"Well, here we are. The North Gate. This is as far as my contract extends, but I need to stop by the main office in West Clock Town, so if you're headed that way we can walk together," offered Oliver. This was a courtesy he rarely extended to clients, but given how incredibly crowded town was likely to be with all the visitors, he figured it was the least he could do. After all, this guy looked like he'd never been to Clock Town before -- or any town at all, for that matter. It was somewhat unusual for lone travelers to hire the Clock Caravan Company, as they typically dealt with at least small groups of merchants; otherwise it was more cost effective to hire a local guide, but this strange old man had insisted on sending for just one escort, and all the way from Clock Town, to boot.
Strange was a bit of an understatement, but Oliver had worked with stranger before. If he had to sum the fellow up in a few words, those words would be "hermit, quiet, short, never sleeps." Such summations were actually a requirement for Oliver, something that Zunari constantly liked to remind him of; when filling out his client ledger after completing a contract, he was required to jot down the basic details of the client (name, race, sex, departure, destination, amount owed and paid) as well as fill out a short "miscellaneous comments" section. This last section afforded the poor contractors very little room to write anything, but was nonetheless required, so Oliver and his colleagues were forced to keep it to a terse few words in the interest of space and neatness.
Oliver liked to keep his favorite clients in the front pages of the book, while he worked from the back to the front for everyone else. Some notable favorites included "Jenny: nice smile, smelled of roses, tipped well (50)", "Grant: hilarious, told great stories, skilled fisherman", and "Rebecca: great rack, changed with the tent flap open, did not tip." Oliver had become so accustomed to summing up people in a few words that he began to do it subconsciously upon meeting someone new, even with non-clients. Oliver was fairly sure this particular man, one "John Smith: hermit, quiet, short, never sleeps", would not end up on the first page, and would more likely be filed away and forgotten between "Henry: tall, nice, seldom bathed" and "Trey: short, fat, belligerent."
John Smith (Oliver was fairly sure this was not the man's real name, as 1)it was far too normal for him and 2)no parent would be so cruel as to name their child something so bland and unremarkable) was an elderly fellow with leathery brown skin and a scraggly white beard. His eyes were dark and distant, and almost always squinting; it was obvious that the man needed eyeglasses, but Oliver imagined that no pair of glasses in the whole of Termina could possibly accommodate Mr. Smith's comically large hook-nose. Oliver guessed the man was either bald or balding, but due to the hermit's choice to constantly wear a ratty old hooded traveling cloak at all times, the young contractor was never quite sure. Despite always seeming tired and weary, Oliver never saw the man sleep a wink once during the entire week they'd been traveling together; at night, the old fellow would just sit by the fire and stare off into the distance, sometimes reading from a dusty old tome. It was almost as if he was waiting for Oliver to fall asleep, but after pretending to be asleep the first night just to make sure, Oliver was too tired to care beyond that.
He always seemed to be hunched over, which only accentuated his shortness, and seldom walked faster than an inchworm. Normally Oliver wouldn't have been particularly bothered by such a slow companion, as he billed by the hour, but ever since Oliver heard that the Prince would be coming to Clock Town yesterday, he became considerably more frustrated by Mr. Smith's complete lack of speed, as he worried he would miss the entire affair.
"No, I'm fine, thank you. Farewell," said Mr. Smith, who quickly turned to leave (the first time he seemed to be in a hurry the whole week, mind you). Oliver frowned as he watched the man go; it was very rare that he wasn't tipped for his services, and Mr. Smith had been neither good company nor a particularly interesting companion. Mr. Smith's fragile gait did not seem to be particularly well equipped to handle such newfound hustle, it seemed, as the old man suddenly tripped after taking only a few steps, crying out in alarm as he fell (flailing helplessly) to the ground. Oliver took a short moment to revel in the schadenfreude before making his way over to the man to see if he was okay. The contents of Mr. Smith's old cloth satchel were now strewn all over the ground, and the old hermit was struggling to shove them back in his bag, muttering frantically to himself.
Among the more mundane items were a few strange trinkets to which Oliver's attention was immediately drawn.
Three strange medallions were the first thing to catch his eye; all three seemed to be made of ornamented gold, and as Mr. Smith hurriedly scooped them up, they seemed to pulse with energy as he touched them. The only other item of note was a strange book, different from the old historical tomes he'd seen the man reading before. It seemed to be very old by the look of the binding and the yellowed pages, and it bore a strange symbol on its front cover, unlike the plainly printed titles of the other book. Oliver picked up the book along with a few others and offered them to Mr. Smith with a fake smile, who seemed surprised and then quickly enraged when he noticed had seen his treasures.
"You fool! You've seen too much!" rasped the old man, shoving his satchel aside and lunging at Oliver. Reacting quickly, Oliver thrust the stack of books forward, hitting the old man square in the chest and forcing him to recoil a bit.
"What's your problem, you old coot?" asked Oliver, taking a step back. "Just take your books and go!" He wasn't yet sure if he needed to draw his sword; after all, this guy didn't seem to be much of a threat. The young swordsman was fairly sure he knew a few Deku Scrubs who could snap this guy in half if they wanted to. Mr. Smith, however, seemed unwilling to just leave, and rushed at Oliver again. This time, however, he thrust his palm forward, his entire hand pulsating with some dark energy. In an impressive feat of speed, Oliver stepped forward as Mr. Smith drew closer, grabbing the old man by his bony arm and deflecting his magical palm thrust off to the side in one swift movement. Considering how light the enraged hermit was, Oliver easily swept him off balance and threw him to the ground.
Mr. Smith groaned in pain, having landed rather roughly on his side with an unsettling cracking sound that made even Oliver uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Oliver drew his sword and cautiously approached the old man, ready to strike should he try anything. The old coot shot Oliver a spiteful glance, and for a brief moment the two locked eyes. Strangely, John's eyes suddenly flashed red. Before Oliver could react, the hilt of his sword seemed to catch fire in an instant, forcing him to quickly drop his blade to avoid his sword hand becoming terribly burned.
"What the hell?!?" exclaimed Oliver, rubbing his hand and eyeing his (dropped) sword, the hilt of which was glowing a bright white. "What kind of magic is that?" he queried, more than a little bit confused and frightened. The old man gave no answer, grabbing a glass vial from his cloak and smashing it on the ground in front of Oliver. The young swordsman reflexively leapt aside, expecting it to shatter and explode in his face or something gruesome. Instead, the strange green, gelatinous fluid spread out and constituted itself into a Green ChuChu, the rather weak blob monsters that Oliver often encountered out in the field. The things were mostly harmless... as long as you had a weapon, something that Oliver currently lacked, as his sword was literally too hot to handle (or perhaps it just had a handle too hot?).
As the goofy, grinning blob lurched at him with a strange, quivering hiss, Oliver frantically threw a punch at it out of pure panic. Unsurprisingly, his fist went straight through the thing and out the other side, leaving it hanging on his arm and flailing about rather awkwardly. The two made eye contact for a moment as if to mutually say "Well now what?" before Oliver remembered his secret trump card. Drawing the hidden dagger from behind his cape with his free hand, Oliver quickly thrust the blade into the gelatinous body of the ChuChu three times, causing it to promptly wither away and slide off of Oliver's hand, collapsing into quivering clumps of green goo. Oliver heaved a sigh of relief before suddenly remembering the old man, who was now nowhere to be seen. It would seem as if he quickly fled while Oliver was distracted.
Oliver was more confused than anything at this point, scanning his surroundings to make sure Mr. Smith wasn't lying in wait behind some bush, poised to attack with another creepy pet. Reclaiming his now hex-free sword from the ground, Oliver sighed once more, trying to digest what had just happened. As he wiped some of the remaining chu jelly off of his right arm, he began to make his way back through the gate, although not before noticing something rather strange. In his hurry, Mr. Smith had left behind the stack of books Oliver threw at his from before, including that strange ancient one.
Oliver got the Strange Book!
A strange old book written in a language Oliver can't recognize. If he had a higher Arcane Knowledge skill, maybe he could hazard a guess. It's a wonder he can read at all. He doesn't have time to investigate this further right now, because he should be chasing the old man.
Oliver hurried through the North Gate, only to be stopped by the guard on the other side, who seemed concerned that Oliver had no intention of slowing down.
"Halt! I said halt! Stop right there!" ordered the Clock Soldier, clutching his spear tightly. Oliver slowed to a stop, sheathing his sword to show that he meant no harm. "Why are you in such a hurry? And what makes you think you can just breeze through this gate with a sword drawn?" he queried, still eyeing the young swordsman rather nervously.
"Did you see an old man come through here just a moment ago? He was wearing an old hooded cloak and had a long white beard," explained Oliver, looking around for any trace of the strangely elusive Mr. Smith. There's no way he could have gotten far on those old spindly legs.
"It's been at least half an hour since I've seen anyone else come through here," answered the guard, calmly. "Why are you looking for this guy? Did he attack you? Steal something from you?" he asked. He'd always thought theft in the park was a fairly common crime, and that some guards didn't do much about it. In fact, some of them just stood still and let burglars prance right past them. (Reference +5)
"I was attacked, actually. The guy was a client of mine; I work as a guide for the CCC," explained Oliver, showing the soldier his silver badge. He hesitated as he wondered what to do next. Should he trust the guard with the information about the strange book? Maybe he should try to figure out more about it on his own first... "You know, I was so sure he ran through here. Are you sure you didn't see anyone?"
"I'm sure. Well, you should definitely go report all the details about this to main office. We're really busy and shorthanded right now, but I'm sure someone will get around to investigating it," said the guard, who seemed to be fairly busy himself, keeping a weather eye on the business scrubs to make sure they didn't stray too close to the picnic area and vice versa. "Be careful out there, sir," he added, with a nod. Oliver thanked the guard and continued into the park, still overwhelmed by everything that'd just happened. He made his way over to a nearby bench, across the way from the scrubs, and began to examine the strange book a bit closer.
Reminder: change "John Smith: hermit, quiet, short, never sleeps" to "John Smith: hermit, insane, tried to murder me."
Baklava