Scamps & Scoundrels: A LitRPG/Gamelit Adventure (The Bad Guys Book 1)

by Eric Ugland

  Finally, I got to the spot Titus had told me about so I could find the man Titus sent me to find. It was a decommissioned pit. There were signs all over the gate saying that it was a hazardous construction zone and that people needed to be warned. The lettering on the signs was really cool, hand-drawn. I was once again struck by some of the subtler differences of the world. Sure, there were huge magical monsters all about, but also, calligraphers were highly sought after and able to earn a living. It made me ponder about a career shift, if maybe I wanted something more relaxed, like writing things out neatly for folks. I had decent handwriting, and I always enjoyed the process of writing, perhaps it was a possibility. But I shook it off pretty quickly. I wanted adventure, I’d already lived safe and boring.

  There was a small notice tacked to the right post of the gate:

  Gallifrey and Sons

  Pit Evacuation, Restoration, and Rehabilitation.

  Free consultations

  Very intriguing.

  I pushed the gate open, and the hinges complained vociferously. I took a few steps into the compound, and I got my first proper glimpse of a pit. It was an apt term. It was a big ol’ hole in the ground. There was a small stone surround, and a small stone building, about the size of a studio apartment. One story. It was almost like a hut, just a bit better construction.

  “Hey!” Someone shouted. “You can’t be here!”

  A rough lookin’ man came bursting out of the cabin, a napkin still tucked into the collar of his shirt, covering some burly looking studded leather armor. He had more facial hair than anyone else I’d seen, a curvy mustache and a fortnight’s worth of stubble. A heavy mace hung off his belt, and he seemed drenched in sweat. He didn’t look happy either.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “Get out of here!” He shouted, storming closer.

  “Wait—”

  He growled and unhooked the mace, but he didn’t slow down or stop.

  I fumbled with my short sword, trying to pull it free from my scabbard.

  The mustachioed man had the mace up above his head and was bringing it down right at me, and I stumbled to the ground, practically pulling my belt and pants off. I got my arm out, figuring a broken arm was better than a broken skull.

  But the dude didn’t come at me the way I thought he was, he stepped over me, and brought his mace down, crashing it into the head of a creature I hadn’t seen that, in my opinion, had come out of nowhere.

  Mustache cracked his mace around again, smashing it down on the creature one more time.

  Then, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me along the ground until he pulled me through the doorway into the little hut, slamming the door shut behind us.

  He sighed and sat down at a small table.

  I looked around and took in the shack. It was definitely on the smaller side, but it had a small bed, a small table, and two chairs. There was a small wood stove in one corner and a sink in the other.

  “You are a fool, young elf,” the man said, looking out the window.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked.

  The man shook his head while taking a long pull from his mug of ale. “You can’t read?”

  “I can read.”

  “Says on the notice. Pit Restoration.”

  “You’re Gallifrey and Sons?”

  “I’m Matthew Gallifrey, yeah. Sons is marketing.”

  “What’s Pit Restoration?”

  “The hells you think it is?”

  “I think we might have started off on the wrong foot—”

  “What makes you think we started something off?”

  “A man named Titus told me to come to see you.”

  “Titus who?”

  “Titus Calpernus. Of the—”

  “Why’d he tell you to see me?”

  “Because I wanted to get training.”

  “And he sent you to me?” Suddenly the mustachioed man, Matthew Gallifrey, burst out laughing, a raucous and boisterous thing that sounded a bit like someone chucking gravel through a fan. “What a clod. Is he still running in the game?”

  “I’m not sure what game you’re referring to.”

  “The Game. The only one that matters.”

  “Poker?”

  “You are a funny one,” he said, poking me. “I take it he made it out safe then.”

  “I guess. I mean, he’s just, like, a few neighborhoods over.”

  “Always is.”

  “You could visit him. I mean, if you wanted.”

  “Sure could.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “Wouldn’t be wise.”

  “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “Likely. New here?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I did say that, what would you say?”

  “Very new.”

  “Ah. And you come to me for the darker arts?”

  “Define darker arts?”

  “Killing people in the shadows?”

  “Maybe not that dark.”

  “So he has left the game.”

  “He was an assassin?”

  “Ah, ’tis his story to tell.”

  Matthew walked over to a cabinet and opened it up. He had his back to me, so I couldn’t see what he was doing, but a moment later, he turned around with two bottles, and presented one to me.

  I looked at the brown bottle, the corked top, and I took it.

  “Nutter Ale,” Matthew said.

  “Nutter?” I asked.

  “Aye,” Matthew replied, setting his bottle on the table, and taking a bite from his bowl of food.

  I tentatively eyed the bottle, and I took a moment to let the barest squeak of magic out of my hands to identify the thing.

  Bottle of Nutter Ale

  Item Type: Common

  Item Class: Beverage container and beverage

  Material: Glass, cork, and ale

  Description: Made from nutters, Nutter Ale is designed to push the limits of humanoid endurance and sanity, all in a refreshing beverage.

  “Thinking I might want to pass on the ale,” I said, putting it on the table next to his bottle.

  “Need to work on your magic better, boy,” he said through a mouthful of stew. “Felt it from here.”

  “I’m new.”

  “I know.”

  “I was hoping you could train me.”

  “Seem to remember that’s how we started this conversation of ours. Not sure I can train you in talking.”

  “Not one of your dark arts?”

  “Can be, but I think it’s not what you’re looking for. So why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for?”

  “Archery.”

  “Let’s have a little honesty. Tell me your current Choice.”

  “Rogue.”

  “Quick to jump to honesty, not sure that’s smart or stupid. Maybe a bit of both.”

  “If I’m going to work with you, I figured I should probably be honest with you at the least.”

  He nodded, took another bite of his stew, then scraped his bowl clean. He tossed it into the sink where it bounced around a moment before settling down. The noise was loud, and I admit, maybe startled me a little.

  “So you’re a rogue. Level?”

  “Two.”

  “You are new.”

  “Told ya.”

  “Yes, you did.” He drank down his ale a bit. “You want to know archery. And?”

  “Pickpocketing. Stealth. Anything useful for being a thief, really.”

  “Not a killer, eh?”

  “I’d prefer not to be. I mean, I will if I have to.”

  “Have you killed?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded a little, then chucked his mug, banking it off two walls before falling into the sink. Matthew stared at me. I fiddled with my hands. Twiddled my thumbs. Did my best to meet his penetrating gaze.

  “What is Titus to you?” He finally asked.

  “My tenant, I guess.”

  “T
enant?”

  “Yeah, you know, like, he rents a place from me.”

  “I know the word, more incredulous it is being used in this case.”

  “I mean, I can’t say I know him super well. I kind of fell into this situation.”

  “Are you fortunate for this?”

  “I’d say so. Got a place to stay and food to eat.”

  “And yet you want to throw it all away to be a thief.”

  “Why not both?”

  He laughed.

  “Curious answer. Why not? We who ply our trade in the wee hours of the dark are not often given the luxury of a normal life. We depend on the shadows to hide our true selves, and it is not often that the comfortable life allows liars and cheats to remain amongst them.”

  “That’s a romantic load of hogwash, my man. Liars and cheats get the cushiest seats at the table, eat first, fart most, and live better lives than any of us.”

  “Oh?”

  “Who do you think runs the banks? Temples? All that nonsense. Hell, you think these nobles got to be nobles because they’ve been honest and good people? You think they aren’t cheats and liars? That their ancestors weren’t?”

  “I am liking you more, little elf boy. Have you a name?”

  “I do. Hatchett. Clyde Hatchett.”

  “Clyde Hatchett, I will take you on as a pupil of mine. I will teach you the things I know of the arts we practice in the dark You will do as I say. And you will work with me here, in the pit. Do you agree?”

  “Yeah. I mean, well, what does working in the pit entail?”

  A big smile spread under his big mustache.

  “Fun,” he said.

  24

  He lied.

  Working pit restoration sucks. Everything about the pits sucks. It’s disgusting in every way imaginable. Imagine, if you will, a pit that is one or two hundred feet wide. Hundred-Plus feet deep. And it is filled with an assortment of disgusting things. Mud made up of all sorts of foul elements, from poop to offal to general trash. And yet, what it is supposed to be is a pit about seventy feet wide, and fifty feet deep. All that extra depth and width is a result of what goes on when the pit is in active use. See, there are all sorts of creatures that exist on Vuldranni. In this corner of the world, they found some creatures that like to eat, well, basically anything. And based on what they eat, they excrete other things. So these pits were developed where specific ingredients were fed to these pit beasts to get them to poop out different things. But the pit beasts weren’t exactly tame, they were more like semi-sentient beings. They liked to move, they got into fights, they wanted to hunt types of food. And they attracted certain predators and parasites. Because of the size of the pit beasts, the parasites and the like they drew were also substantial. The weird thing that had attacked me right when I entered was one such parasite. Matthew Gallifrey (and his imaginary sons) took a pit that had grown too unwieldily and brought it back to control. He killed off all the parasites and predators, all the creatures that infested the pit after the pit beasts had been removed, and then he cleaned out all the bonus trash and goop and the like, then had masons come and rebuild the pit to the desired size of the next pitmaster for whatever the next pit beast was going to be eating and excreting. It was all very fascinating, and on paper, I was enthralled by the process.

  Reality was a different story.

  Archery practice started quickly, with me standing on the edge of the pit, looking at swarms of creatures below, preying on each other and living their lives. Matthew gave me a few quick pointers on how to hold the bow, how to nock an arrow, the real basics of it, and then, it was target practice. Me against a horde of creatures.

  My arrows went mostly everywhere at first, and then when I was hitting targets, I wasn't doing much beyond ricocheting my arrows off the various carapaces of the creatures below. I ran through all four of my arrow bundles. Meanwhile, he, almost lazily, would kick back any creatures that managed to get to the top. Four bundles of forty arrows each. A hundred and sixty arrows. In that, I killed one animal, a cymothoa.

  GG! You’ve killed a Lesser Cymothoa (LVL 3 Greater Insect).

  You’ve earned 150 XP! What a mighty hero you are.

  A lesser one. Way to kick me when I’m down, game world.

  But I did get the beginnings of the skill: Archery.

  Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Archery. Now you can shoot sharp objects and likely not hurt yourself. Soon, maybe you can hurt others. +5% damage. +5% skill.

  My arms felt dead. My fingers were burning.

  Matthew clapped me on the shoulder, and told me to get more arrows for tomorrow, and to be back in front of the gate at sun up.

  And that was day one.

  25

  I got more arrows. Five hundred of them. They weren’t high quality, I’d gotten directions to a place in the industrial area, a mass producer of arrows and the like. I got a weird look when I stepped into the factory office, the man running the place told me he didn’t sell to my kind. When I pressed him, he told me, individual consumers. But apparently, five hundred is enough to get a bulk discount. I lugged the arrows home, took a shower, and I ate a bowl of stew from the tavern. I thought about having a drink or two, but even though it was pretty early in the bar, it had the look of a slightly rougher crowd, and after my stunning display with my sword, I didn’t think getting involved with a brawl was going to be a good plan. Instead, I went around the building to get into my apartment.

  A man was leaning against the doorway, picking his nails with the end of a particularly vicious looking dagger. It had a golden handle with plenty of knobby jewels of all kinds. The facets blinked at me as he dug out a stubborn bit of whatever. He was tall, good looking, perfectly symmetrical face, gold chain around his neck, small hat with a feather coming out of the top. It was an odd feather, I couldn’t figure out what kind of bird it might have come from. Though I’m pretty far from an ornithologist, it was far too curved to make sense on any flying animal I could conceive of. He had a long thin sword at his belt, like the dagger, it was bejeweled to the max. I noticed his skin was flawless and pale, his eyes a shocking sort of blue. I’d never been attracted to a man before, and I still wasn’t, but I could admit the man was a looker. Which immediately put me on the defensive, every physical indication made me think this was a fellow traveler.

  He gave me a smile, but his eyes remained hard.

  “Is this your apartment?” he asked.

  I was initially tempted to lie. To go on by as if I hadn’t heard him, but the dude was clearly waiting for me, and skipping his question was only going to make him more suspicious.

  “It is,” I said, deciding to flip the script and go with being overly informative. “Newly though, if you’re looking for the old owner, I’m afraid I have bad news. She left town.”

  “Oh?”

  “Fortune smiled on me that day,” I said, wishing I knew the name of the god of luck if there was a god of luck. “She had to leave town on the quick, and she needed gold. I had a little sum, father left it to me, miss the old man, but it was enough. So, long story short, too late, I know, but it’s my apartment now. Yes.”

  “Talkative one, aren’t you?”

  “I have been accused of verbosity a time or two, but I never thought it a real problem.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, apologies.”

  I took another step forward and slid the key into the lock directly under the man’s arm.

  “Do excuse me,” I said, doing my best to be meek about, well, everything. “I fear the night will be upon us soon, and I’d rather be indoors.”

  The man edged out of the way just enough for me to squeak by.

  “Not sure we’re done with our chat,” he said, sliding his foot into the open door.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, we had unfinished business with the owner. Etta.”

  “That is a problem. I believe Etta, as you call her, went south. If you hurry, I’d imagine you can catch
her. Royal Road and all that.”

  “Are you purposefully dense?”

  I tilted my head as if I didn’t understand the question.

  “Likely as dense as any elf,” I said. “Always felt just a bit average, myself. Dreamt of greatness, but so far it’s eluded me. You?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Clyde Hatchett,” I said with a big smile, sticking my hand out like I was more excited to meet this man than anyone else in the whole wide world. “Yours?”

  “Clyde, we were supposed to buy this building from Etta. And now she’s gone, and you say you own the building.”

  I kept my hand out like an idiot.

  “Sounds about like the truth,” I said.

  “See the problem there?”

  “Not from my point of view.”

  “I’m feeling a mite generous today, so how about I just offer you back your money, and you pass the deed on over to me.”

  “Your name, friend?”

  “My name is Insidious. I am with the Iron Silents.”

  “Nice to meet you Mister, uh, Sidious?”

  “Just call me Insidious.”

  “Okay, Insidious,” I said, really struggling to keep a straight face, “I won’t lie to you, or waste your time. This is my building now, and I don’t think I’m selling.”

  “Almost makes me happy you’re saying that,” Insidious replied. “Cheaper for us that way.”

  He jammed his jeweled dagger into my door so hard it went all the way through.

  “Sleep well,” he said, almost politely, and walked away.

  Looks like I made some friends, I thought.

  It took me a half-second to work the dagger out of the door, it was in there pretty good, and then I went around to the tavern.

  I waved at the bartender, Titus, and motioned to the back. He wasn’t happy about having to stop slinging ale, but he met me over at the door to the back, and we went into the storage area.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. “Gallifrey beating you up?”