Chapter 63

Chapter 63

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Cliffside Village, The Sixth Floor, The Dungeon

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Bahumet wandered the village in a thoughtful mood. Every so often, his gaze drifted towards the Scorched Plains below, watching the party of guilders slink away. As promised, they'd brought the requested items and traded them for a weight of the villager's wool. Bahumet knew what they'd use the wool for. It was obvious.

They'd use it to fashion more heat-resistant armor and cloaks so they could stay on the Sixth longer. Whether to use themselves or sell to others, the wool would go on to aid their enemies.

Bahumet found himself contemplating what the point of trading with them even was. Yes, they'd gained some interesting commodities and curiosities in return for something they had in abundance. They could trade their new acquisitions at the Drake-Kin's market for items more valuable to them. Furs for bedding, weapons, tools, and more. But they traded for those things anyway.

Bahumet couldn't understand why and since The Creator extolled the virtue of asking questions and seeking greater understanding... He asked.

"Creator, why did you have us trade with the invaders?" Bahumet asked their god. It was less than a second before he could feel a portion of The Creator's attention focus on him.

I am attempting to... train them. They know some of you are intelligent and can speak and reason. Engaging them in trade will reinforce a feeling of empathy and understanding. They won't WANT to kill you. It is another layer of protection.

"I think I understand, Creator. But why not do this with the Kobolds on the Third?" Bahumet asked, curious.

It was too soon. On encountering the Kobolds, the guilders firmly believed them smart but ultimately unintelligent animals. Their encounters with Mushu and his repeated use of their language primed them to believe that the Kobolds might be as smart as them.

Their first encounter with you Capriccios was you defending an obvious village, and they became more empathetic. They could relate to you defending your home. By trading, they have approached you as equals for mutual benefit.

Bahumet supposed he could believe that. There was one thing, though...

"Capriccios?" Bahumet asked, confused.

Ah. Yes. It is the new name for your people. I couldn't keep calling you 'Demon Goats,' now could I?

"What does it mean?"

It's a word from a language known as Italian and means Whimsical. It is also a reference to a collection of stars that abstractly resemble a goat, known as the constellation Capricorn. And now, it means the race of bipedal, sapient goat people that live on the Sixth Floor of the Medea Island Dungeon.

Bahumet could feel The Creator's attention wane as he left until it reached the background awareness all monsters within the dungeon felt. Then, he realized he'd stopped walking and had been standing still in the middle of the mildly-busy walkway. Bahumet moved out of the way of others and sat down upon a stone bench facing away from the cliffside.

He looked over the Sixth and contemplated the information he'd been given.

The Invaders considered the people. It must be true, in Bahumet's opinion. They could have attempted to climb up to the village and slaughter the guards, then shave their skins and take the wool from their corpses. Instead, they traded relatively little for a valuable resource. With no bloodshed, the risk to the guilders was next to nothing.

Apart from fighting their way down here, that is. That was a given.

If they believed the Capriccios to be as intelligent as them, it opened the door for them to consider other species in the dungeon people. Bahumet blinked rapidly as the consequences of such a belief made themselves apparent to him. The Drake-Kin, the Scorpan, and Minotaurs. They could trade with the guilders as well. And with the Minotaur and Scorpan villages more open and obvious, it would act as another layer of protection.

The humans would hesitate to slaughter a village of people they knew were just as smart as themselves.

Bahumet blinked again, let out a small bleat of laughter, and shook his head. He'd been using the name The Creator had given their race without thinking about it.

Capriccios. It did have a pleasant ring to it.

No. I needed something else. Hmm.

I'd have to think carefully about that.

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Port Medea, Medea Island, Kalenic Sea

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Haythem walked into the tailors behind Isid and Paetor, keenly aware of the three expanded pouches full of wool on their belts.

"Ah, Mrs. Losat. It's nice to see you again." The older man behind the counter stated, sincerity obvious in his tone. He had a refined look about him. His shoulder-length grey hair was shot through with silver, and a well-kept goatee and mustache showed the care he took in his appearance. His clothes were well-fitted; an orange-brown waistcoat over a white shirt, with dark brown slacks. "What can I do for you and your friends today?"

"Mr. Pamfor, I am here about that project I mentioned the other day," Isid replied, placing her expanded pouch on the bench. Haythem and Paetor followed her lead, putting their pouches next to hers. The tailor, Mr. Pamfor, opened Isid's and glanced inside, and Isid continued.

"You should recall that I asked after having some heat-resistant fabric integrated into existing armor and woven into cloaks." The tailor nodded absently as he inspected some of the blood-red wool.

Haythem recalled when he'd first touched the stuff. It wasn't exceptionally soft or fluffy, as he had expected. It was rough, tough, and durable. The reason they'd been so interested in procuring some from the bipedal goats was because of its more esoteric property. Their own testing in the guild confirmed it was fire-resistant and incredibly thermally insulating.

Wool was already naturally fire-resistant. Some property of the stuff just refused to catch alight from mundane fire. Instead, it smoldered and smoked. A fire produced from mana, however, could overcome that nature.

This red wool, however, was a step above the properties of regular wool. It took a platinum-level flame spell to cause it to burst into a fiery conflagration. Beyond its flame resistance, it was perfectly insulating in a thick enough layer. A person hiding behind a sheet of the stuff could have a fire spell burning on the other side and be completely unaffected.

"Ah, yes." Mr. Pamfor stated, breaking Haythem from his thoughts. "I do indeed recall that particular conversation. This is wool. The fibers are tougher than normal and natural besides. This color... It is not dyed... Monster wool?" The tailor theorized. "Which floor is it from?" Isid looked impressed, and Haythem was too. This man knew his fabric.

"It is," she confirmed. "It's from a species of goat-like creatures on the Sixth. I'm not sure if you know, but it is as if the floor's designer had done their level best to bring the Fourth Hell into reality. Open lava pools, free-roaming fire elementals, and a dry heat that we can only be in for any length of time thanks to enchanted cloaks." The tailor nodded and listened carefully as he continued inspecting the wool.

"This Bloody Wool is insulating and more fire-retardant than normal wool. We can modify the cloaks to be more defensive if we use this in our armor. Taking out the cooling enchantments would make room for reinforcement, or some kind of active defense." Isid finished confidently. Seeing she was done, Mr. Pamfor placed the wool next to the pouches, looked each of them in the eye, and smiled in that kindly, sincere way only the elderly can.

"This." Mr. Pamfor began, "This is why I moved to Medea Island." Haythem glanced sideways to meet Paetor's eyes. His fellow guilder looked just as confused as he was.

"I'm a master of my craft," the tailor said. Haythem was sure it wasn't a brag. He said it as if stating a fact, and Haythem believed him.

"My works might not be seen in the royal court, but I've customers among most of the east coast nobility. While it has brought me much success, I never felt... fulfilled. The clothes I made varied little in style, merely versions of the same theme. Silk, Cotton, Wool. When I heard of the effort to colonize a newly discovered Island, I jumped at the chance."

He took a breath and looked around the shop for a few seconds.

"I left my son and daughter to run the business on the mainland. They'd learned all I could teach them, and I knew they'd do just fine. This is my retirement, in a way." He seemed amused at the thought, chuffing slightly. "Instead of tirelessly making clothes for a ravenous nobility, I can choose when and for how long I work. I can choose what orders to take since I have no desire to run myself ragged.

"This is why I moved to Medea island," he repeated, holding up the wool. "New materials to work with! With new materials come new designs, made to fill new needs." The tailor had been getting more energetic as his speech continued, but now his eyes practically shined with enthusiasm.

"I'm glad you're eager," Isid remarked, which prompted the man to collect himself. "I've already talked of the changes I'd like made to my party's equipment, but Paetor and Haythem have their own ideas." Haythem felt the tailor's gaze keenly as he turned his head to face them.

It took a few hours to hash out how they'd integrate the wool into their armor, but Haythem felt confident when it was over. All they needed now was to visit the enchanter and that smith Haythem had met a while ago.

They'd go into the next dive more than prepared for anything the dungeon could throw at them.

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Max Porteous, 2022