Rogue Online: The Devil's Gate: A LitRPG adventure
Page 9
Stepping out from the alley’s dark confines, Max shaded his eyes against the sudden brightness. Ahead of them the market was still in full swing and the hubbub of commerce filled the air. Max liked it. He concentrated on some of the people passing by in the street, hoping to see their stats. Normally in safe zones like this he would come across a few other players and if he concentrated he could usually figure out who they were—a name tag floating in the air above their heads and sometimes their stats.
But Max didn’t find any other players. The townsfolk all appeared to be NPCs.
That didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t be the first person to try out the Rogue Lands could he? The idea was both appealing and frightening. Exciting to be a pioneer, exploring new frontiers a la Star Trek, but he didn’t like the thought that he might be a guinea pig in a completely untested game. Who knew what might happen? He’d already learned the hard way that pain and discomfort were very real things here. What else lay in wait for him as he progressed?
“So,” he said to Sam. “We’ve restored our health. We’ve bought weapons. Now for the next thing on our list: information.”
“My thoughts exactly! We need to find out where Arlena might be. I heard her name whispered a few times before I left the city but nobody was ever able to tell me more than rumors.”
“Rumors? What rumors?”
Sam shrugged. “It would have been better if we could have questioned that resistance fighter a bit longer. I heard that Arlena was once a high-ranking officer in the Thelorian militia but she turned against Mespar when he began hurting the townsfolk. They say she has a network of spies and hideouts. Finding her will be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Nobody said this was going to be easy,” Max replied. “Let’s find ourselves a tavern with a dark corner where we can listen to the gossip. You can pick up all sorts of tidbits in those places.”
Sam winked. “I know just the place. Follow me.”
They crossed the market square, weaving in and out of stalls, avoiding hopeful hawkers selling their wares from trays strapped to their chests, ducking out of sight whenever any of Lord Mespar’s men appeared, until they reached a large three-story wooden building on the other side of the square. It was a wonky thing, the upper floors leaning out over the lower ones as though it had all been slapped together in a hurry. A creaking sign hanging over the door showed a man lying on the ground covered in blood. The sign read, The Flayed Man.
Max raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit uncivilized isn’t it? What’s wrong with The Green Dragon or The Dog and Duck?”
Sam shrugged. “We need information. This is the best place to get it—even if it is a bit rough.”
Sam led the way inside and Max soon realized that the word ‘rough’ was a tad generous. The large common room had dirty rushes strewn on the floor and a smoky fire guttering at one end. The tables were little more than wooden planks set over empty beer barrels with benches down either side.
A motley rabble filled the benches. Max spotted many of Lord Mespar’s mercenaries drinking and dicing, coin changing hands rapidly. He saw townsfolk dressed in patched and faded clothing sporting greasy hair and lank beards along with outlanders of other races: dwarves, gnomes and even an elf sitting in the corner talking to nobody. The patrons turned to look at Max and Sam as they entered, none-too-friendly stares aimed in their direction.
“Try to look confident,” Sam said. “Don’t show them any weakness or they’ll be on us.”
Max nodded. He wasn’t afraid of a fight but he had to remind himself that this was an intelligence gathering mission. It would be a bit hard to do that if they ended up in a brawl.
Sam led them over to a bench in the far corner. It was already occupied by a big man who’d fallen asleep with his head on the table, his hand still curled around a cup of ale. A line of drool ran from the man’s mouth and was puddling under his chin.
Max and Sam picked their way around him, careful not to disturb him, and sat down. A moment later a serving girl came over and took their order. Max surveyed their surroundings. The patrons had gone back to what they were doing, which amounted to getting drunk and losing money at dice or cards. Nobody paid Max and Sam any attention. There was a low drone of conversation in the air along with the stink of unwashed bodies.
The serving girl returned with two tankards of ale. “Will there be anything else, sirs?”
Max glanced at her. She had blonde hair that spilled onto her shoulders and a small rose-bud mouth.
“No, that’s everything, thanks.”
He tossed her the few coppers they had left and then settled down into their seats. Max took a sip of the ale. It was warm and carried the strong flavor of whatever cask it had been kept in. It wasn’t to Max’s taste but he had to admire how the game managed to make him feel the liquid trickle down his throat and then settle in his stomach. He wondered if it would stretch to him getting roaring drunk as well. It was very tempting. Would he get a hangover in the virtual world?
Instead he contented himself with sipping at the dark liquid whilst trying to listen in on the conversations around him. At the next table two mercenaries were hunched close together.
“He’ll skin me if he finds out,” one of them, a man with a huge scar down his face, said. “If he discovers it went missing while I was on duty...” he ran a finger across his throat.
“How would he find out?” the other one answered. “He never leaves the research site anyway. If he does ask, blame it on one of the townsfolk. Let’s face it, they aren’t gonna speak against you, are they? Barely have minds of their own since Lord Mespar did the ritual. And if he kills a few of them in anger, so what?”
Max’s ears pricked at this. Research site? Ritual? He shuffled closer, hoping that he might learn more but Scar Face merely shrugged and said, “You’re right,” before steering the conversation to griping about their guard roster.
“Any luck?” Max murmured to Sam who’d been surreptitiously leaning back listening in to the conversation going on behind him.
“Not unless you count discovering which one of these meatheads is the current arm-wrestling champion,” Sam replied.
He went to put his feet on the table but his heel caught his ale cup and knocked it flying. Ale went splashing all over the sleeping man. There was a moment of stunned silence and then the man jerked awake with a bellow, looking around with his face screwed up in fury.
“Who did that?” he yelled. “Which one of you mangy mongrels wants to feel my fist?”
There was a sudden scraping of chairs and the patrons scrambled away, leaving a wide circle around Max, Sam, and the giant.
“You!” he bellowed. “I’ll wring your scrawny necks for you!”
The man surged to his feet, knocking the table flying and sending Sam tumbling backwards off the bench. Max backed away. The man was huge, easily seven feet tall, with wide, muscular shoulders and lumpy features that looked as though they’d been made out of clay. He glared at Max from beneath heavy, jutting eyebrows.
Max quickly checked his stats.
Half-troll warrior. Level 20. Strength: 25 Stamina: 25 Charisma: 0
Oh, crap.
The half-troll swung at Max. He managed to duck the blow, feeling the wind as a tree-trunk arm slashed inches away from him. He staggered back, equipping his sword, but it looked paltry in comparison to the size of this enemy.
“Come on then!” Sam yelled, picking himself out of the ruins of the bench and flexing his arms.
He sprang at the half-troll, sword raised and shield gripped in his hand. The half-troll picked up the table and swung it at Sam, batting him away as if he was no more than an annoying insect. Sam crashed into a table behind him, sending it splintering into pieces, and lay there, stunned.
Well, so much for our stealthy intel mission, Max thought.
The half-troll advanced on Max. “Apologize!” he growled in a voice like grinding boulders. “I was enjoying my nap!”
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry!” Max said. “We didn’t mean to wake you!”
The troll paused as he considered his words. “Not good enough. I’m gonna carve you up, little man.”
Max quickly assessed his options. None of his weapons or attributes were strong enough to win this fight. Perhaps if he knew what the gauntlet did or was able to use Stealth, he could do something but as it was, his journeyman skills were no match for this adversary. There was only one option. He hauled Sam to his feet.
“Run!”
Yanking Sam’s elbow, Max dragged him through the common room, patrons scattering out of his way. Sam’s head wobbled on his neck.
“Whassup?” he mumbled. “Gotta fight. I had him then.”
Max hoped that the half-troll wouldn’t follow once they were out of his attack range but a bellow sounded behind them.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going? Get back here! I haven’t finished with you!”
With a yelp Max broke into a run as best he could whilst dragging the insensate Sam. They burst out into the bright sunshine of the market place. Max whirled to see the half-troll come hurtling to the door and then stop as if he’d hit an invisible barrier. He laid one meaty hand on the door frame and glowered at them.
“And stay out! If I see you in here again, I’ll tear your limbs off!” Then he turned and disappeared back inside.
Max breathed a sigh of relief. He’d guessed right: the half-troll had an attack range he wouldn’t leave.
“Lucky for us,” Max mumbled.
The half-troll was clearly only programmed to attack if disturbed from its slumber. What rotten luck that Sam had knocked that ale all over him. If not for that they might have discovered the information they needed. As it was, Sam’s health had been depleted and Max had almost soiled his breeches. And for what? They were no closer to discovering the whereabouts of the rebel leader. This quest was proving to be very frustrating.
They slumped onto a step, Sam putting his head back against the wall and groaning. “What did he hit me with, a tree?”
Sam’s health was down to 50%. He’d soon need another potion. This game sure knew how to pack a punch.
“You’re lucky that’s all he did,” Max replied. “Did you notice that war hammer hanging from his belt? I reckon it could have smashed us both to pulp.”
“Nah,” Sam replied. “He got a lucky strike, that’s all. We weren’t ready for him. I say we go back in and finish him off.”
“And end up getting killed and respawning miles away? Maybe losing some of our XP, our weapons degrading, and having to go through everything again?”
“Yeah, that.”
“No thanks. Remember the quest.”
“Aye,” Sam sighed. “The quest.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall of the building, holding a hand to his head and groaning.
“Psst!”
Puzzled, Max looked around.
“Psst! Over here!”
He turned his head from side to side and spotted a shadowy figure waving at them from the alley by the side of the tavern. The figure was hooded, keeping to the shadows.
“Are you deaf?” the figure hissed, sounding annoyed. “Over here!”
Max nudged Sam who opened his eyes and fixed his bleary gaze on the alley.
“What do you reckon?” Max asked. “Think it’s a trap?”
Sam shrugged. “Only one way to find out. It beats sitting around here whilst my skull slowly splits.”
They climbed to their feet and carefully picked their way over to the alley. Max hoped this wouldn’t bring them back into the half-troll’s attack zone. He was acutely aware that there was only the flimsy plank wall of the pub between it and them and there was no way that would stop him if he decided to have another go.
The hooded figure crooked a finger. “Follow me.”
Max equipped his knife just to be on the safe side and they followed the figure down the alley and into a small yard enclosed on all sides by high walls. Once there, the figure pulled down the hood, revealing a young woman with curling blonde hair and a rose-bud mouth.
Max startled as he recognized her. It was the bar maid from The Flayed Man.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “Your disguise might fool those idiots of Lord Mespar’s but it doesn’t fool me. What would two outlanders be doing coming to Myrlind disguised as mercenaries?”
Max shared a look with Sam. If this woman was in Lord Mespar’s pay they would end up in dire trouble if they told her anything. But if she was with the resistance...
“We’re not from around here,” Max said, deciding to take the risk. “Or at least, I’m not. My friend here is a Myrlind native although he’s been away for a while.”
“Away where?” the woman asked suspiciously. “And why return now?”
“We’re on a...quest,” Max said, choosing his words with care.
“Aye, a quest to rid Myrlind of Lord Mespar and those meatheads he employs!” Sam burst out, rubbing his temple where a lump as big as a duck egg was forming.
Max shot Sam a savage glance. So much for treading carefully. He turned to look at the woman, his hand tightening about his knife in case she attacked.
She didn’t. She cocked her head and regarded them with narrowed eyes. “Nazgar reckons you two have potential but I can’t see it. You look like two clueless idiots to me. That half-troll could have snapped you in half.”
“Thanks for that,” Max said drily. “We hadn’t realized. Now, if you don’t mind me asking: who the hell are you and who the hell is Nazgar? I’ve never heard of anyone with that name – and I think I’d remember.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know him? You bought a magical weapon off him less than an hour ago.”
“You mean that crazy dwarf? But he said his name was Osric.”
The woman’s expression darkened. “That ‘crazy dwarf’ is the resistance’s chief spy and you will show a little more respect when you talk of him! Without him, we’d all be under Lord Mespar’s influence – including you.”
Max thought back to the rag-shrouded dwarf. He’d seemed as mad as a March hare and nothing like a spy. But, he supposed, the ability to blend in is what made a good spy. If so, Nazgar, or Osric or whatever the hell his name was, was making one hell of a job of it. Max doubted Lord Mespar would ever suspect such an eccentric creature of feeding information to his enemies.
“Hang on a minute,” Sam said. “If you know about the resistance, does that mean you’re resistance too?”
“Give the boy an apple, I think he’s got it!” the woman replied with a sarcastic smile. “Yes, I’m with the resistance. My name is Terra.”
“Ha!” Sam cried. “We’ve done it! Quest completed! Resistance leader found! Now where’s our loot? I could do with a better shield and a few potions – preferably ones for god-almighty headaches!”
He looked around as if expecting the things he’d asked for to drop out of the air but nothing was forthcoming. The woman, Terra, frowned at him.
“You misunderstand. I said I’m with the resistance, not that I’m in charge. And why are you trying to find our leader?”
Max glanced at Sam. How much should he reveal? Dare they trust this woman? Sam shrugged, leaving the decision up to him.
“We met one of your comrades,” Max said, deciding to take the risk. “A rebel who’d been captured by Mespar’s men. We fought off the mercs but he died.”
Terra’s eyes flashed. “Damn Mespar! I wish I could get my hands on him! Who was it?”
“I didn’t get his name, sorry. He told us something before he died though. He told us to find the rebel leader – Arlena? I’m guessing from the fact that you approached us that you want our help in some way? How about we help each other out?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Terra said. “Nazgar reckoned you might be able to help with a little problem.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked them up and down. “Although I’m beginning to question his judgment.”
Terra raised an eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”
“Look, do you want our help or not?” Max asked, stepping in before Sam could say something he’d regret. “We’ll do what we can to help you as long as you take us to your leader.”
Terra shrugged. “Funny you should mention that. You know that problem I mentioned—the problem Nazgar seems to think you might be able to help with?” She fixed first Sam and then Max with a stern blue stare. “I’ll take you to our leader all right. But first you’ll have to help me break her out of prison.”
Chapter 7
“Wait a minute,” Max said, holding up a hand. “She’s in jail?”
Terra glanced right and left to check nobody was listening. “Arlena was captured two days ago attempting to sneak into a weapon store. That’s two days Lord Mespar has had to torture her into telling everything she knows of the resistance. Arlena is strong, she won’t have told them anything, but that won’t last forever. Nobody can withstand torture indefinitely. Eventually she’ll tell them what they want to know.”
“And then?” Max asked.
“And then Arlena will be executed and the resistance destroyed. We have to get her out of there.”
Max nodded. “Okay. Where’s she being held?”
Terra shook her head. “That’s the problem—we don’t know. She’s not in the town jail, we’ve already scouted it, nor in any of the torture-houses Mespar has throughout the city. Our spy in the palace says there’s been no sign of her there either. We don’t know where else to look.” For the first time Terra’s strong facade began to crack and Max saw real worry in her eyes.
Max felt a thrill of excitement. These kinds of quests were right up his street. Finding people and objects was a challenge, a puzzle he had to solve. He was beginning to feel glad he’d put his extra points in Wisdom. “We’ll start at the beginning and figure it out as we go along. Take us to the place where Arlena was captured.”