GANNONDORF HAS CANCER

I make some extra gear to finish off my crafting session.

Some new holsters for the new sawed-off shotguns, which I have decided to name Jack and Pot. A new pair of modified boots, some patches for my cloak from the arrow holes, and three fun types of fresh ammunition for my guns other than base ammo.

My hair has been getting in the way of forging, so I take it up into a ponytail and, in one dagger stoke, cut it off. I reapply some black hair dye to finish off this new hairstyle.

Exiting my room, I am greeted with the familiar bustle of life in headquarters. A Rito swoops up next to me as I walk down the stairs.

It is Guy, one of my managers, whose tone is urgent, "Mr. Sinclair, I'm glad you're out! You told us not to disturb you, but there's a major crisis. Could you come down to the conference room?"

I rush down and enter the room filled with my high-level leaders. Garak, Guy, Emri, Beetle, and Josephine wait for me to take my place at the head of the table and update me on the situation.

"The compass design has been leaked," Josephine says.

Beetle adds, "Our competitors are all undercutting our prices. Our profits have tanked."

It was bound to happen, the Compass is too good of a product not to get leaked. I tell my managers, "Well, there are two possibilities. One, someone infiltrated the building, or two, we have a mole."

The room erupts, with all of my leaders explaining how the people they hired are all the cream of the crop and how they would never betray the company.

A dud shot into the ceiling from one of my new shotguns, Pot, shuts them up, and I resume talking, "It's fine. Focus on quality in our design and keep manufacturing; people know that Arjon Sinclair invented the Compass and that we have the highest quality."

"Of course, comb through your workers looking for double agents, but we need to expand, so hire some more. We will need the staffing for these new products."

I pass around some copies of blueprints and instructions to my managers.

"A clothing line? Seems different from what the public expects from us," Emri says.

"Something called zippers, huh... and a new type of boot called 'sneakers'?"

"Just trust me, these will be a game changer. I want prototype designs made by Friday and production to begin next week. Beetle is in charge of day-to-day, good work guys!"

With the work of managing the company thrown onto my managers, I pack my backpack and set off on a short trip, which I have been planning for a few days.

I have a few objectives for this trip:

Find out where the knockoff compasses are being produced.

Get directions to small monster camps.

Find a glass artisan.

And mainly, Kidnap Isha, the jewelry merchant that sent her thugs to destroy my business.

I am going to the south side of the city, a trip that takes around a day and a few miles through the crowded streets.

While walking, I notice some differences in the cityscape. The farther I go, the fewer stores and street vendors are replaced by more housing, inns, grocery stores, and blacksmiths. I also see more armed people, some in plate amour, some with bows, and even a Goron carrying two colossal great swords. These people turn out to be monster hunters.

As the desert temperature lowers and the moon rises, I look for a friendly-looking Inn where I would like to stay the night.

I spot a building made of limestone and inside is a warm-looking fire. A sign above the Inn says "The salty Keese" with a picture of a mug of beer and a plate of food.

A bell on the door rings as I step in and see a few tables full of monster hunters staring glumly into their mugs.

The serving girls are all yelled at by a skinny Innkeeper that doesn't do anything to help the girls, who have to duck around the guests groping.

I walk to a desk where the skinny man welcomes me, his voice devoid of any congeniality, "Welcome to the Salty Keese. Beds are two green shards."

"I would like to stay here, but I'm a bard. I could fill this hall up for you if you feed me and give me a room for the night!" I may be rich, but the cheapness never leaves you.

The innkeeper raises his prominent, caterpillar-like eyebrows above his head, and I play a few cords into a song on my guitar before he cuts me off.

"You'll do, but I'm only feeding you after everyone has left, and you are getting the attic room."

The Innkeep has been staring at my sword and coin pouch throughout the discussion, so I resolve to bar the door to my room for the night but accept, mainly because it's cold outside and I'm too lazy to find another Inn.

When I climb up on a little stage in the corner of the Inn, the few residents of the dining hall look up expectantly, and my mana-enhanced ears pick up some comments from the guests, "Doesn't look like much of a bard to me. That Innkeep is a cheap fuck, this guy can't be good."

I tune my guitar before I start playing, plucking out the first few notes to Dust On The Wind. By the song's end, the few hunters are making enough noise to be a crowd of one hundred, and they demand I play the tune again.

By the time I'm done playing the song for the fifth time, the crowd is singing along, and all the tables are full. Servers scurry across the floor with platters full of steaming food, filling the warm room with a pleasant smell.

I take them through some more classics like Sweet Home Alabama (Which might apply to my life if I meet Riju), Seven Nation Army, and Hotel California.

I end the night with Blackbird, and everyone who listened to my performance, stay buying rooms for the night.

The innkeeper gives me a plate of food and a beer and is no nicer to me even after I just made him a boatload of money. He tosses me a key, "Top floor, it's the room with the red door."

I go up and find a tiny, red-doored closet. Inside is a slanted roof that makes me bend over to get in and a small cot.

I bar the door, sit down and start reading a book, but soon notice something strange.

I'm becoming very sleepy, which doesn't usually happen with my mana-infused body. As I fall to the side of the cot, I realize I've been drugged.