Tim glared at Gaston indignantly. “Let. Me. Go.”
Ernie came around the corner and knelt next to Freddy. The innkeeper placed a hand on the unconscious man’s throat to check his pulse. “Still alive.”
Standing up, Ernie moved toward Gaston and placed a hand on the man’s giant shoulders. “The kid did ask for help when he came in, so maybe he’s not responsible.”
“You better pray Freddy backs up your story,” Gaston growled.
Tim brought his arm up and slammed it down on Gaston’s wrist, breaking his grip on his robes. “If you gave two shits, you’d be out there looking for whoever did this instead of wasting your time on me.”
Turning away from the two men, Tim headed toward the stairs. “And keep your fucking hands off of me.”
“Kid’s got fire,” Ernie said, watching Tim stomp up the stairs.
Gaston grinned back at him. “He’s starting to grow on me.” Reaching down, Gaston pulled Freddy over his shoulder and carried him into the other room. “Just don’t tell the kid I said it.”
Tim smiled as he reached the top of the stairs. Things might not have gone as smoothly as he would have liked today, but at least he was making progress. Tim locked the door and leaned his back against it after he stepped into his room. Letting out a sigh, he heaved himself away from the door and sat in the room’s only chair.
Now that he wasn’t running panicked through the streets or about to be throttled by the largest assassin he’d ever seen, Tim noticed a notification glowing in the bottom right-hand corner of his vision.
He pulled up the notification tab and was bombarded by messages. One of the notices had a golden border around it. “Must be important.”
Tim clicked the golden outline.
He was lifted into the air, and golden light swirled around him. It was like a drug that targeted all of his pleasure sensors at once and sent them into overdrive. His feet hit the floor, and the golden light vanished.
His legs felt weak after the wonderful sensation left him. “That’s not addictive or anything.” Tim already couldn’t wait to do it again. Part of him wondered…if each level took longer to achieve, did the pleasure he received as a reward last longer?
“Fuck.” The game had already turned him into the lab rat that hit the pleasure button until it died from starvation.
Tim shook it off and read the notification.
Congratulations. You have reached level two. Your vitality and revitalization skills have been increased by one point. You have one unassigned skill point.
What should I put it in? If healing is what I want to do, I should probably focus on wisdom until I hit twenty points. Then I’ll have to reevaluate.
Tim assigned his skill point to wisdom and looked over his enhanced character stats. Not too shabby for his first day in the game. Tim was sure some people had made it much farther than he had, especially if they were teaming up for quests. Part of him wanted to grin all night, but he couldn’t risk a bad performance at work on his first day.
“Why am I so tired?” He stared into the dancing flames of the fire.
It didn’t take long for Tim to realize he’d probably walked more in the game world today than he had in a long time. It was too bad he didn’t have his FitBit on. He would have crushed his step goal for the day, or maybe even the week.
Tim quickly scrolled through his other notifications, hoping for a note from Sierra. I wonder how her first day went? He fired off a quick message, saying they should try to hook up sometime this week, then continued scrolling through the minor notifications until he reached the last one.
Healing Orb Skill increased to apprentice rank one: Congratulations, you are no longer the lowest of the low. You have one apprentice-level skill.
Healing Orb is now ten percent more effective than the base version and applies fifteen percent of the amount healed as a HOT (heal over time) over the next five seconds.
That’s fucking awesome! Not only had he gained additional healing, but the additional healing over time bonus was epic. It would give him a few moments to scan the battlefield and to restore a little mana before casting again. Tim wondered just how powerful this spell would become at grandmaster level.
Dismissing his notifications, Tim stood up and headed toward the bed in the corner of the room. Instead of taking off his clothes, he just un-equipped them.
“Doubt they get dirty in my inventory,” Tim said, looking down at the loincloth he was wearing. “Tomorrow I need to find a shop that sells boxers.”
The bed was softer than he expected, and the sheets were clean. Despite all of Ernie’s misgivings about having a customer in the inn, he was sure going out of his way to make sure Tim was comfortable. Thinking about the men downstairs reminded him that he had a quest to finish.
Maybe I’ll get to it in the morning.
Chapter Sixteen
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
“What in the fuck is that!” Tim roared, swatting at the air in front of him.
Tumbling out of bed, he hit the ground with a thud. “Fucking game and its pain mechanics.”
Tim rubbed his shoulder as he stood up. With the incessant beeping rattling his head, it took him much longer to pull up his user interface and turn off the alarm than he desired. Apparently, the system was designed to make sure he wasn’t late for work, but he was going to need a much softer ringtone.
If he couldn’t change the tone, each morning would become a tossup between having a heart attack and making it to work on time.
After walking over to the chamber pot, Tim un-equipped his loincloth. “At least taking this thing off is easy.” He finished up and re-equipped all of his clothing. “Man, if I could do this at home, I’d save so much time.”
With everything in place, Tim headed for the door. His belly rumbled as his hand closed on the handle. Hopefully, the food was good and hearty. He had the distinct feeling he was going to need all the energy he could get to make it through his first day. Slipping out of the room, Tim closed the door behind him and headed down the stairs.
As much as he hated to admit it, it was kind of nice being the only customer at the inn. Tim preferred things to be nice and quiet, especially in the morning. Entering the lobby, he turned toward the dining area, expecting to see Gaston and his crew, but their table was empty. Next to their giant round table was a much smaller table with a single chair.
The table must be Gaston’s way of apologizing.
Tim gave the burly assassin’s table a wide berth. Even though the men weren’t there now, it didn’t mean they weren’t watching. It felt like a test. If he sat at their table, it was game over, but if he sat at the table they’d set out for him, he might get a little bit closer to finding out what was actually going on here.
There was a quest to complete, after all.
Sitting down in the chair seemed to be the cue Ernie needed to appear. The innkeeper slid a plate of what looked like grits with a melting chunk of butter in the center of the bowl to him. Next, Ernie slapped down a plate of sliced meat, then finished his breakfast presentation with a glass of something that looked surprisingly like orange juice.
Grits weren’t a thing where he was from. Sure, he’d had them a time or two, but most restaurants in his area didn’t even have them on the menu.
Speaking of menus…
“What’s all this?” Tim smiled as Ernie finished setting down a wooden spoon and a knife.
“Sliced lamb, grits with butter, and a glass of rumpleberry nectar.” Ernie beamed as he said the last word. “Nothing but the best after what you did last night.”
It seemed rude to ask for a menu after Ernie had laid out his best fare, and it wasn’t like he hated anything on the table. It must be the time he’d spent on the West Coast, but the cube of butter melting in the middle of the bowl screamed heart attack to him. Then he remembered he was in a game. Did cholesterol or calories matter here?
“What exactly is a rumpleberry?” Tim blurted as he started m
ixing the butter into the grits.
“It’s a large orange fruit that grows on a rumple bush.” Ernie tilted his head, examining Tim as if he were trying to figure out if he was dense or just screwing with him. “Don’t they have rumpleberry bushes where you are from?”
Tim took a sip of juice, and a smile bloomed across his face. The sweet, tangy taste of fresh-squeezed orange juice lit up his mouth like a chandelier. “We have something similar where I am from, but the fruit grows on trees instead of bushes.”
“Where you’re from sounds like a very strange place.” Ernie turned, heading back toward the kitchen. “Call if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, Ernie.” Tim waited for the man to disappear from view, then dug into the food like a starving dog.
How did I get so hungry?
Normally in games, you ate for buffs or to regenerate your health and mana at a higher rate. Here, it seemed Tim needed to eat because he was hungry. Could you starve to death in the game? While that was a chilling thought, it wasn’t something Tim had to deal with today. Right now, he was going to do his best to pretend he was back at Joe’s with a plate of corned beef hash in front of him.
Thinking about Joe’s brought back memories of his final meal in the real world. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Fuck, it was a different world ago. In reality, it had been less than a day, but it was a day with no food and a whole lot of walking.
Tim worked through the giant bowl of grits and the plate of sliced lamb. The rumpleberry juice was a taste of home he hadn’t been expecting. All things considered, the meal was pretty damn good, and he was full to the point of bursting. Tim shoved the empty bowl away from him and leaned back in the chair. Today was going to be a good day, as long as he got his ass moving.
A second alarm sounded, letting Tim know he needed to leave now to make it to work on time. He dismissed the alarm and started making his way toward the door. Pausing at the counter, Tim shouted back toward the kitchen. “Thanks for the great breakfast, Ernie.” Not waiting for a reply, Tim opened the door and stepped out into the rain.
But it wasn’t raining.
“That’s a first.” The rolling clouds above him seemed to take his thought as a personal assault as they let loose with an early-morning drizzle. Who knew living in the slums also meant it rained all the time? NPC Corp had conveniently left that little factoid out of the brochure.
The constant drizzle made Tim wonder who’d designed a system like this. Didn’t poor people deserve a little sunshine? Walking toward the archway to town kind of reminded him of the animated Robin Hood movie he had loved as a kid.
“Sometimes the sun outshines the rain, but not in the slums of Promethia.” Tim sang a fun little parody of his favorite scene from the movie.
The guards at the archway didn’t even glance at Tim. Now that they’d seen him go back and forth a few times, he was a known commodity in the area, and not worth hassling. Who knew living on the west side of town carried such a stigma with it? Not that it mattered to him. Once things got rolling, he’d be able to upgrade to nicer amenities if he wanted too.
Most of the city must have been sleeping. The streets were almost deserted until he reached the market. Tim could see the men streaming over the docks like ants on a fallen doughnut. Merchants in their stalls called to potential buyers. The market felt as if it were alive, the thrumming heartbeat of the city.
Tim pulled up his map to zero in on his location and plotted a course to the smithy from there. His in-game clock told him he had just enough time to drop off a few coins for the damage he had caused and the clothes he’d stolen yesterday.
Quickly weaving through the stalls, Tim left the salted fish merchant two silver coins, then slipped another two coins to the tailor before disappearing into the crowd. It was most of his reward for delivering Lady Briarthorn’s letter, and he hadn’t even dropped it off yet.
I like my fingers too much to not drop it off.
The hair on his forearms stood up as he thought about Reginald standing over him with a pair of garden shears. “That will be four fingers, Timberino.”
Maybe watching too much tv really did rot your brain. It certainly seemed to have an effect on the way Tim imagined things playing out. Did watching too many horror movies make him abundantly cautious or completely paranoid? The jury was still out, but for now, he had all his fingers right where he wanted them.
Tim came to a stop outside of the smithy and changed from his robes back into his shirt and pants. “Time to see what I got myself into.”
The dark stone surrounding the smith’s workshop made it stand out from the wooden buildings around it. Bright orange light bathed the interior, and Tim could feel the heat pouring out the door like an open oven during the holidays.
When Tim entered the building, it felt like his whole body was being blasted by a blow dryer set on high. He looked around, not exactly sure what he was supposed to do.
“You’re late,” a burly dwarf snarled as he rounded the corner of the forge. The dwarf’s arms looked strong enough to rip Tim in half, and despite his silver beard, the man walked with the pep of a young man.
A thick leather apron and matching gloves bounced off Tim’s chest. The dwarf chuckled as he turned and headed deeper into the workshop. “Put those on so we can get started.”
Tim glanced at the clock displayed in his user interface, noting that he was two minutes early for his shift. Saying something didn’t seem like the right play here. Sometimes it was better to keep your mouth shut until you got the lay of the land. It only took him a few seconds to place the items in his inventory, and then he inspected them.
Apron of the Unburning: Fire Resistance +10
Gloves of the Smith: While wearing this item, your hands cannot be burned. Don’t worry, though. The rest of you can still be turned into a crispy critter if you make a mistake.
The silver-bearded tyrant gave Tim a hurry-up expression. “Get a move on. The bellows aren’t going to pump themselves.”
Tim followed the dwarf to the forge and looked around in confusion. What exactly do bellows look like? “Uh, sir?” He wasn’t even sure what to call his new boss. “Where do you need me?”
“First, cut the ‘sir’ shit. I’m not a knight, I work for a living. And two,” the dwarf held up two fingers, “my name is Ironbeard.” He glared at Tim. “Use it.”
Turning away from Tim, Ironbeard pointed at a large metal device toward the back of the forge. “Those are the bellows.”
When Tim didn’t move, Ironbeard grabbed his arm and dragged him over to his station. “All you have to do is keep pumping until I tell you to stop.” The dwarf jumped into the makeshift seat and pulled the bellows back before pushing them forward again. He eyed Tim, trying to decide if his visual instruction was enough for him to understand the job.
Ironbeard patted the leather-wrapped handholds. “If you can handle this, I might even let you give out a few quests later. I hate dealing with all those pesky travelers.” The dwarf headed back toward the front of the forge.
Giving out quests sounded like nice easy work compared to pumping the bellows. “I’m here to help in whatever way I can,” Tim shouted after him.
The contraption in front of him was a huge thing made out of iron and leather. Ironbeard’s demonstration hadn’t left anything to question. Tim climbed into the wooden chair and put his feet against the braces. Pulling the iron rod towards him filled the bellows, and pushing the bar away emptied them.
Not exactly the kind of job you’d expect to hold after getting a degree in business, but it was the one he’d signed up for. Tim also wasn’t sure if this was the normal setup. It seemed like the dwarf had made some modifications to make the system sturdier and easier to use for longer periods of time.
Just keep your mouth shut and do the work. You’ve got years to learn from the master.
He might only be pumping the bellows today, but at some point, he’d learn how to melt metal and forge it into something
useful. Players were always going to need weapons, and farms always needed shoes for their horses and tack for their field animals. Apprenticing here meant he’d have a useful money-making skill to rely on.
Ironbeard’s head popped around the corner of the forge. “Well?” he reprimanded.
Tim shrugged and got to work. It was almost like using a rowing machine, except he didn’t have an eight-bit competitor to try to lap. He worked the rod in and out, sweat dripping from his forehead after the first few attempts.
I’m going to need two bowls of grits tomorrow.
Three hours later, Ironbeard roared, “Enough!”
Tim flopped out of the chair. He stood for a second, but then his legs buckled, sending him to his knees. Sweat was streaming down his face, and every breath he sucked in felt like it was barely enough to keep him from passing out. Black spots swam across his vision, but at least the air was cooler by the floor.
“I can’t believe you kept it up for so long, boy.” Ironbeard clapped Tim on the back. “After the second hour, I kept going just to see how long it’d take you to break.”
Laughing, Ironbeard walked toward the counter. “Take the rest of the day off, and maybe I’ll teach you something useful tomorrow.”
Tim climbed back to his feet like some kind of wounded crab flipping itself over on the beach. His arms wouldn’t support his weight, but at least they’d stopped tingling. A groan escaped his lips, but he’d impressed the old dwarf enough to earn a bit of respect.
“Same time tomorrow?” Tim asked as he moved toward the door of the shop.
“Tomorrow?” Ironbeard mumbled as he mulled it over. “As long as you can still lift your arms.” He chuckled. “Otherwise, take the day off.”
Tim started to leave, and Ironbeard shouted after him, “Don’t get used to the extra time off. I plan on getting my money’s worth out of you!”
Rubbing his arms to bring back some circulation, Tim stepped out into the sun. It felt good to be out in the light, and the cool breeze off the ocean danced across his skin. He’d expected the market to slow down a bit after the morning deliveries were finished, but if anything, the market was busier. Tossing a copper coin to a vendor, Tim grabbed a glass of rumpleberry juice and started his walk back to the inn.
Rise of the Grandmaster Page 13