So, you opted for shelter? A wise, if often depressing, choice. Congratulations, you possess basic survival instincts! Now, navigating the glamorous world of budget accommodation...
Understanding the Tiers:
- Actual Inn Room: Clean sheets (possibly), a door that locks (maybe), fewer than six types of vermin. Requires Silver pieces, connections, or main character privileges. You likely can't afford this yet.
- Dormitory Bunk: Shared space, questionable mattress integrity, proximity to snoring strangers and their contagious diseases. The standard entry-level option. Usually costs several Coppers per night.
- Tavern Common Room Floor: Bring your own blanket (or steal one). Risk of being tripped over by drunks or having ale spilled on you. Cheaper than a bunk, higher risk of waking up sticky.
- Stable Loft/Barn Space: Hay is surprisingly itchy. Offers some protection from elements, less from judgmental horses. Sometimes free if you muck out the stalls first.
- The Floor Near the Privy: We don't recommend this. Seriously. The ambient despair alone can inflict status debuffs. If this is your only option... our condolences. See Module 7.
Module 7 Sidebar: Dealing with Setbacks
Did you get pickpocketed? Robbed? Did your hard-earned pittance vanish into the uncaring void moments after you acquired it? Yes, it happens. Especially if your LUK stat resembles a rounding error.
Do:
- Take a deep breath (unless near the aforementioned privy).
- Reassess your immediate needs (Shelter, Food, Not-Being-Stabbed).
- Consult this Guide for alternative strategies (See Modules 5 & 6 again, perhaps?).
- Learn from the experience (e.g., "Don't flash cash," "Avoid suspiciously clumsy drunks," "Curse LUK stat").
Don't:
- Give up and lie down in the street to await oblivion (Tempting, we know. Resist).
- Go on a suicidal revenge quest against the person who wronged you (You'll lose. Badly).
- Blame the Guide (Our predictive algorithms are flawless; your execution may vary).
- Poke aggressive-looking slimes out of frustration (Stop it. Get help).
Remember, every protagonist faces setbacks. It builds character! Or, more likely, trauma! Now, back to finding somewhere slightly less awful than a gutter...
(Inkstained Prophet's Addendum: If you do end up near the privy, check for loose floorboards. Sometimes previous occupants hide things. Usually disappointment, occasionally loose change.)
[Kevin's Story: Part 7 - The Audacity of Hope (and Desperation)]
Kevin stood numbly outside The Rusty Anchor, the phantom weight of three copper coins mocking him. Gone. Just like that. The Frustration debuff buzzed in his mind, making rational thought feel like wading through molasses. His brief moment of accomplishment – the job, the stew, the potential for shelter – had evaporated.
He was back to zero. Worse than zero, because now the temporary satiation from the stew was fading, replaced by the returning ache of hunger and the sharp bite of the cooling night air. Sleeping outside wasn't just unappealing; it felt dangerous. Port Azure after dark had a predatory vibe he hadn't noticed in his initial panic. Shadows seemed deeper, footsteps echoed ominously, and laughter from nearby taverns sounded harsh and threatening.
He pulled up the Guide interface mentally, the blue text overlaying the grimy streetscape. He skipped past the mocking condolences in Module 7 and reread the options for earning coin in Module 5. Menial labor had worked once, but required finding an open establishment and getting hired again, which seemed unlikely this late. Street performance was laughable. Scavenging? His LUK 3 suggested he'd find tetanus before he found a copper.
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Then there was the notice he'd seen earlier: WANTED: Rat Catchers... 1 Copper per tail. Apply at the Gnawed Barrel Tavern.
He shuddered. Rats. Dark cellars. No weapons. No traps. It sounded like a fast track to disease and failure. But... one copper per tail. Ten tails, ten coppers. That was shelter and maybe another meal. It was a concrete goal, unlike the vague hope of finding another dishwashing job immediately.
He checked his Status again. HP: 8/15 (that water had helped). Skills: [Basic Street Brawling] (Lv. 1), [Petty Theft] (Lv. 2), [Urban Navigation (Slums)] (Lv. 1). Not exactly a heroic loadout. He needed a weapon. Anything.
He started walking aimlessly, using [Urban Navigation] not for a specific destination, but just to keep moving through the less-trafficked alleys, away from potential trouble. His eyes scanned the ground, the piles of refuse, the shadowed corners. Looking for... what? A discarded pipe? A sturdy piece of wood?
As he squeezed through a particularly narrow gap between a leaning tenement and a crumbling wall, his foot hit something small and solid hidden under a pile of damp rags. He almost dismissed it, LUK 3 whispering "It's probably diseased," but desperation made him pause. He nudged the rags aside with his foot.
It was another small, waterskin-like pouch, identical to the one he'd found on the roof earlier. Tied to it was another piece of folded parchment.
His heart did a strange flutter – not quite hope, more like bewildered curiosity. He snatched it up. The pouch didn't slosh; it felt heavier, more solid. He untied the note, recognizing the neat, almost instructional script.
Still alive? Impressive. Or perhaps just lucky (unlikely, given your baseline readings).
Noticed you eyeing the Rat Catcher notice. A disgusting, demeaning job. Perfect for beginners!
Rule #7: Never go into a fight unarmed, even against vermin. It's embarrassing for everyone involved.
Inside: Basic armament. Try not to poke your own eye out.
P.S. The Gnawed Barrel is three blocks east of the Salty Siren. Don't get lost.
- A Concerned Veteran
Kevin fumbled with the pouch's drawstring. Inside wasn't water. It was a length of solid, slightly rusted metal about the length of his forearm, flattened at one end and crudely pointed at the other. It looked vaguely like a pry bar that had lost a fight with an anvil, or maybe an oversized, flattened nail. There was also a small, rough whetstone.
He hefted the metal bar. It was heavy, awkward. Definitely not a sword.
Ding!
[Item Acquired: [Improvised Shank (Rusty)]]
[Type: Simple Melee Weapon (Crude)]
[Damage: 1d4 Piercing/Bludgeoning (depending on which end you use)]
[Durability: Low]
[Special Effect: May cause Tetanus (On target... or user, if unlucky)]
[Item Acquired: [Rough Whetstone]]
[Type: Tool]
[Use: Can slightly improve edge of bladed weapons (or pointy metal bars). Requires time and DEX check.]
A shank. A rusty shank. And a whetstone. The Concerned Veteran's idea of basic armament was... fittingly grim. And the Tetanus warning was just lovely. Still, it was better than nothing. It was something.
Three blocks east of the Salty Siren. Okay. He knew where that was. He gripped the rusty shank, its rough texture oddly grounding. Maybe this wasn't completely hopeless. Maybe Module 4's warnings about the first fight tasting like blood and disappointment were accurate, but maybe, just maybe, he could actually win against something. Even if it was just rats.
He used the whetstone awkwardly for a few minutes, scraping it against the pointed end of the shank. It didn't seem to do much, but the ding! was oddly satisfying.
Ding!
[Skill Usage: [Weapon Maintenance (Basic)] (Unofficial Skill) - Attempted!]
[Result: [Improvised Shank (Rusty)] sharpness slightly improved! Tetanus chance remains unchanged.]
[+1 EXP]
18/100 EXP. Every little bit helped.
Taking a deep breath that tasted of damp alleyway and resolve, Kevin started heading towards the Gnawed Barrel tavern. Time to embrace the grind. Time to hunt some rats.