Dressed to Kill: A Seamstress LitRPG

I didn’t open the shop to see what I could spend my point on until I was back in bed. A single point to choose my direction for the next days or weeks. I had hidden my bag in the workshop’s pile of disused furniture, the needles and health potion shoved into a sagging cabinet that barely held itself together.

And now that I was finally under the blanket laying in bed in a room I shared with five people, I mentally invoked my single point and the shop.

[Tutorial: Skills are pulled from the skill deck 3 at a time, based on available materials, resources, and levels.

[Skill Shop]

►Warddrobe I

[RARE] Seamstress Inventory Skill. Grants users access to a single outfit storage inventory. Additional levels allow additional storage.

►Cross Stitching I

[COMMON] Enables system assistance with a new stitch type. Additional levels increase proficency.

►Quick Change I

[UNCOMMON] Allows user to instantly exchange a piece of clothing with any article they are in physical contact with, or is stored in their Inventory. Additional levels allow changing up to an entire outfit. [Seamstress inventory skill: Warddrobe]

My eyes glazed right over the Skill shop. I had all the combat skills I needed to keep killing wolves. What I really needed were defenses, stats, skills that I couldn’t achieve by being a seamstress.

The skills would be useful in the far future.

[Pattern Shop]

►Lumberjack Pattern (Basic)

[COMMON] Grants minuscule bonuses to Strength and Constitution dependent on craft quality and materials used. Grants bonus point to Lumberjack skills depending on craft quality and materials used

►Peasant Pattern (Basic)

[COMMON] Grants minor bonus to Constitution dependent on craft quality and materials used. Grants bonus point to first skill in status.

►[UNCOMMON] Hunter Pattern (Basic)

Grants minor bonus to Perception and Dexterity dependent on craft quality and materials used. Grants bonus to hunting skills depending on craft quality and materials used.

I needed a pattern that could help me fight. Granting bonuses to skills meant a point or more gained — which, if you had no points, meant that you would achieve that skill, even if it would only last as long as the clothing did. A Lumberjack pattern, for example, might give me proficiency with an axe — useful, if I didn’t already have two giant needle swords.

A Peasant pattern would raise my Constitution and health, letting me survive longer.

But there was only one thing in this shop that I needed right now — the Hunter pattern. I purchased it and felt the information flow into my mind. It was more like remembering than like learning, old thoughts stuffing themselves into the dusty corner of my mind but coming to the surface like I had always known them, memories of cutting and crafting this particular pattern.

Like a memory from another life.

I sighed contentedly, closing my eyes filled with the knowledge that I had magic, I had the power to protect the town and I had the power to carry forward my mothers legacy.

When I woke, the sun was already falling on my eyes, my skin warm from the heat.

“Gwen!” Esmeralda shouted again.

My body ached, and I groaned and curled up instead of replying.

“Wake up! We have breakfast downstairs.”

I threw the blanket over my head, but then my stomach growled, and I pushed the blanket off and grumbled some affirmative at her to get her to close the door.

My mother waited for me at the table. She had clearly already ate, but my plate was loaded with food, and she sat in silence and stared. We rarely ate this well — fresh bread, eggs, and meat for breakfast, and I shoveled it down. Mom stared at me appraisingly.

“So…” She started. I looked up at her without swallowing, mouth full, scanning her eyes. “I took on a big work order. I was thinking… you could help me complete it. It will help keep you occupied.”

I set my fork down and swallowed, still scanning her. She fidgeted.

“It’s too much for me to do by myself, I mean.” She rephrased the statement into a way that made me feel needed instead of saying that she got a huge work load to distract me from the fact that I was not a noble. I was not destined for greatness. And she was going to try to give me more sewing to distract me? She must have seen the look on my face, because she continued.

“I could always cancel it if you… if you don’t want to?” She said. There was a spark of hope in her eyes. I had not actually told her that I did not inherit my fathers noble class. She just guessed as much from me collapsing in my bed, because like Sandy said, If I was a Noble or Chosen the entire town would’ve known.

“No, it’s okay. I want to.” I said, pushing the plate of food away. I wasn’t hungry anymore. “But I don’t have any patterns.”

“That’s great! No, I mean, it’s okay! You can help stitch and as long as I finish the product its quality will be mine. And you will still get xp!” Mom said, spitting out the words quickly, course correcting half way through.

I ate the rest of my cold breakfast much slower.

There was a pounding at the door. I held my fork in my hand and looked to my mom, who in turn was looking over my shoulder.

“Coming!” Teretha shouted; as much as Teretha could shout. Her voice was like a songbird’s. She rushed out of the living room. As always, her arms were covered in stains from poultices and paints and pigments made and collected from whatever she could find or grow or buy around the town. She was probably my second favorite in the house, after my mom. I always called her Terry.

I kept eating as the door swung open.

A man turned around, looming over the door way. He wore a jacket finely inlaid with gold filigree and played with a pocketwatch between his fingers, his hair brown curls falling in a wave over his head. His eyes scanned the inside of the living room before he turned back to Teretha. A well manufactured smile took over his face.

“Hello, Teretha.” The voice was sincere. At least it sounded sincere, but who knew how many levels he had in charisma.

“My lord.” Terry said, half in jest, making a mock bow.

“Still just a Mayor, I’m afraid. I’m here about the…” He turned and looked over Teretha’s shoulder, down the hall that led to the front door. The dining room was at the back of it, and I leaned to get a look at him. For just a moment, I saw his manufactured charisma drop as his eyes locked on mine. They were cold and calculating and scanning, all behind a mask of cordiality.

“For the order!” Mom said with a smile. “Terry, could you show him to the work shop? We will be out in a moment.”

He smiled again. Terry led him away, the door slamming shut behind her.

I finished eating, pushed the plate back, and stood up.

He was alone in the work shop when we got there, spinning in circles and looking around. A man pushed the door to outside open a moment later, carrying a bolt of woven denim and crates of leather stacked high, dressed in armor that lacked the filigree and decor of Mayor Valjean’s. He nearly threw the boxes to the floor. I cringed at the action. Another tile was probably broken under that stack of goods.

“Will this be enough?” He asked, looking down at me, though directing the question to my mom. She looked through the boxes.

“It’ll be plenty.” She said, turning to address him. “End of the week?”

“Yes. I’ll be back then. Don’t be late.” The man’s eyes never left me. I stared back up at him defiantly. There was more to this. He wasn’t just here to place an order. He was evaluating me, scoping me out. Seeing if I was a threat. Seeing if I was a Noble. His eyes broke away. “This workshop isn’t much. You know, you are quite talented. Its a waste of your skills. You could do more at Foundry.”

“I’d hate to part with my workshop.” Mom replied, crossing her hands and staring back at him. There was a tense moment of silence that passed between them as he stared at her.

“I see.” He said. “Well, I can’t guarantee that you’ll be relocated to Foundry if you wait until the town collapses.”

“I understand.” Mom replied with a smile. Another tense moment passed.

“Good luck.” He said, sparing another glance my way. Then he left.

“He’s such a dick.” I said the moment the door closed behind him.

“He never had a life like ours.” Mom replied after a pause.

“Still a dick.”

She pulled free a bolt of denim fabric, laying it out on one of the workshop tables, then pulled one of her tiny sets of scissors. They were meticulously polished, a fine sheen of handcrafted silver that fit my moms hands perfectly. Her eyes scanned the cloth, seeing things I couldn’t. She activated some invisible skill and then dove into the work, cutting a pattern into the cloth.

She cut at the corner of the denim, but the cloth also cut in three other places, the magic tripling her efficiency by replicating the pattern across the entire section. Her scissors shot across the cloth, her hands moving at superhuman speed. She finished the patterning in moments, passing the cut cloth to me, then returned to work.

I watched for a moment.

She pushed the cloth flat and together, activating some kind of skill that made the holes in the cloth stitch themselves back together, creating more usable fabric for patterning instead of leaving the misshapen sections between the cuts.

I needed skills like those. How far could thread control and manipulation skills go? They could eventually add to my repertoire of offensive abilities. My mom looked up from her scissors, smiling as she looked at me.

“I just need you to stitch here, my light.” She said, tracing part of the cut I was holding with her finger,

I looked down at them. Added together, the pieces of denim formed the top of an overall — some kind of laborer outfit to boost labor skills, most likely. I would’ve figured that out in a moment.

“I was just watching you work.” I said, stepping back and putting the material down on my own table before taking a seat. I threaded my needle, lined up the two pieces of work, and prepared to stitch, before realizing I had a faster way, now. The iron grip of magic took control of my arms as I activated [Running Stitch I], the needle shooting through the fabric and attaching the two pieces together. I smiled as it finished minutes of work in seconds, completing an entire stitch.

[Running Stitch I] [Mana: 9/10]

Shit.

Using the skill cost mana whether or not I was using it to kill a monster. That meant that I had to conserve it over the day. If I used it all to craft sewing goods, I wouldn’t be able to clear the dungeon.

“You get the experience when you finish the piece. It’s alright.” Mom said. She must have noticed my frown. “Well, when I finish the piece, you will get experience. You will be leveling in no time, little light.”

“How far can we level just from sewing?” I asked, staring at the fading notification.

“I’m all the way in the thirties. One of the highest in the town.” Mom puffed up her chest and spoke with pride before she stepped around the table. “We only really level up from work that challenges us. Once you’ve done enough of this, you’ll get less experience. Don’t worry about your mana.” She placed her hands on my shoulders.

“Do Nobles have that too? Are monsters worth less the more they kill them?”

“I’m not sure.” My mom frowned. “Your stitching looks great, though.”

“What if I sew without using skills? Will I still gain experience?”

“Yes.” Mom frowned. “Though we might not finish in time like that. You’ll be out of mana and sewing by hand by the end of the day, don’t worry.”

I picked up the cloth and needle and started sewing without the use of my skill. Mom stepped back out of my shadow and towards her own table. My leg still ached. We worked for hours, stopping briefly for breaks and lunch, and then continued until the sun set. Each set we were crafting consisted of at least five pieces — a set of overalls, a hat with a fixture for some kind of lantern, a denim shirt and pants, and a set of shoes for rough terrain.

Because I was only assisting, I only gained experience when mom finished the complete set.

We only finished two by the time the sun set.

When exhaustion crept in I found myself stabbing my hands, blood dropping onto the leather and denim as I worked. I bandaged them and continued to work.

“At this rate, we wont be able to finish twenty-four in a week.”