile that she had learned for performing in concert halls, the kind that she could keep in place at the end of a performance when the audience was clapping and giving their adulations. She did the smile for herself and could immediately tell how false it was, a smile meant to save strain on the muscles and be visible from a distance.

A minute was a long time, and Verity stayed where she was, waiting for it to wear off. It was a bit too much for her, seeing herself. She had a tendency to focus on the negatives, but that was largely because an honest appreciation of how she looked wasn’t necessary for playing her role. Fixing what flaws and issues she could see was, so she’d learned a critical eye from a young age.

By the time the effect lifted and Verity had her own sight back, she had decided that something needed to be done about her look. She had moved halfway across the world but kept the same appearance, with the exception, sometimes, of less makeup. There was still something so severe about it, the neatly composed concert musician. Side by side, she thought that someone could mistake her for being the same sort of person as Alfric. Stolid. Was that the word? She went over to the dictionary and confirmed that it was. She appeared stolid and didn’t particularly like that.

The very back of the store had a variety of weapons, which she had little interest in, but beside them, there were a handful of musical instruments, five of them hanging from the wall. There was no lute among them, but there were two different drums, an overly long stringed instrument that was probably played standing up, a mouth harp, and a very complicated wind instrument that was covered in valves and pipes. She read their descriptions though she had no interest in buying any of them. Drums were decidedly not her area of interest, and both the stringed instrument and the tube with its valves seemed like they’d be nightmares to take into a dungeon. The mouth harp was more interesting, but it would mean giving up singing, and lyricism was one of Verity’s favorite aspects of music, though she didn’t consider herself to be terribly good at it.

“Have you found anythin’?” asked Hannah.

“No, I think not,” said Verity with a sigh. She gestured at an area close to the instruments. “So many weapons they have here.”

“Well, sure,” said Hannah. “The only people who buy them are dungeoneers, and a dungeoneer doesn’t need to hold on to a sword once his career is done. Beyond that, you don’t tend to need more than one weapon per person. So they sit and rot on the shelves, waitin’ for someone to pick them up. Prices are usually not too bad. And, I s’pose, they don’t actually rot or rust or what have you, so stock can stick around like a bad smell.”

“And instruments get snatched up,” said Verity, frowning at the five that were there. “Because every tavern of any note has a bard in it.”

“Well, ay,” said Hannah. “But not every entad instrument has any actual use to a bard.” She pointed at the placard next to tall stringed instruments. “No tavern bard is going to need to send out spectral blades, ay?”

“There have been times it would have been nice,” murmured Verity.

“Actual problems?” asked Hannah, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really, no,” Verity replied. “Just people getting drunk and demanding songs I didn’t know or didn’t want to sing. When you’re working at a tavern, you’re there for them, the customers, but some of them take it a bit too far.”

“Ay,” said Hannah. “We both work in service to others, by our natures. Better in the dungeons or worse, do you think?”