Viridian Gate Online

by J D Astra

  “Thanks for the information, Verin.” Otto gave him a dismissive nod.

  Verin smiled, but I could tell he was perturbed. “I’m worth a lot more than juicy details. I’m a powerful man.”

  Verin had brown stubble on his chin, but couldn’t have been much more than twenty-two. I supposed in Eldgard, twenty-two was a man. Verin didn’t act the part though. He was a cocky child, one that wasn’t leaving the table despite his dismissal.

  “We’re aware of your skills and know where to find you if we need them.” I raised my brow and gave him another nod of finality.

  Verin looked at us scornfully. He got up from the stool, fluffed out his cloak indignantly, and stomped back to the bar.

  “Was that it?” Otto whispered to me with his mug covering his mouth. Otto definitely knew what he was doing, and there was apparently a lot I didn’t know about him.

  I raised my cup to my lips and gave a quick nod of my head.

  “Let’s get heading back to the inn,” he said, a bit louder than necessary.

  I took one more sip of my mead, though I could tell by the warmth in my cheeks that I didn’t need to, and staggered up from my stool. Otto put a perfectly stable hand against my side as I tottered and helped guide me toward the door.

  “You’re drunk,” he whispered, accusation thick in his tone.

  I shot a glare over my shoulder. “I’m tipsy, thank you.” Though one quick glance at my character sheet showed otherwise, I definitely wasn’t going to admit that. I stumbled as we reached the door, and Otto’s support was jerked away.

  I looked back at the sound of an angry voice. “I know you,” it said.

  The offending man was dressed in the garb of an Imperial soldier, I knew the uniform well from the intro video. One of his hands gripped Otto’s wrist tightly, and the other flicked the handle of his sword, popping it loose from its sheath.

  “You’re that rebel dog, Odo,” another man at the table sneered.

  Imperial Brawl

  “IT’S OTTO,” HE CORRECTED, jerking his huge, Risi arm free of the tiny human grasp that held it. “But I’m no rebel dog. You’ve got the wrong man.”

  The lead Imperial who’d held Otto’s arm stood, but only about a foot taller than me, and a foot shy of Otto’s height. His classically blond hair was accompanied by blue eyes, a thick lower lip, and a nose that seemed too large for his tiny moustache.

  “I haven’t made any mistake. You are the slime from Alaunhylles. I’d recognize your big, ugly, traitorous mug anywhere.” The blond man poked at Otto’s chest with each accusation.

  “Harrowick is a free city. I am no traitor here, just hired muscle.” Otto grabbed the poking finger and moved it away from his body.

  The Imperial man’s cheeks flared red as his free hand pulled the short sword from its sheath.

  “Not in ’ere!” the bartender yelled. “Get outside, or I’ll end ya meself!”

  The Imperial’s jaw clenched, and he pointed Otto to the door. “You were just leaving, right?”

  Otto didn’t look at me, but he shifted so he was squarely between me and the Imperials. “Abby, get back to the inn.”

  No. Way. Otto wasn’t going to get his ass handed to him and die. He was my NPC. And if he wasn’t going to have his ass handed to him, I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss watching him hand these guys their own asses.

  “I’ve paid for this man’s services,” I said, my words still slurred. “You’re not allowed to fight him.” I pointed to the lead Imperial.

  The mini-moustached man chortled. “I’ll let you pay me for services. I promise I’m a far better swordsman.”

  The Imperial men at the table, six in total, all joined their leader in laughter. Sudden realization struck me that we could be in actual trouble. I didn’t have any spells. I had a freaking stick. Otto was out of potions, unless he was hiding them somewhere other than on his bandolier.

  My Belt of Leadership! I remembered I had bonus percentage to negotiate. Maybe I could word our way out of this. I was never great at speeches, but maybe with the belt’s help, I could do this.

  “We don’t want any trouble, sirs. We just came for a drink and the show, and now we want to get back to our beds for the evening.”

  One of the sitting goons chuckled. “The show’s got her all worked up, and she needs to get back to the bedchamber!” The others hooted.

  Well, my belt didn’t work...

  Otto moved like lightning, his fist slamming into the sitting man’s head. His skull bounced off the table, and he rolled back onto the floor, unconscious. The lead Imperial lifted his sword, and Otto caught his wrist, stopping the blade before it made contact with his chest.

  The music stalled, and the eyes of the patrons turned to Otto.

  “Not in ’ere, for the gods’ sake! I will kill ya!” the bartender shouted, his hands glowing with blue light as he pointed.

  Otto’s gaze narrowed on the leader, and he gestured toward the door. “After you.”

  “Garret, let it be. We don’t need no trouble on leave!” one of the goons implored.

  “No, let’s take this outside, rebel dog.” He spat on Otto’s chin. I wanted to clobber the dickweed. How dare those lines of code not worth the engineer’s fingers who typed them spit on my NPC!

  Otto released Garret’s arm and pushed through the door. I took a step back and gave a very confident jerk of my head, as if to say, “After you, idiot.” Garret stepped through the door, as did the other conscious Imperials, though the brunet goon who’d asked Garret to stop gave a groan on his way out.

  I turned to bow to the patrons of the Drunken Donkey. “Sorry for the disturbance.” The music kicked back up as the door to the pub swung shut behind me.

  Otto’s sword was drawn, and his new breastplate on. The golden metal lining of the new chest piece shimmered in the dusk light, adding a touch of regality to Otto’s appearance. The six Imperial men encircled him, and I charged down the three steps into the dirt with the action.

  “Abby, stay back!” Otto ordered, and I halted at the perimeter the goons had made around Otto and Garret. My rational mind knew I was no match for any of these guys. If I still had my class abilities, maybe, but not when it was just wimp-armed Abby and her cool stick. I’d have to trust that Otto could handle this and come up with a quick plan B that got us both out of here alive.

  Garret made the first move, charging in at Otto with a high strike. Otto deflected the blow and planted a heavy foot against Garret’s gut. It was clear, in a 1v1 fight, Garret would lose. The Goon Squad realized this just a few seconds after me, and one ran in to flank.

  “Otto, left!” I shouted, and he turned at my words, slicing down at the attacker. Their swords pinged, sparks flying away from the point of impact. Otto moved in with a shoulder butt and sent the man sailing to the ground.

  Two more charged from behind, and Otto’s new breastplate took the brunt of the hits before he spun to meet the new offenders. Garret was climbing to his feet, wheezing, but still ready to fight.

  Otto grunted as a sword made contact with his forearm. Red blood trickled down Otto’s arm into the dirt. He took a step back, into a defensive stance. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, and plan B wasn’t revealing itself in my inebriated state. My staff came free of the Leader’s Bandolier easily, and I whipped it around in a close-gripped strike at the man Otto had shoulder butted.

  Thirteen points of damage, about 2% of this guy’s Health. Shit.

  The man rolled away from me, trying to gain his footing. I ran after him, swinging my staff down hard, and whiffing harder. My Obsidian War Staff slammed into dirt, kicking up a plume of brown mist around me and the man.

  “Abby, get back to the inn, now!” Otto screamed above the sounds of metal on metal, and flesh.

  “I’m not leaving you here to die.” I swung down at the man trying to evade me and struck home—this time it was a critical hit for 28 damage and almost 5% of his Health. This was not going well for me, and
I spared a quick glance to see how it was going for Otto.

  Not great. His HP was already down to 70%, and all five enemies were still standing. Though Garret was only at about 20%. I turned back to my fight. The man I’d been sparring with had bounced back to his feet in the time I took to assess Otto’s situation.

  “I remember me mum wapping me with something similar. Am I to go to my room next? Or maybe yours?” he taunted.

  I didn’t care how much more Strength and Stamina this guy had. I had more Luck. He was going down.

  I moved in with a low swipe that I put too much effort behind, sending me around a full 360. He laughed and twirled his sword. Cocky bastard. I moved in with a 60-degree-angle strike, but the Imperial parried the blow with his sturdy sword. Fortunately, my staff was dense, and the blade could not penetrate its surface.

  I retreated and swung my war staff around my body, going for a hit on his other side. He kicked my weapon away and it jerked from my hands. The wood slid toward the tavern and bumped against the stairs.

  “What now, Abby?” He leered, and the hairs on my arms stood on end as my gut tightened. We were in real trouble.

  The Imperial pulled himself to an offensive stance, then lunged as my heart jumped in my chest. I recalled how real the pain felt when I was struck in the head, bitten by the wolf, and tossed by the Balrigon, and fear surged through my being. I didn’t want to hurt like that again, and I certainly didn’t have time to die.

  The jerk lunged again, and this time my dodge sent me sprawling to the ground. I scurried back, grabbing a handful of dirt in each hand as I did.

  “I can be a merciful man”—he lowered his sword as he stood over me—“for a price.”

  The distant shout of the bartender carried over all other sounds, “I told ya to get the hell out of my place,” and the door to the Drunken Donkey slammed open, casting yellow light over us.

  The mercenary who told us about the dungeon, Verin, came tumbling out into the dirt. The Imperial turned his head to the door, and I threw both handfuls of gravel in his face. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my staff then raised it for a high strike.

  An angry voice I knew well stayed my hand. “You think you can run your mouth and not face consequences?”

  The volume and vehemence in her tone turned all heads to the door of the Drunken Donkey. A tall, slender woman in wicked looking black leathers kicked at Verin’s face. He rolled away, holding his nose as he limped and crawled, trying to escape her. Her.

  It was Sandra.

  “What in the seven hells are you all looking at?” she demanded, drawing a curved dagger from a sheath at her hip.

  If she saw me, if she knew what I was doing here, it would all be over; she would kill me.

  No, she would capture and torture me. Sandra was Osmark’s right hand for a reason. She was ruthless and relentless. I had looked up to her for a while, but when I realized she literally did nothing but serve Osmark, the allure dropped away. Still, I did not want to tango with this woman. At least, not yet.

  I turned away to stand by Otto, when a gauntleted fist smashed into my face. My vision went black, and I felt myself falling. The world went silent, and all I could sense was the wind blowing my beautiful gown as I plummeted.

  Sandra

  I HIT THE GROUND, AND the wind left my lungs. I choked for air and grasped at my chest. My eyes stung every time I tried to open them, but I could see in the darkness as debuff notifications appeared.

  <<<>>>

  Debuff Added

  Stunned: You have sustained a stunning blow! Attack damage -15%; Stamina regeneration reduced by 30%; movement speed reduced by 35%; duration, 1 minute.

  Broken Nose: Your nose has been broken! Take 1 point of damage per sec and reduce visibility by 25%; duration, 3 minutes or until a potion is consumed.

  <<<>>>

  Damn it! Why did I roll a caster? Why was I so damn squish!

  There was more shouting and a swift kick to my ribs, then metal on metal and a deep cry of agony. I rolled to my side and pushed up onto my hands and knees, just barely getting a look at my surroundings through squinted eyes.

  Someone grabbed my arm, dragging me backwards until my butt hit something solid. I kicked, scratching at the hand that held me as I tried to pry the fingers away.

  “Abby, are you all right?” It was Otto, whispering to me as the clanks and screams of pain and terror went on. I cracked my eyes again to see the dark blur with fair skin and long blond hair dashing through the group of Imperials. When the last Imperial soldier fell, the blur of thick, wicked leathers and long hair stood among them.

  “What do you think you’re doing getting into a brawl in Harrowick! How dare you disgrace the Ever-victorious Empire in such a way.” Her voice cut like the blade of her dagger.

  “Sorry, miss. It won’t happen again,” came garbled words from Garret. It sounded like he was missing a tooth or two, and his mouth was filled with blood.

  The tears in my eyes leaked away, and I was finally able to see her. She turned from the Imperials and looked right at me. My body went rigid. What would I say to her? What if she recognized me? Stupid, stupid Abby! Why didn’t you make more changes to your avatar!

  Sandra smiled as she came to a stop five feet out and crouched on her haunches. “You a Traveler?”

  I nodded, unable to get any words out, not only from fear, but damn my face hurt. The Stunned debuff ended, and I took my first deep breath in a minute.

  “Your NPC?” She gestured to Otto.

  I nodded again. She offered her hand, and I lifted my shaking, sweaty palm to hers. She jerked me up and gave me a glance up and down. The Imperial soldiers gathered themselves and took off down the alley in hushed voices, giving backward glances as they did.

  Sandra cocked her head. “Do I know you?”

  My heart pounded. My hands shook. Yes, my brain screamed. Yes, and I know you. I know what you and Osmark have done, and I know you’re planning something worse.

  I shook my head and looked down.

  “Hmm, you seem a little familiar. In any case, don’t let your NPC get you into any more trouble. You’re lucky I happened to be here.” She gave Otto a glare.

  I kept my head low and nodded vigorously. “Tha’k you.” My voice was so nasally, there was no way she’d recognize it. Likewise, my face was probably so busted she’d never notice who I was. Osmark made a point to memorize his employees, know their families, and know what their passions were. Every employee. He made Sandra do the same. Though it hurt like a sonofabitch, I was really glad my face was broken.

  I checked the debuff timer as my life leaked down point by point; 45 more seconds.

  She reached in her bag and pulled out a potion, then held it out to me. “Here. It’ll stop the bleeding. You should buy a few.” She turned away and grabbed Verin, the merc, by the back of the shirt. I held the potion tight as I watched her drag the man away. She stopped and turned back.

  “Don’t depend on him.” She pointed a long finger at Otto. “He’ll let you down, he’ll fail, he’ll die. You’re the only one who can save you. Get a move on your class kit.” She tugged Verin along the street as she walked away into the fading light.

  I looked up to Otto. For once, his expressionless face held very little for me to decipher. What was he thinking? Did her words actually affect him somehow? I wasn’t sure if the NPCs were sophisticated enough to react to such a comment from a Traveler.

  Otto noticed me staring and finally looked at me. He pulled the cork from the potion and nudged my hand. I gulped it back and was instantly reminded of nighttime cold medicine. It wasn’t quite as thick, but still just as sugary and foul as a cough suppressant.

  The Broken Nose debuff disappeared and my Health shot up to 100%. Bones cracked and my skin pulled as my nose corrected itself. I yawned a few times, moving my jaw in a circular motion as I massaged the area.

  “You clammed up. Who was that?” he asked, his voice standoffish.

  I s
niffed, my nostrils filled with the salty iron scent of my own blood. “Sandra.”

  “Osbark’s Sandra?” Otto asked, and I contained my chuckle.

  “Osmark, yes. That was her.” I walked to where the scuffle had been and picked up my staff. There was a new coating of blood on the handle, some of it mine I was sure, and the onyx gemstone was cracked. My finger traced the damage, and I inspected the item card. There was no durability to it, and the stats seemed the same, so maybe I just had to stick it on the magical gear shelf in my room and it would be repaired.

  I’d been so glad when taking my bath that the barmaid pointed out the magic wardrobe. Any gear left in it for a few minutes would come out as fresh as hot laundry. I hadn’t needed to wash the Moorkin gunk off my gown, and if I had, I may have just paid Otto 2 gold and walked around naked until I could find a new one.

  “We should get back to the inn,” Otto offered. “The Imperials might come back.”

  “What was that shop?” I snapped my fingers a few times to remember the name of the Accipiter man in the incense-laden store.

  “Satin and Beech,” Otto grunted.

  “We said we’d come back, and I still need some things if we’re going to take on that dungeon.”

  Otto bobbed his head and turned toward the main road in town without a word. I jogged up beside him as he kept a pace too fast for my shorter legs. His fists were clenched, and his eyes set straight ahead. There was definitely something going on in his artificial synapses that was making him upset.

  I wanted to say something, but what? Sandra was right. Otto would die, eventually, and if I wasn’t competent on my own, I’d be screwed. Sandra had laid out all six of those guys in seconds, and I got my ass handed to me by one fist. I couldn’t depend on Otto to save me, and I couldn’t depend on Jack or anyone else to, either.