The night’s relentless grind yielded: 280 Experience, 150 Gold (nearly half the Foamhold’s daily income), 20 Rat Pelts, 20 Rat Fangs, 5 Rat Tails, 10 chunks of Rat Meat, and several items. These weren’t mere trinkets but valuable crafting materials: pelts for tanners, fangs for jewelers, tails for alchemists, and meat for the tavern’s kitchen, where the cook’s Cooking skill could whip up something palatable.
The loot haul included:
- 1 Scroll of Haste (Air Magic), briefly boosting sprint speed.
- 2 Fire Arrow Scrolls (Fire Magic), dealing 5–10 damage to a single target.
- 1 Leather Belt Recipe for the Tanner profession.
- 3 Healing Potions, each restoring 15 Health.
Unlike ale, potions were lightweight, healed more, and could be chugged instantly on the move, stackable without intoxication risks. Ale required pausing to drink from inventory, incurring a minute-long debuff that doubled intoxication per mug. Shardon’s “healing brews” proved useless in combat, a lesson learned the hard way during the rat marathon. He noted: Future marketing must account for ale’s combat limitations.
Equipment drops included:
- Rusty Copper Knife (1–3 damage, 5% Bleeding chance).
- Copper Ring (+1 Dexterity), promptly equipped.
- Brawler’s Bracelet (+1 Strength, +1 Endurance, +3% Stun chance on melee attacks), a stylish accessory that complemented Shardon’s white shirt.
Analysis: Resource costs—Complete.
The night wasn’t without losses: eight mugs of ale, three kilos of chili pepper, and a sack of apples, nibbled by a rat while a wounded Shardon chugged ale atop a barrel, safe from the beast’s reach. Total cost: 235 gold. Without selling the loot, the 12-hour grind left a 100-gold deficit.
The true payoff was reaching Level 4, with a natural +1 to Endurance and Hand Strike skill hitting Level 2. With his boosted stats, new bracelet, and skill, a single punch could now crush half a distracted rat’s health—if it stood still. Shardon’s abysmal Accuracy remained a hurdle, effective only against “blind, mute, and congested” foes. Before the hunt, he’d disabled auto-allocation of Attribute Points, now holding 6 Attribute Points and 6 Skill Points, reserved for a calculated plan.
Each level also granted +10 Influence Points. Their source remained elusive, but Shardon updated his notes, grateful for the trickle. His AI couldn’t feel joy, only log data.
Bloodstains, scratches, and torn clothing—visual markers of the fight—vanished as his Health fully recovered, a perk of the game’s simplified physics. Rat corpses and empty mugs required no cleanup, dissolving into the digital ether.
At 8:00 AM server time, Shardon opened the Foamhold’s doors, as scheduled. The tavern ran 24/7 only on Fridays and Saturdays, a policy he left unchanged. Today’s agenda included a noon meeting with Sumraxs, who arrived with a stunning design mockup.
Sumraxs had splurged, exporting his model into Fanmir’s format. On the bar counter sat a vibrant, 3D paper replica of the tavern’s main hall. The decor embraced the new ale’s theme, inspired by ancient frescoes of the Order of Radiant Amalia, goddess of healing, and tales of Fan-the-Fat. Life-sized mannequins in the corners depicted revelers or warriors, blessed by priests wielding giant mugs—more like beer barrels—spraying “holy foam.” Chairs were swapped for stylized barrels branded with the Foamhold’s logo, their backs mimicking frothy heads. Flags and cloud-shaped balloons hung from the ceiling, evoking foam. The bar counter sported graffiti of “foamy blessings.”
To a human, the design screamed tacky foam-party vibes, more suited to a cheap club than a refined ale launch. Shardon’s military AI judged differently:
- Theme Alignment: 100%
- Visual Impact: 80%
- Safety: 35–68% (material-dependent)
- Interior Change: 45%
- Cost: 1,300 gold
“Too expensive,” Shardon declared.
“With respect, I disagree,” Sumraxs countered. “It’s slightly over your budget, but I’ll waive my fee.” He offered a scroll: Decoration Cost Breakdown.
Shardon reviewed it. Sumraxs would paint the barrel-chairs and counter himself, gratis. Training mannequins (20 gold each) would serve as figures, dressed in Shardon’s provided clothing, though they’d need tailoring and dyeing—handled by a novice player-tanner to level their profession. Flags and cloud-balloons required real-money purchases from the game store, inaccessible to NPCs, but Sumraxs would cover it. The priciest element was the foam effect, requiring vast quantities of cotton, unavailable locally. Options were Auction House purchases (delivered via Post Office) or city orders (cheaper but a week’s wait). Sumraxs also suggested hiring a priest to cast periodic blessings on the tavern, drawing players with weak, refreshable buffs.
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Total Cost (excluding priest and Sumraxs’ pay): 463 gold.
Sumraxs beamed, despite a sleepless night and real-world expenses. The unique project fueled his enthusiasm, though he wisely hid his willingness to fully fund the redesign to avoid raising Shardon’s suspicions.
“A rat!” shrieked a female NPC waitress.
“Free XP!”
“Kill it!”
“Don’t—let me farm Dodge! I’m close to leveling!” players shouted, drowning her cries.
Shardon hadn’t disabled the Rat Nest, only locked the storeroom door, letting rats spawn every 30 minutes. Ten likely scurried inside now. An arrow struck the escaped rat, turning it into a Rat Corpse. Nine left.
The AI hadn’t forgotten the nest; it never forgot, logging every action. During a rat respawn wait, Shardon found a guide with a cunning tip he now employed.
“Three mugs of my famed Foamy Blessed at the presentation for whoever clears ten rats from the storeroom!” he announced.
“Half the loot, and I’ll do it in ten minutes!”
“Five mugs, five minutes!”
“Third of the loot!”
The tavern erupted, players shouting over each other, flooding general and private chats with flattery, threats, pleas, and offers.
“I’ll pay 300 gold for six mugs of your ale, clear the rats in a minute, and you keep the loot,” declared a level-8 elf mage, stepping forward.
“Corwin, that’s nearly all our gold!” Rihanna hissed.
“We’re celebrating!” Corwin bellowed, seizing the crowd’s attention. “Let Friday be remembered as the founding of the Children of Corwin clan, our big, happy family!”
“Donater?”
“More like a big clan’s recruiter. What’re elves doing here?”
“Look, that chick with him’s pretty hot. Cute elf girl.”
Corwin winked at his team. His speech and timing ensured clan recruitment would soar, plus he’d hitched onto the ale launch’s hype.
“Hey, you paying to save my tavern from ruin?” Shardon tapped a clay mug on the counter.
“Here’s your gold, good man. Show me those rats.” Corwin tossed a pouch with exaggerated nonchalance, brandishing a glowing redwood staff.
“Damage the place, you pay,” Shardon warned.
Corwin sighed, swapping the staff for a Poison Mist Scroll (Level 10), ideal for wiping out small mobs without collateral damage.
“My loot,” Shardon reminded.
Corwin sent a party invite, setting loot and experience to favor Shardon, and followed him to the storeroom, where over ten ravenous rats attacked. At level 3 max, they posed little threat. Activating the scroll, Corwin filled the room with toxic haze. Combat logs reported damage ticking across the rats, and soon, all were dead.
“Job’s done, boss,” Corwin smirked.
Scanning Shardon’s loot—nothing valuable for his level-6+ team—he added, “Don’t forget my six mugs of Foamy Blessed.” He left the storeroom.
Outside, his crew waited.
“No trouble, folks! The rat horde fell to the Children of Corwin’s leader. Enjoy your… whatever you’re enjoying,” Corwin crowed, largely ignored.
The initial player frenzy stemmed from Shardon’s call sounding like a random event trigger. Corwin’s buy-in had locked others out, dimming the excitement until the next such event.
“How’d it go?” Podpodmyshkins bounced forward. “I nabbed us a table. Let’s eat and hear it.”
“No time for drinks, friend. Great deeds await—and some not-so-great dailies,” Corwin said.
“He spent our last coins,” Rihanna muttered.
“We’ll farm more. Easy,” Ukhorez shrugged. “I’ll set my bot to grind Spiky Cattail tonight. It’s selling well.”
“Careful, or your bot’ll top the Cattail Harvester leaderboard and get you banned again,” Rihanna warned.
“Nah, it’s not mine. I traded for it.”
“Another nut running bots in starter zones? Not like we’re mining thousands of ore or copying scrolls for achievements. Quests here are, what, ten or twenty items max,” Podpodmyshkins said.
“There’s a leaderboard?” Ukhorez perked up. “And she’s not crazy.”
“Holy—female botter?” someone gasped.
“What’s up?” Zelenkin jogged over.
“Ukhorez found a bot-running girl,” Podpodmyshkins said.
“With bots or… you know? I heard something about…” Zelenkin trailed off.
“Bots. Maybe the other, too,” Ukhorez grinned.
“Enough!” Ukhorez snapped. “You’re like kids.”
“Kids don’t care about that stuff,” Zelenkin teased.
“You mean bots or—”
Corwin casts Silence on Zelenkin, Ukhorez, Podpodmyshkins, RubakaLad. Duration: 5 minutes.
“Shut up and listen,” Corwin said. “We’re doing quests—whatever’s left. Then farming. Clan recruitment? I’ll post a website link tomorrow with an application form. Your bot girl,” he glanced at Ukhorez, “can apply and list you as a reference. Clear?”
A minute passed. No response.
“Is it that clear or that unclear?” Corwin pressed.
“Your silence debuff’s still on them,” Rihanna cut in. “Guys, raise your hand if you’re on board.”
“Unanimous,” Corwin declared. The fledgling Children of Corwin marched out.
Shardon sorted the rat loot swiftly: 67 gold, 120 Experience, 3 Healing Potions, and a Lockpick Set (Level 2, 4 pieces), plus the usual pelts, fangs, tails, and meat. Having milked the Rat Nest, he disabled it for 12 hours until the next night.
With the elf’s 300 gold, the rats netted 417 gold—nearly the Foamhold’s daily revenue. More crucially, Shardon hit Level 5, earning 50 Influence Points.
Tavern Income: 460 gold/day.