Stumbling Up: A Loser's Guide to Progression - Chapter 7: All For One?

“I’m not one to hold sheep hatred against a person, but it does seem a rather large leap to [Adventurer].” I knew my words were tinged with bitterness, with poison. But I was having difficulty letting go of the low probability we would survive the [Trial Dungeon].

The fire popped. Silence sat between us as darkness settled on our little camp. We sat beside each other, but not as close, with our backs to the wilderness. The trees loomed ominously in a way they never did when we were kids. Perhaps I was just less fearless. I couldn’t meet Tandy’s gaze, so I focused real hard on poking the fire with a stick.

Tandy sighed, pulling out her practice weave. She’d had this square of cloth as long as she’d been a [Weaver]. It glowed a dull orange-yellow between her fingers, the edge unraveling as she used a disassembling skill.

"Cole,” her brown eyes raised to meet mine, glowing in the reflected firelight, “I don't want to be a [Weaver]." She said it heavily, like it was a confession. Misery sat in every line of her face. The cloth under her hands glowed again, causing a tear to form.

"Duh," Leo said, breaking the levity of the moment. I elbowed him. But it was an obvious statement. She’d been saying it in different ways for years. We knew the girl who carelessly romped around the countryside with us when we were boys wouldn’t be happily tied to a loom.

What wasn’t obvious, however, was why that led us all to the Adventurer’s Guild. Many options in life don’t risk life and death like [Adventurers]. Even this path didn’t have to involve us. I gestured for her to continue.

"I hit level forty last week." Now, this was a secret. No one revealed their true levels, even to friends. And level forty was unfathomable. At level 40, Tandy was a Master Weaver, a feat people could spend their whole life chasing and not attain. She would have received a personalized mastery title.

Doing this at twenty-five was impossible. If it were true, it meant she had sage potential and was on track to be the greatest [Weaver] of a millennium. Her face showed none of the expected happiness at the achievement. She looked away, slumped on the stump, not a trace of triumph in her body.

Her hands gripped the practice cloth tightly, pulling the weave apart. No skill glowed, as the fabric broke.

“I went to the circle, my mom, my grandma, and the aunties were waiting. It was like they knew. They expected it before I did. My grandmother’s eyes shone like I had done something so special.” Her voice was harsh, angry at a feat I couldn’t imagine. Making my parents proud?

She took a breath, almost a sob. It took everything in me not to reach for her. Tandy continued, quieter, “I lost it. I told them the truth. For the first time, I let loose. I didn’t want this life they’d carefully mapped out.” She picked at the torn fabric, pulling out individual threads. “For the last five years, I have barely breathed without fabric in my hands. The constant practice of following their theoretical guide of progression. They never bothered asking what I wanted from life.”

Leo and I looked at each other. I’d suspected Tandy’s family had a progression guide, but Tandy would never admit it. It had always surprised me that the girl with the most potential in Woodsten would hang with the two guys with the least potential. She’d never helped us, and I was beginning to see why. Making her family proud had cost nothing less than her own dreams for life.

Tandy’s hands glowed again with a skill, and the bundle of threads in her hand changed color to maroon, her favorite color.

“I knew it was a mistake. My mom was angry. My grandmother refused to look at me. It was a mistake, but once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. The levy broke and I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t tell them fast enough; every resentment I’d held for the last decade just bubbled out.”

Tandy’s shoulders slumped with the admission. Her voice slowed as she continued, “I never wanted the family tradition and the life of the loom. I didn’t choose to have sage potential. To be a [Threadmarked Weaver] at twenty-five.” She said the last with a mocking singsong. Her hand glowed, and another bundle of threads turned pink, matching Leo’s new sweater.

The rejection of her calling sat between us. A hot coal that slowly burned at the bonds of our friendship. While Leo and I had grown up to become outcasts for our broken builds, she’d been the town belle and her family’s pride. I’d tried to keep a tight lid on my jealousy. Leo had been less successful over the years, as his fate as a [Broken] solidified.

[Threadmarked Weaver]. The words hung between us. Only a handful of folks in the region had personalized master classes. All but one were in their eighties.

“At least you have a class,” Leo said bluntly, his face downcast. Tandy winced. She knew she’d broken the unspoken rule: never bring up your system attributes in front of Leo.

She picked out another bundle of threads from her cloth and carefully chose her words, “Sorry, Leo. Honestly, you’re why I kept at it so long. I felt so guilty for having the one thing you wanted that I just sucked it up. I put what I wanted in a tiny box and buried it deep. I worked on my skills so hard because…” Her voice trailed off.

“Because you had to try to deserve them,” I finished her sentence. I’m sure I was part of the reason, too, my unhappiness with my lack of progression and disappointing specializations. I put a hand on Leo’s shoulder and squeezed.

The tension left his body, and as he raised his face, it held the fake grin we were all used to, “It’s alright.” We were all way too good at burying our feelings.

The lie sat heavy between us. A small moth fluttered into the campsite, its delicate wings beating gently as it narrowed in on its focus. The fire popped loudly as the moth died in a blaze of glory.

We were all intimately familiar with class-based shame. My father had once lectured me that we all were 'valued' village members. We all produced. Those fancy classes didn’t mean much as long as you had a roof over your head and food on the table for you and your family.

At the time, I'd worked as a low-level [Smith]. I’d come home raging. Four years of labor, of working at the forge to slowly gain the skills I needed to make a go at the profession, had resulted in a Class Specialization of [Nails].

I’d quit the next day, eventually finding my place at the Ram’s Horn. Years under Marta had resulted in a similar outcome. I’d gotten a [Gruel] Class Specialization, and my fellow [Chef’s] dubbed me the ‘Master of Mush’, making me the laughing stock of the kitchen. Marta kindly took me off the breakfast shift.

“Later that day, I met with you to celebrate your birthday.” She leaned into Leo with the unspoken apology. “I didn’t expect it to go the way it did. I just knew I couldn’t return to being a [Weaver]. Signing a guild contract was something I knew my family couldn’t take from me. Couldn’t talk me out of being. I can’t escape the hope that there is more to life.” The threads in her hand glowed as she triggered another spell, changing to the blue and green of my faded cloak.

That was the crux of it. That irritating quality I [Self Flagellate] myself with, hope. Even after my specialization failures and Leo’s inability to attain a class, we both kept trying. Kept hoping that one day, something would change.

Change was here, for better or worse.

"It's going to be okay.” The words were meant for Tandy and Leo, but I also believed them. An adventure with the three of us felt right. We were returning to our roots, to the times I cherished the most in my life. "Leo, you’ve already gained your first class. Sure, it’s probationary, but we’ll make it permanent.” He gave me a nod with a small, genuine smile peeking through. “And Tandy, a blind donkey could see you weren’t suited for the [Weaver] life. You’re one of us, and now you’re with us."

Tandy's hands glowed a brilliant orange gold. The tattered practice cloth she'd been disassembling wove together before our eyes. The three colored threads were braided in and out on the new design.

Did she trigger multiple skills at once?

I mentally shrugged at Richard’s question. I’d long ago accepted that Tandy could do impossible things.

Hot tears sprang from her eyes. "Thank you.” She gave me a look that made my throat close up, “I've never wanted my stupid family's legacy. I hate weaving. I want to be out here.”

“In the forest?” I asked with a grin, trying to make a joke.

She glared at me. The joke had fallen flat: “No, not the forest.” Her voice softened momentarily, “Here. With you. Out in the world.” Her words were so soft as she glanced between us. The fabric in her hand shone perfectly in the firelight. “I thought I’d have to leave without you two.” She mimed throwing the mended cloth into the fire before continuing, “You both surprised me at Leo’s party. You demanded to come along when I told you I was going to the recruiter’s office.” She pulled the fabric back, clutching it close to her chest.

“Of course,” I said, the platitude unsurprising, even expected. The shock was that I meant it. The poisonous knot in my chest began to dissolve.

Of course, I’d follow Tandy.

“Besides, don’t you both hate your jobs? I mean, I hate wool. I hate sitting inside carding wool, the shuttle rhythm," She brought up her tear-streaked face, defiant, "I hate sheep!!"

Hating on sheep was anathema in sheep country. She’s said it before, but I never really believed her until now. Leo and I shared a glance. Tandy, still red-eyed from tears, looked defiant.

Leo, though, Leo knew exactly what to say, "Fuck sheep!"

I laughed, remembering all the moments I railed against my assigned shepherd’s watch on the farm, "Yeah, fuck sheep!!" In the insanity that we were running off to be honest to god [Adventurers], sheep could go to hell, too. I’d never have to take a shepherd’s watch, make a gruel, or hammer a nail again!

Tandy started giggling. We all did. High on the stupidity of what we were about to do. She scrubbed the tears off her face as we laughed. Neither Leo nor I cared if she was the Grand Magus of Weaving. She was our friend.

You hear that?

Richard’s mental voice was low and urgent. I strained my ears. We’d been talking, as though we’d sat at Ram’s Horn over a pint. The Heltenic Forest was too close to the wilds to be completely safe. It’d been a mistake to let down our guard.

Rustling. I squinted into the darkness, but my eyesight was shot.

I stood up, tense. Tandy and Leo were looking at me, confused.

I can feel passive skills, so it’s not a simple forest creature.

I took several steps beyond the campfire, signaling Leo to grab his axe. A branch cracked under the weight of the creature. Whatever it was, it was big.

Had another monster found us?