by Domino Finn
"You feeling what I'm feeling?" asked Izzy.
"Totally. I'm in awe of how complex Haven is every day."
She shrugged. "You get used to it."
I smirked. That was classic Izzy seeping through. Too cool for school. Just another day at the office.
"So where to, boss?" she asked.
My tongue caught in my throat. "What did you call me?"
Her face tightened. "It was just an expression."
"No it wasn't. Could it be you're actually not pushing to be leader of this little party anymore?"
"Please." She rolled her eyes. "We both know this latest escapade is your gig. I'm just the bodyguard while you get this whole hero thing out of your system. The next move is your call."
I chuckled. "Bodyguard."
"That's right, Papa Talon," she said, mimicking the cadence of the locals. "I will follow wherever you command."
"I think there's an inn around here somewhere."
"In your dreams."
I laughed. "That's right. What kind of guy would I be if I didn't buy you a drink first?" I headed toward the seediest oceanfront establishment I could find, the Derelict Dagger.
"Very funny," she mocked. "Now let's get to business."
I didn't slow my stride. "That's what I'm doing." She was unsure what to say or do, believing me to be bluffing all the way through the doorway of the tavern.
The place was packed. Despite being morning, rogues and scoundrels of all types littered the establishment. A good quarter of them were already passed out. A raucous arm-wrestling contest in the corner was drawing friendly wagers and a plump waitress avoided the lecherous hands of drinking sailors. It was a grimy, run-down, authentic pirate pub.
"This place is glorious," I said in awe.
"If by glorious you mean disgusting," intoned Izzy.
I spotted an open table, which was really just a stool beside a sack of straw. Yes, the stool was the table. Izzy and I cozied up on the beanbag as the waitress approached with surprising promptness.
"Oi, if it isn't a young couple in love."
Izzy frowned but my smile more than made up for it. "That's exactly right, young lady."
She snorted. "I ain't been young in a hundred years, and I can't remember ever bein' a lady."
"Well then, can I just remark on how wenchy your bustier makes you look?"
She blushed. "Aww, I am a sucker for a proper gentleman."
Izzy made nauseous choking sounds.
"Don't mind her," I said. "She's just thirsty. I'll take two of the most expensive grog in the house."
The waitress smiled a yellow grin. "Arr, treating the lady right, I see."
"She's a keeper," I agreed. The bar wench marched to another table.
"Seriously," snapped Izzy, "what are we doing here?"
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've never wanted to travel to a D&D tavern and mingle with the colorful locals and the other adventurers."
"D and what?"
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Not a gamer. Not a gamer," I reminded myself. "It's like this, Izzy. When you're playing one of these games and you need a surprise quest or valuable intel, you go to the tavern. Look around."
Izzy followed my splayed hands just as a miserable bastard two tables down puked fish stew and five pints of mead into the corner. Our faces twisted in horror.
I waved in the opposite direction. "That way," I hurried. "Look that way."
Two gruff men toasted glasses of ale. "Hey! I'm going to the Bear Pits tomorrow. You wanna come with?"
"Psh," said the other man. "Couldn't pay me enough."
"What? You softbelly."
Izzy turned back to me with a blank face. "Yes, this place is a hive of valuable information."
I ground my teeth. "Behind them," I pressed.
At an actual table against the wall, a well-equipped mercenary wore a sword on his back. He discussed a previous adventure with a trapper friend.
"They're players," noted Izzy.
"Strange, huh? Saint Peter told me Kablammy was starting to populate the town. I wonder how far they got before the city was attacked."
"Attacked," she repeated while fingering air quotes. "You know, Hadrian the Whisperer keeping intel to himself I get, but if there were other players around here, why didn't we know the truth about what happened?"
I pressed my lips forward. "They're cut off from the wiki, for one. Saint Peter said Kablammy's in trouble. The company's meeting the chaos with a brave face, but there might be more. Something to do with what Papa Brugo said about propaganda."
"You're a symbol of the war effort," she laughed.
"Don't underestimate the power of symbols. This is an RPG. People take them seriously around here. Just ask our friend, the kraken."
"Fair enough, but what do the saints hope to accomplish? Shorehome's a big problem for them."
"The developers are worried about investors and marketing and the launch. They're worried about the real world. As screwed as they are with Shorehome, it's only a secondary concern as long as they can maintain their image. Besides, they have the crusaders to do their dirty work."
"And us," she grumbled.
I agreed with a dejected nod.
Two giant flagons of grog slammed onto our "table" as the waitress held her hand out. I gave her a silver coin and told her to buy something nice for herself. She curtsied and traipsed away. I took a pull from my drink as Izzy worked it out.
"So a small player population. Lucifer somewhere in town. We both know how much he loves having followers." Her head snapped to me. "One of them might know where he is."
"Aye," I said, wondering if the environment was getting to me. "The only problem is, asking around might be dangerous."
"We need to avoid people dressed in black. Anyone from the crime gangs. Maybe any NPCs at all."
"Hence, players." I took another chug from my tankard and moved to stand up.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" chuckled Izzy.
I scrunched my face. "I thought we just discussed the plan. I'm gonna schmooze those level 3s over there and see if they know anything about Lucifer."
Izzy grabbed my coat and yanked me back onto the sack.
"Whoa," I said, surprised but not at all miffed. "You know I like it when you're rough."
"Please. You don't really think you're the best man for this job, right? Look at those guys. They'll be putty in my hands."
Izzy hopped to her feet, upturned the flagon to her lips, and gulped down the entire thing in a fifteen-second sprint.
"Is it wrong that I'm turned on right now?"
She shoved her empty flagon into my crotch. I huddled over and caught it. "Watch it, there. You're bound to score a critical hit."
She snickered. "Watch the master and learn, Talon."
The pixie stood as tall as five feet could, puffed her chest out, and sauntered over to the new players. A light tap on the hunter's shoulder had them both drooling over her in seconds. Poor saps.
I drank more grog and watched her work, laughing it up and being more friendly than I'd known her capable of, wondering if it would hurt her so much to ever pretend like that with me, when two of the largest breasts I'd ever seen plopped into my view.
"Whatcha staring at?" asked the bar wench, leaning over the stool slash table at a right angle. The plus-sized waitress was a whole lotta woman, but she'd somehow "enhanced" her appearance in the few minutes since she'd last been by. Bright red lipstick, rose cheeks, and a, umm, fluffing of her ample cleavage. The waitress had been so zealous in her fluffing that a wardrobe malfunction had caused a nip slip, though her demeanor hinted the slip was intentional.
"Uh..."
I leaned to the side to see Izzy hitting it off with the hunter. The bar wench wasn't content to just move into my line of sight again. This time she jiggled down in the sack right next to me, sinking lower and causing me to fall into her.
"I was waiting for the floozy to leave us alone," she
said. "How do you like your grog?" She shoved the tankard to my mouth. I drank to avoid having to say anything. She smiled wide. "I put something in there just for you."
I spat the drink all over her chest and slammed the cup down. She blinked, surprised. Her cleavage was dripping wet. "You dirty boy! Drink it up!" She grabbed my head and slammed my face into her chest.
"What the—oomph!"
My whole world went black as I tried to breathe. Dizziness overtook me. I'd pretty much shifted into her lap at this point and I fought to take hold of anything solid, but the wench just wasn't built like that. I tried to speak. The words came out like I was motorboating her. She yanked my head away.
"Oi, I just love me a romantic man."
I gasped for air and waved to Izzy, but she was currently busy tying a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue. The bar wench buried my face in her cleavage again and I flailed, wondering if this would be an appropriate use of tornado spin. Finally, I dug out a hand and peeled a boob away from my face for some fresh air. I spouted the first thing that came to mind.
"Poetry! Let me regale you with poetry!"
Okay, I might have been a little light-headed.
She drew back and released me. "Why, no man's ever offered to sing my praises before."
I huffed and blinked as colors swam in my vision. Had I really just been roofied? "Then let me be the first," I announced, gathering my breath.
She beamed at me and waited patiently.
"Uh," I started, grasping for words. "I'm not a classical poet, you know."
"I'm sure you'll do fine."
"And I usually need time for the flow to come to me."
Her tone dropped. "Get on with it."
"Okay then." I cleared my throat. I opened my mouth, sighed, and cleared my throat again. "There... once was a woman from Shorehome," I recited cautiously. She smiled. "Who seemed to possess eager hormones. She roofied my grog, made my head all a fog. But at least she no longer is big-boned."
The bar wench burst into blustery laughter and clapped her hands. "I can't remember the last time I legitimately swooned," she said, taking a chug from my flagon (apparently forgetting it was drugged). "You, sir, are a delight!" She gulped the rest of the grog down and burped loudly.
My head swam as I scanned the bar. It was hard to focus on reality, but I could've sworn Izzy and the two guys were each balancing shots on their head while laughing. I opened my party chat.
Talon: Uh, are you feeling extremely funny or is it just me?
She paused and the small glass tumbled from her head. Both guys laughed and handed her their shots.
Izzy: Aw man, you just made me lose this round!
"Izzy, stick to the plan," I said out loud by accident.
The bar wench stiffened. "Who's Izzy? What plan?"
Talon: Shit!
I shook my head abruptly. "I mean, shit!"
It was getting hard to keep track of both lines of communication at once. I blinked again and focused on the waitress. "The plan," I said plainly. "To find Lucifer."
"That what in the who?" Her face contorted. "You ain't one of them weirdos, are you?"
"I don't think so."
She huffed. "You sound just like those dang blind witches. Talking all kinds of nonsense."
My attention shifted into laser focus. "What witches?"
She scowled. "Them three that do nothing all day but sit around the well. Now I won't tolerate you talkin' bout those witches when you got three women right here."
My brow furrowed. She grinned wide and then jiggled her two buxom beauts.
"You know," she said, "I have a private bed upstairs."
"I don't—"
"Quit yer games. We both know where this is headin'."
I swallowed. My mind was a mess, but my vision seemed to be clearing up a bit. And Izzy was definitely playing bar games. The hunter was lying down on a table with his shirt off while Izzy dolloped whip cream into his belly button.
"Good idea," I told the bar wench. "But I think I need another drink first."
She grinned. "You and me both, Romeo." She jumped up and disappeared toward the bar.
I stood as well, but I wasn't quite as nimble.
Agility Check...
Fail!
I fell on my ass, but I rolled over and tried again. The room spun while I stood, but I braced myself and trudged forward, looking up just in time to see Izzy slam the trapper's face into the mercenary's sugary stomach.
"Hey!" yelled the man on the receiving end. He snapped up and grabbed Izzy roughly. She spun and decked him in the face. In a blink, her disguise vanished. Suddenly the two adventurers weren't just ogling her body but her level as well. She met my eye.
Izzy: Uh, are you feeling extremely funny or is it just me?
I grabbed her hand and we limped out of there before our pursuers could snag us. Now removed from combat, her disguise shimmered back on.
"I never thought I'd say this," I muttered as we shambled down the street, "but that place is way too debaucherous."
Izzy burped in agreement.
0810 The Witcher
We stumbled through the market as our heads cleared. I wasn't sure how much time passed but it only seemed a few minutes. The fresh sea breeze was doing wonders.
Izzy and I compared notes on our map of Shorehome. We'd never been here before, and it was no longer under saintly control, so our maps were incomplete. There was no checking the wiki either. However, the overworld map did show a mini-representation of the city, and at its heart was a circular well surrounded by stone obelisks. That was our destination.
"Be ready for a fight," I told her. "Just in case."
"That's a bad idea in the middle of this place."
"Our only options are bad ideas."
It wasn't long before the Stonehenge markers came into view. The obelisks stood precariously at varying heights and widths. Concentric circles lowered into a sort of stone amphitheater several rows deep. At the bottom was a well that might have once been an elevator. Now salt water flooded it and the lowest ring of seating. Three boggarts stood hunched at equidistant points around the well: Crowlat, Somlat, and Havlat. They were muttering before our arrival but suddenly went unnaturally still.
I traded a cautious glance with Izzy. Then I stepped lightly and quietly down into the stands.
"Intruder!" growled Somlat.
"We smells you," said Havlat.
Despite their alarm, they remained facing the well, robes tightly wrapped over their grotesque bodies. Boggarts were terrifying to glimpse, but I'd done it before up close. Their skin was patchy and scaly and black like used campfire logs. Their faces were bony, their hair was matted, and their voices seemed to scrape against my soul.
I stepped down another level and equipped my spear. The three witches stood one ring below me, where the flooded well water spilled over the floor. They didn't seem to mind. I made my way around the row until I stood above Crowlat.
She grunted. "Come to kills us again?"
I raised my chin and studied her back. "It was your god who killed you. What are you doing here?"
She seethed as she spoke. "The wilderness near Stronghold is no longer safe for our kind. You saw to that."
"It was more your doing than mine."
The robes shuddered with a cackle. "The pagan killer is taking the moral high ground?"
"Says the witch who tried to murder an entire city."
"Aye. Says I. The difference is we've been forced to reflect upon our actions." Crowlat still faced the well, but she raised her hands before her. A heavy chain scraped the watery stone. All three of them had their arms bound to the precipice of the well.
"You're prisoners here? Why?"
"Is the near destruction of our people not enough?" She released a hacking cough before quieting again. "Come nearer, boy."
Izzy stepped closer but I held up my hand. I had no intention of getting too close to Crowlat, but these boggart witches weren't nearly as po
werful in relation to me as they had been. Their name tags were yellow now. And they were in chains.
The Great Well was not much of anything anymore. Rock and water filled the depths, sealing it off for good. I scanned for a dry spot on the lower level but had to give that up. My boots splashed down in the inch of water five feet from Crowlat. Immediately, all three witches snapped their gazes to me.
I shuddered. None of them had eyes. They were all blind, but their empty sockets stared excitedly at me anyway. Crowlat's chains strained as she pressed toward me.
"You wear a poor disguise, Talon. Drifters have no place, but you two are out of place."
I shrugged, confident in her inability to reach me. "Not everyone is as perceptive as you."
"And yet they see what the Eye of Orik couldn't."
I chewed my lip. The initial enthusiasm of the witches wore away. Havlat and Somlat faced the water again. Crowlat grumbled.
"You're speaking of Shorehome," I said. "Goblins and humans living side by side. It was a solution you didn't foresee."
"Foresight," she snapped, "is only as good as those who grant the visions."
Something told me she wasn't referring to Orik.
The boggarts were holy people among the pagans. The witches, especially. They were praised oracles who had guided their people for centuries. At least in game lore. And now what were they? Overthrown? Penitent?
Havlat snickered. "You waste your words, sister. The pagan killer will stick to his truth."
"Blinder than old crones who took their own eyes," agreed Somlat.
"Why?" I asked. "Why would you take your own eyes out?"
Havlat cocked her head. "To see."
Crowlat snorted. "Fools, we were. The fallen one was right. The humans weren't our oppressors. It was the saints."
Izzy hopped closer. "Lucifer? You know where he is?"
"The architect of our rebirth," said Havlat.
"The one who opened our eyes," said Somlat.