Never Go Off-Script

Chapter 1 - Cedar's POV

You can tell whether someone is a potion-maker, adventurer, or hero by the way they're dressed. 

Adventurers normally wear earth-toned outfits, with lots of leather and straps and dozens of little pockets. They don't usually carry weapons unless you count the dagger in their hip holsters, which I suppose has multiple uses. 

Potion-makers dress in long, flowing clothing, often purple or black, and carry around a tonic basket. Sometimes, you can see their wand poking through a pocket on the inside of their vests. People say they don't have magic, and the wand is just for looks, but really, who knows? 

Heroes wear shining armor and carry swords that glint in the sun. Most of them wear brightly colored cloaks, probably to draw more attention to themselves. Everything about them is vibrant and brilliant — probably to catch the eyes of villains looking for defeat. 

Even merchants and traders seem to have a dress code, with their plain-colored trousers, button-up tunics, and lace-up boots. The canvas doublets worn over the tunics are the only clothing accessory with a variety of colors, from rust-red to navy blue.

But whatever role a person is playing, they always seem to dress the same as everyone else in their role.

Or so I thought.

The first time the hero came through, he stopped at my stand without so much as a hello. He wore no cape, and his bright red shirt looked considerably worn. He didn't have the usual full-body armor on — just a shoulder and chest plate. He didn't have a sword, either, which was strange. Instead, there was a bow and quiver strapped to his back, the quiver only holding a few mangled arrows. Maybe he was a new hero?

"Greetings, traveler!" I started, reciting the script as usual. "Here to make a —"

"Yes. Show me," the hero said shortly, cutting me off.

I eyed the man, put off. I knew heroes could be cocky, but I didn't think they'd be rude, too. I mostly traded with adventurers and potion-makers, so I was used to their politeness and their eagerness to get information from merchants. The few heroes I'd encountered had always been in a rush, so they never stuck around long. But this hero... well, he didn't make a very good first impression.

Nevertheless, I opened my pack to reveal my items. It was meager — to the hero, my display probably looked pathetic. But it wasn't my fault I'd barely had any trades. When I got back here after restocking, the only available trading post had been all the way at the south end — the end that nobody ever goes to unless they're coming from the villages (which isn't often at all). Not to mention, my small stand looked far less extravagant than all the other merchants, so nobody ever wanted to trade with me in the first place.

Honestly, I thought it was a little shallow of them. I mean, I couldn't help the fact that I just happened to start off in a lower place than everyone else; I'd never secured an apprenticeship, after all. I didn't even know if there was an apprenticeship for trading. All I knew was that I had to stay here at my stand, day after day, and recite a specific script that I should never stray from. 

The hero hardly offered me a glance, studying the goods while I studied him. Even without the sword and armor, he was one of those gallant-looking heroes, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. He wore stained white trousers with his aged red shirt; typical hero clothing (aside from the dirtied state of the clothes). 

Anyway, any villager in need would look at him and think, "Oh, there's a hero! I'm saved!" Especially when they saw those capable arms and well-built chest. 

The hero pointed to the block of cheese and the potions in my pack, his expression looking disgusted and irritated. Actually, now that I thought about it, he'd looked irritated the whole time he'd been here. Maybe he was having a bad day. Or maybe he was just a jerk. 

"I'll take those. You can have five swords, two basic armors, a bow, and seven faux gems."

Great. Because that's going to be fun to carry, I thought to myself. Sure, I could use more tradeables — maybe that would help make more business — but still, it was easier to travel light. Once a week, traders make a trip to the docks, where we barter items off sea merchants (and pirates, if we fancy the thrill). And seeing as the path to the coast passes right through the mountains, I'd prefer not to carry bags full of unsold tradeables. 

Long story short, if I had more business, a trade this big would excite me. But it's not like I'm the most popular merchant here. Quite the opposite, really. 

The hero started to pull the items he'd traded out of his bag, adding the bow he was carrying to the pile. I watched him, feeling mildly annoyed. He still hadn't said so much as a "please" or "thank you". What kind of hero was this guy?

"Nice weather we're having, eh?" I asked passive-aggressively. It was off-script, I knew it was, and I regretted it instantly.

Startled, the hero blinked up at me blankly, as if he couldn't believe what I'd just said. He glanced up at the sky as though he just noticed it was there. "Er. I suppose it is, yes."

I resisted the urge to cringe at my mistake — I wasn't supposed to make any facial expressions aside from friendliness. So I gave the hero a polite smile, praying that it didn't look forced, not trusting myself to speak again.

We traded the goods in awkward silence, and as I pocketed the gold from the trade fee, I wondered why he was giving me his armor and swords — even if the swords were battered, and the armor only basic level. Didn't he need this sort of stuff? Or was he so cocky that he refused to wear any form of protection? 

The hero closed up his bag again, and I prepared myself for the send-off line.

"Safe travels, adventurer!" I said, and it sounded too cheerful to my own ears, but at least it was on-script.

The hero paused briefly, as though caught off guard. He stared at me for a moment, and I fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. I messed up, didn't I? I wanted so badly to look away from his piercing blue eyes, but that would be yet another mistake. Traders don't shy away from their customers.

But then, the hero seemed to shake it off, and he hopped back on his horse, riding off without another word.

I stood in the wake of my shock, staring after the hero in silence. What just happened?

Glancing down at my pack, I realized, once again, that he hadn't bothered to say, "Thank you," even after the trade. What was the point of sending him off so politely if he didn't give the same kindness back?

Ugh. Heroes.