Another m, another day of business.

  Balthazar made his way across the wooden bridge as usual, the calm waters of his pond slowly flowing underh him, the sun shining on his golden carapace. It was just another day at the crab’s pond.

  Except, perhaps, for the broken railing on the side of his trading post’s ptform, and the destroyed shelves and tables near it. An eyesore for the mert.

  And as if one eyesore wasn’t enough, he also found another unpleasant sight by the entrance.

  A man’s body was hanging from the fence, his legs oside, his upper body toppled over to the inside, both arms swingio his upside down head. He looked like a rug left out to dry uhe sun, and he had the appearao match.

  “Oh, hell, just what I needed,” Balthazar pined. “Another dead adventurer around my house. They just ’t help themselves, they? They see my nice pond and they have to go ahemselves killed here, just to spite me. What a bother.”

  The bemoaning crab approached the hanging figure. He wore old clothes, their colors faded, and the fabric worn out, like something that had once been nid of good quality, but had seen too much use over the years.

  “Well, it’s not stealing if they’re dead,” Balthazar said with a shrug, as he reached for a pocket. “It’s just ethical looting.”

  As his piugged on the man’s pocket, he suddenly filed his arms and yelled. “LeRtGuoMi!”

  “BAH!” the startled mert screamed, as he stumbled bato a group of boxes, knog them over.

  “I’m fine! I’m fihe suddenly very animated man shouted, standing ba his feet and looking around in fusion. “I’m awake! o kick me out! I know my way home!”

  He had wild curly hair, messy and u, mostly grizzly, with a few remnants of a former blond tone. His face was unshaven, with a five o’clock shadow that looked closer to fifteen, and baggy eyes and cheeks that hi an individual who had lost a lot of weight very quickly. He was an absolute mess.

  “Waaait, art of town is thish? How do I get home from here?” he said, slurring his words. “Oh wait, that’sh right. Hic! I don’t have a home ‘nymore. Heh.”

  “Oh, great, a drunk,” the upset crab said, standing back up from the boxes and dusting himself off. “Just what I o start my m.”

  “It’sh m?!” said the drunkard, staring up at the sky with a hand over his forehead and his upper lip and nose sched up. “Yeeep! That’sh no moon. H’lo sun!”

  The man suddenly took his hand off his fad looked down at Balthazar with a bewildered expression.

  “Didsha just talk?”

  “I guess we’re doing this…” the crab groaned, rolling his eye stalks. “Yes, I did. It’s not the booze talking, it’s me, I talk.”

  “Ohhh, man. I ’t believe it! A real talking lobshter!”

  “Hey! Watch the insults! I’m a crab, not a lobster.”

  “Well, eeeeexcush me, mister crab! If you couldn’t tell, I’m just a tiny, weeny bitty tipsy, shooo… lobshter, crab…” He shrugged. “Shame thing.”

  “Yes, I think I noticed,” Balthazar said. “Now, you get going and leave my pce? Yoing to scare away the tele.”

  “C’moooon, crab!” the drunk said, leaning over the fence. “Just one more round! Drinksh on you, though. I don’t got any more left. Waitress!”

  He raised one arm in the air, as if calling for someoo take his order, despite there being nobody else around them.

  “This isn’t a tavern, you drunkard. This is my trading post. Now go o on out of here already.”

  “Bh! Sho rude!” the other said, still leaning on the guardrail, doing his best to stay on his feet. “Ba the day, nobody would ever treat me like that! I was a mert too, you know? Besssht ohere was! Tristan, the mert! Everybody loved me!”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure you were,” the crab said, running out of patience for the inebriated man. “And I was a reno dancer until a knee injury threw me into the life of trading. Now you get…”

  The ma go of the railing and sat on the ground, sobbing untrolbly.

  “What… what are you doing?” Balthazar said.

  “Eeeeeeverybody loved Tristan!” he yelled between sobs. “I was at the top of the worrrld! Whyyyy didsh you have to do that to meeee?! We werrre friendsh! Partnersss!”

  “ you not cry so loud, please?” the crab pleaded, looking around to make sure no ts were arriving. “Just… just go cry somewhere else, will you?”

  “I trushted him like a brother, you know?” Tristan cried, turning his bloodshot eyes to Balthazar. “But he was never satisfied. It was never enough. He couldn’t accept anyone else but himself being the guildmaster. Noooo, it had to be him, no matter who he had to shtep over to get it.”

  “That’s very sad, but really, if you don’t leave yoing to get tossed out by a rock…” Balthazar stopped talking and his eyes went wide. “Hold on. What did you just say? Guildmaster? Who exactly are you talking about?”

  “Antoihe weeping man yelled. “That shnake! Never should have trushted him!”

  “You know him? Antoihe suddenly much more ied crab inquired, as he gave him a quick check through his monocle, just in case.

  [Level 10 Town Drunk]

  Apparently, being a town drunk was a css of its own to that system. Because of course it was.

  “Know him? Hah! Let me tell you,” Tristan said, struggling to stand back to his feet, sobbing suddenly gone. “Me an’ him were insheparable! We came from nothing. Shtarted our busshinessh together.”

  The intoxicated man threw himself over the fence as he tialking, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he nded on his . Wriggling his way to a nearby stool, he made himself fortable by sitting awkwardly on it.

  “Please don’t start telling me your life’s story,” Balthazar muttered under his breath.

  “Let me tell you my life’sh shtory, little crabby,” said the drunk, propping a leg up onto his knee and nearly falling backwards.

  The crab sighed.

  “I was born and raished in Ardville. Dirt poor! Came from humble beginningsh. All I had was my besht friend, Antoine. We were alwaysh together, dreaming and pnning how we’d bee powerful and iial one day. Rule over the whole city! Then, when we came of age, we made a partnership, shtarted our trading bushinessh with a shmall loan of ten thoushand gold from my father.”

  “Wait,” Balthazar interrupted. “Didn't you just say you were dirt poor?”

  “Shhhhhhh! Shush it, crab. You’re ruining my shtory!”

  Tristan closed his eyes for a moment and held a deep breath. Balthazar g a bucket oher side of the ptform and wondered if he’d be able to reach it in time if the man suddenly decided to throw up. He did not like his odds.

  “Where was I?” he finally said, with a long exhale. “Right, bishnessssh. We were the perfect team. I had all the charishma, everyone loved me. I could sell alchemy flowersh to a bckshmith, f tools to an alchemisht, and then I’d mediate a trade between them and take a pertage. Antoine was the brainsh. He had all the ing, knew all the insh and outsh, could smell a good deal like no one else. We plimented each other perfectly.”

  “Don’t you mean you two plemented each other?” the crab asked.

  “No. I meant we plimented each other perfectly. And often. I’d mention how ly trimmed hish mushtache was that day. He’d point out how well my shoes matched my undercoat. You know, hingsh like that. Now shtop interrupting my shtory!”

  Balthazar rolled his eyes. Hopefully enduring all that would lead to learning something useful.

  “And over the yearsh, we kept moving up the dder,” Tristan carried oshually we opened our A&T Emporium. Biggesht shtore in town! But he didn’t like the name. He alwaysh wanted hish own name on it. That’sh why the firsht thing he did whe rid of me was ge the he backshtabber.”

  “Yes, yes, but how did he betray you? we get to that?” the impatient crusta asked.

  “Alright, alright, fihe man agreed. “It was one night, at a party at the mayor’sh house. You shee, I was very liked by all the noblesh in town, very popur, and all but guarao be voted the mashter of the guild of mertsh. Antoine… well, he was smart, and ing, but alsho foul-tempered and not the mosht… friendly. What I’m trying to shay is, nobody liked really liked him, they jusht tolerated him. And I thought he would be happy for me. What a fool I was…”

  The drunken man’s head slowly began tilting down, in what at first seemed to be a new fit of tears, but quickly became the start of a nap.

  “Hey! Stay with here me!” Balthazar yelled, snapping a pincer in front of the man’s face. “You sleep after you finish telling me about Antoine.”

  “Huh? What?! ht, right,” the inebriated storyteller said. “Party at the mayor’sh houshe. Everyone important was there. Every noble, bushinessh owner, politis… you . And little did I know, Antoine already had a pn to ruin my reputation. We knew each other like no one elsh. I knew hish shcretsh, he knew my weaknesshesh. He got me drinking. A lot. I got… a little too drunk. And theook me away from the party hall, all friendly and joking. We shneaked out to the mayor’sh botanical garden. Big fan of gardening, that one. And…”

  Tristan’s face became somber, and his lower lip quivering.

  “In my drunken shtate, he… he made me do shomething I regret to thish day.”

  He started sobbing again.

  “What did you do, man?! Just tell me already!” the exasperated crab said.

  “The mayor’sh pride and joy,” Tristan said between hiccups and loud sobbing. “Sho beautiful, and I… I… what was I thinking?!”

  Balthazar’s anticipation was killing him. Could Antoine really have gohat far? Had he made his friend it some unfivable act? Was there a murder behind Antoine’s assion to power?

  “Who, damn it?! The mayor’s pride and joy, Tristan!” the manic crab demanded. “Give me a name!”

  The inebriated man bawled as tears rolled down his face, mumbling unintelligible words. Between his sobbing, all Balthazar could make out was one word. “Camellia.”

  “What? Camellia? Who was that? The mayor’s wife? Daughter? What did you do to her? Did you hurt her, Tristan? Did Antoine make you kill someone?!”

  The man’s sobbing suddenly stopped, and he lifted his face from his soaked hands, looking at the crab with fusion.

  “W-what? Kill shomeohe befuddled drunk said. “What are you talking about? Camelliash are shrubs that bloom beautiful flowersh. The mayor had a rare, huge camellia at the ter of hish garden, it was hish mosht prized treashure.”

  “A… shrub?” Balthazar repeated in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? This whole story, and it was about a pnt?”

  “You don’t uand!” Tristan cried out, burying his face ba his hands. “My reputation was ruined after that night. The mayor was furioush, everyone shaw it, I ublicly humiliated!”

  “Wait,” the still irritated crab said. “What was it you actually did, though?”

  “I… I was drunk, a little too happy,” the man whispered sheepishly. “Antoine dared me, like it was a fun little joke, and I… I…” His gaze went to the floor, his voice down to an ashamed murmur. “I urinated on the bush.”

  Balthazar stared at the former mert for a long moment, his expression uo decide between being mad, or bursting out ughing. The result was a slightly manic chuckle that slowly grew as the crab abandoned all attempts at remaining sane.

  “You… you peed on the mayor’s prized bush?” the crab said, between nervous ughter. “That’s how Antoine ruined your reputation?”

  “It’sh not funny!” Tristan cried out. “I had so much to drink, all the flowersh wilted by the time Antoi all the guestsh to catch me i. That shrub never gave a shingle flain.”

  The man tinued bawling his eyes out.

  “I ’t believe this,” said Balthazar. “I’m over here thinking you were someoh a good reason to want to get back at Antoine, but you’re just a drunk who peed on some flowers and got in trouble for it.”

  “What?!” the man quickly said, his g ing to a sudden stop as he tried to stand back up. “You don’t think I want revenge on that backstabber more than anything in this world? I was going to be the guildmaster of the merts. I worked for years to get there. Aook all I earned away from me with one dirty rug pull. If I had a shred of power left, I’d be doing everything to get back at him, instead of drinking myself into a stupor every night tet my woes.”

  Balthazar couldn’t help but stare in surprise at the man, his speech suddenly no longer slurred, determination in his eyes. Whatever feelings he had towards his former business parthey were strong enough to even sober him up.

  An idea surged in the crab’s mind. It was a tempting one, but he still had his doubts about the risks of it.

  He wao get back at Antoine for what he was doing to Madeleine. A former associate of his with a grudge against him was a good asset to have. He also wao find someoo represent him in town, and that wouldn’t be suitable for Rye, or a on thief like Rob. A drunk would also not be a good choice, but acc to his story, it seems Tristao be a successful mert. Question was whether that mert was still there, under all the booze and self-pity.

  There was only one way for the crab to find out.

  “Hey, Tristan, how would you like a ce at remaking your reputation aing payba Antoine?”

  H0st