A vampiric mermaid statue at the entrance to the flea market has become a common meeting point in Tin Ingot. Crowds huddle around the buxom statue, waiting for their friends and recruiting people to join them on their quests. Moving amidst the crowd are snake oil salesmen with all sorts of potions and trinkets.
Seeing them sell potions gets me thinking more about my herbalist subclass. I really need to play with it more, aside from creating IEDs. An herbalist who doesn’t make poisons? A purist would shake their head at me.
“But you’re trying to save the world,” I whisper, which sounds just about as stupid coming out of my mouth as I thought it would.
As I take a position at the front of the statue, I relax into the lavender cloak and cross my arms over my chest. Feeling like I’m looking too much like, well, a Player Killer, I drop my arms to my sides and start scanning the crowd for Deathdale or Sam – not that either of them will be hard to find.
“Easy,” I tell Wolf as an orange cat tears through the crowd, chasing a tiny mouse.
Wolf tracks the cat, his big blue-green eyes locked on the feline as he licks his lips. This naturally gets me wondering why dogs and cats don’t get along, which somehow morphs into a philosophical discussion between the left and right side of my brain about why certain groups of people can’t get along, both in the Proxima Galaxy and the real world.
“Chill,” I whisper as my brain continues to form links between things that seemingly have no connection.
The crowd morphs around me – orcs, elves, drow, half-giants, you name it. I stand beneath the statue looking for a familiar face, and I’m surprised when I see a short gnome in a cone hat marching my way.
“Player Killer,” he says as he reaches me. “Remember me? The name’s Arun.”
“From Mohar,” I say, recalling how I met this gnome and his wife in Mohar and how they were the only people in the market who were kind to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Chantrea and I got sick of Mohar. You know, those caverns can get really stuffy, especially when people light candles at night. Phew! So we’re here now, just over there. You waiting for someone?”
“I think. Actually, I have no idea if they’ll show up or not.”
“Well there’s no sense in standing here in a lavender cloak sticking out like a sore, purple thumb!” He waves me towards his booth. “Follow me.”
(^_^)
“I remember you,” Arun’s gnome wife says as we approach. “What was your name again?”
“I never told you, or at least I don’t think I did,” I say as Arun presses past me. “But the name is Oric, Oric Rune.”
“Chantrea, in case you’ve forgotten.” The older female gnome has an agreeable face and a soft smile. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes make her seem wise beyond her years. Her modest, long-sleeved dress covers almost every part of her body aside from her hands, neck, and face.
I follow Arun to the other side of the booth, which is much more spacious than the front. The booksellers in the booth next to them gawk as they see me take a seat on a wooden crate. Wolf joins me, and to get out of the way he rests at the back corner of their rented booth, as far away from the bustling crowd out front as he can get.
I don’t blame him.
There aren’t many places Wolf can go where he isn’t gawked at. Before I can say anything else, Chantrea approaches and hands me a small glass of piping-hot milk tea. With no stem, I’m forced to hold the glass by its lip to drink the hot liquid.
“Gnome’s tea,” she says. “It’s good for the heart.”
Arun sits on a stool in front of me and stares at me fondly. “So … ”
“So?” I ask as I take a sip of the tea. “Damn, that’s some stuff!” I place the tea on the table and out of the way.
“What’s been happening for you? I see you have Stater armor now.”
“I do, which is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“You want to trade it?”
“No, nothing like that,” I say as I start to unhook the chest plate. “I want to mod it. Can you remove any insignia on the armor that shows it’s from Stater? I’m talking about this griffin here, and the one on the back as well.”
Arun raises a bushy eyebrow at me. “Is it stolen?”
“Actually, Governor Talonas himself gave this to me.”
“Did he?” He takes the armor from me and runs his finger along the griffin. “In that case, I believe there’s something I can do about it. It may take the rest of the afternoon, though.”
“That’s fine. I don’t want any affiliation with Stater.” I lower my voice. “Not after what I saw.”
“Go on,” Arun says as his wife hands him a glass of tea. As he sips his tea, I proceed to explain to him everything that has happened over the last few days, from the meteor shower to the battle of Tangka, from Sam’s death to my discovery last night.
Arun’s eyes fill with understanding. “So Talonas is disguising his own soldiers, or maybe even mercenaries, as Tagvornins and attacking the south.”
“Yep.”
“And then he’s swooping back in to rebuild after the destruction has been wrought.”
“That’s exactly what I believe to be happening.”
Chantrea, who sits at the front of their booth yet is focused entirely on our conversation, looks to me and gasps. “Do you think he’s responsible for the meteor shower?”
“I have no way to prove that,” I tell her, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“He’s there now,” Arun says. “Word is Governor Talonas has gone to Solidus to visit architects at the great academies and pledge his support to rebuild the city. Will you go there?”
I finish my tea and take a long, hard look at Wolf. Now isn’t the time to seek revenge. I know that, and I’m well aware just by looking up at the crimson sky there are bigger forces at play. Hell, the fact that I’m planning to take a detour to deal with the Drachma Killers is distraction enough.
Arun stands. “Well, unless you want to stick around in Tin Ingot another day, I need to see about getting your armor looked at. While I’m gone, do you mind helping Chantrea run the place?”
I glance to the female gnome, who has turned her attention to a thin woman with a bad skin condition. “I’m not that great of a salesperson.”
“Sure you are! Just help her with whatever she needs.”
With that, Arun places my armor in a burlap sack, spins on his heels, and exits the booth.
I stand and join Chantrea at the front of the booth. As she finishes a transaction, my eyes stop on a necklace of pure silver.
“That’s some piece,” I say once her customer is gone.
“Ah, this?” Chantrea lifts the necklace and hands it to me.
Attached to the silver necklace is a symbol I have never seen before. Upon further inspection, I see the Unigaean characters have been smelted together to form the main piece.
“It’s one of a kind. Let me rephrase: it is two of a kind. There are only two of these necklaces in existence, and I have one.” She sticks her small hands into her collar and lifts the other necklace out. “Both were made by Olivas, and both have an attribute bonus for your people.”
I’ve heard Player Characters called “your people” before. I try not to get into the details of what NPCs think of us for a number of reasons, one of them being my natural curiosity: I’m afraid of what I would discover.
“How much for this one?” I ask her.
“Aren’t you going to ask about the attribute it boosts?”
“Sure, what’s it boost?”
“It boosts SPEED by three points. Mine boosts MIND.”
“Want to trade?”
She laughs. “You haven’t even traded for this one yet! To answer your question, I will trade you the SPEED necklace for something, but I won’t trade mine. I quite like feeling smarter.”
I nod in appreciation. “I know that feeling. Okay, how about this … ”
I scroll thr
ough my list and stop on my St. Lucia Buster Sword. Normally I wouldn’t get rid of this, and it is stupid, really, to hand it over to her, but the less I have from Stater the better and besides, my broken sword is more effective.
I stab the ironing board of a sword into the ground. “I hope I don’t regret this.”
“You will,” she says knowingly. “We always do. And fine, the necklace is yours.” She gives me the necklace and I instantly put it on.
SPEED +3!
I take a brief look at my attributes:
Attributes
STRENGTH: 13
WILL: 13
DEXTERITY: 13
MIND: 11
SPEED: 12
“Not bad,” I finally say. I wave my hand around to see if it looks like I’m moving any faster.
Chantrea chuckles. “That’s not exactly what that necklace is for.”
“I suppose I’ll have to take a jog later to see how much faster I move.”
She laughs again and places her hands on her stomach. “I’d like to take a wee break. Are you okay with manning the front?”
I glance over my shoulder at Wolf, who is now fast asleep. “I’ll do my best. If there’s trouble, I’ll just point to him.”
“If anyone wants to buy anything big, don’t make the sale until I come back.” She hovers her hand over the valuable items on the table. “This is what I mean by big. These things are rare. Also, keep an eye out for thieves.”
(^_^)
“I’ll give ye two hundreed leera, notheeng more!” spits a hobgoblin with red eyes and a gray face full of scars. He has a necklace made of teeth and a series of symbols carved into the flesh of his chin.
“It’s not for sale,” I tell him again, my fingers twitching and ready to go for the hilt of my sword.
The hobgoblin, nearly my height but much skinnier aside from his potbelly, has been arguing with me for the last five minutes. Of all things, the bald fucker wants a comb clearly – clearly – in Chantrea’s “do not sell until I am here to approve the sale” pile.
He bares his teeth. “You don’t want me beesness? Two hundreed fiftee leera, damn ye! I want theese feeking comb!”
“You don’t have any hair, goddammit! Quit haggling me about it; you aren’t getting it until the owner gets back.” I whistle for Wolf and he immediately approaches.
“Hehe! Theenk ye Tagvorneen wolf scares me?” The hobgoblin narrows his red eyes on Wolf as his lips part into a sinister grin. “I eat wolf for breakfast. I eat your wolf if ye don’t sell!”
I pull my Splintered Sword and angle it in his direction. “One more word,” I say through gritted teeth.
A grin still plastered on his face, the hobgoblin squints to his left and I follow his gaze to see two city guards coming our way. I sheathe my blade before he can blink again.
“Go,” I tell him, “I’m not selling the comb.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Chantrea says, suddenly appearing at my side. How she got on my side of the booth will forever remain a mystery.
“Comb!” The hobgoblin rests his hands on top of his little potbelly and drums his fingers together. “Geeve to me!”
“Why, certainly!”
Chantrea launches into a sales pitch the likes of which I’ve never heard in Unigaea. By the end of her spiel, she has the hobgoblin eating out of her hand, ready to trade his house and livestock for the comb.
Through their conversation, I discover the hobgoblin doesn’t want the comb for himself but rather for his bride to be, who is already the mother of six of his eight offspring (the mother of the other two being her sister – a long story it seems).
Chantrea listens with real concern on her face, and once he’s finished, she switches into a sales pitch about how this comb will bring the hobgoblin and his current and future offspring a happiness that has never been witnessed in Unigaea.
She sells him the comb for 2,000 lira, and that’s after giving him a discount from 2,500 because, really, she “understands” his situation and “wants” to make things better for him. He leaves a happy camper.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to sell these items,” she says as soon as he’s far enough away that her words won’t reach his cauliflower ears.
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
“If you must know, these items are enchanted, but they’re only valuable to certain types of people. In actuality, that comb is worthless.” She fishes a similar comb from the pocket on the front of her dress. “I paid fifteen lira for it. The problem is, buyers like that only come around in a blue moon.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want me to sell it.”
“Exactly. Know thy customer.”
Just as Chantrea launches into another explanation about enchanted items, I see a hauntingly familiar face in the crowd.
My pulse quickens as Deathdale approaches, her short gray bob tied back into a tight little top knot, her impractical A-line armor, her unnecessary heeled boots and her trademarked eyepatch completing her outfit.
Deathdale’s good eye catches me and a light behind her eye signals she recognizes the cloaked Player Killer standing before her. She strolls over, casual even, and Chantrea takes notice as she approaches.
“That’s an odd one,” she whispers under her breath.
Deathdale stops before us and Wolf barks at her. He sits and barks again. People at the other booths turn to us and whisper; the city guards close by move a bit closer, just in case things get out of hand.
“Hey there,” I say awkwardly.
Deathdale slowly looks from Chantrea’s items to my face, to the necklace around my neck pressed into the front of my lavender cloak.
“It’s not what it seems like.”
She raises an eyebrow at me.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about – or at least I do,” I tell her. “Also, seriously, you need a disguise. We were just in this city and remember what happened then?”
She shrugs and Wolf barks at her again.
“Please, um, come to this side of the booth.” Chantrea invites Deathdale in. “You two catch up,” says the gnome. “I’ll stand up front.”
Deathdale joins me and Wolf at the back of the booth.
It’s cramped, but not as bad as some of the other booths around.
“Sam’s dead,” I say, starting at the logical point. Deathdale acknowledges this statement with a cold look. “We went to the bandits’ hut to find you, found the letter, and were attacked that night by a band of Tags. It gets more interesting, though.”
I tell her about my campsite discovery and the conversation with the Stater soldier I kidnapped. “It’s all a ploy; Governor Talonas played us. Stater soldiers are disguising themselves as Tagvornins.” Suspicion paints across my face as the realization comes. “Wait, did you … did you know? You came with them at the battle; you must have known.”
Deathdale shakes her head.
“You can speak with me. And seriously … ” I gulp and give her a hard look. “Did you know?”
She shakes her head again. “I joined after.”
“After? You mean they were already wearing Tagvornin armor and whatnot?”
She nods. “I promise.”
I offer her a seat on one of the crates and she takes it. “We could do it,” I say after a long pause. “We could ride to Solidus and kill Governor Talonas. I don’t know if you’d be into that, but he – he’s responsible for the deaths of several people close to me.”
The image of the old woman from Tangka moves across my mind’s eye. She was the one who set me on this journey. After this comes an image of Sam, and the arrow that took her away from me.
“He tricked us,” I say bitterly.
This thought gets me thinking about vengeance, and whether its abstract necessity outweighs its selfishness.
A philosophical debate for another day.
The red sky visible in the distance reminds me what the Obelisk has asked me to do. This combined with the pressure of wanting
to take the fight to Talonas and then to the Drachma Killers, has my mind pinging inside my digital skull.
I take a deep breath in and feel Deathdale’s gloved hand reach up to meet my arm.
I lock eyes with her and instantly, my thoughts have settled. “We’ll stick to the original plan,” I say firmly, “Drachma Killers and then the source code bomb. If the opportunity to revisit the past presents itself, we – or, better, I – will take it. I don’t want to loop you into any of it.”
She nods, her face expressionless as she takes her arm away from me.
“We’ll be closing soon,” Chantrea says, interrupting our moment. “I’d like to get home early to let the pugs out and start cooking. Arun will meet us there, if you two would care to join us for dinner?”
I look to Deathdale and she shrugs.
Chapter Ten: Pyro Affliction
“It’s a rental,” Chantrea says as we follow her up a narrow cobblestone lane. “Modest, but we like it.”
The home Chantrea considers modest speaks volumes about her concept of wealth. Set in Tin Ingot’s exclusive Manor District, a gated community right off the city center, the two-story home is shaded by ancient oak trees and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.
The richest gnomes I’ve ever seen? I’d say that’s about right.
An NPC orc with a greataxe patrolling the cobblestone lane waves to Chantrea.
[Orc Security Guard, level 30]
He gives Deathdale and me an extra-long look, likely due to our Player Killer class.
“Hi, Mueslag,” Chantrea says as she unlocks her gate. “Don’t mind them; they’re harmless.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I joke as we take the steps to Chantrea’s front door. I hear dogs barking on the other side, and I suddenly recall her mentioning something about pugs. Sure enough, she opens the door and two black, bug-eyed pugs run out barking.
Both fat little pugs catch wind of Wolf and take off the other way, yipping.
Wolf glances up at me, a sad look on his face. “Not everyone is going to like you,” I remind him. “Don’t let it get to you.”
The Drachma Killers (The Last Warrior of Unigaea Book 2) Page 8