Nevertheless, I didn’t want to get to the bottom of that right now. The black-market traders, based on the extinguished fires on the forest edge, were already going home but I needed a bow today so I could start leveling archery right away. I’d already lost a lot of time listening to that drunkard’s story.
Patrick told me how he’d come to have such a life: he’d served in the city guard, fallen in love with Jane and, one day before their wedding, executed his whole squadron, subjugated by the will of either a mysterious fog or the breath of a Sleeping one. It was a tragic story, but absolutely not in Snowstorm’s style. They usually didn’t go out for such gory stuff, which was yet another oddity...
“You know what happened next,” Patrick finished his story. “And so, mate, I’m asking, please help me! The light has returned to my life, and I need help like never before!”
Honorary Tristad Citizen, former guard patrol squadron captain, Patrick O’Grady has discovered that his fiancée is alive. That perked him up and gave him back his taste for life, but now he needs your help to “become a person” again by restoring his former reputation and authority in society.
Reward:
— 2400 experience points;
— your reputation with Patrick O’Grady will be increased by 250 points;
— next mission in quest chain.
Unlike the beginning of the chain, there were no penalties threatened for refusing so, without thinking it over, I agreed:
“Of course, Patrick. I’ll help any way I can! Or...”
The description painted a fairly vague picture of the mission, but then I could see progress bars for the quest. I quickly realized this mission would be impossible to complete, even if I dropped everything and spent years doing nothing but helping the former city guard patrol squadron captain.
Alcoholism
Days without alcohol: 0/21.
External Appearance
Charisma: 2/15.
Physical attributes
Strength: 9/45. Agility: 6/35. Endurance: 4/35. Perception 9/30.
Reputation
Tristad: 25/2000 (mistrust).
Jane: 0/2000 (mistrust).
Seemingly, the mission would be completed when all the bars were completely filled, but I immediately saw a catch. How to get Patrick’s reputation with the city to respect, i.e. two thousand points in the time I had left in the sandbox? Impossible! I could do everything else in the big world and the wrinkles would even leave his face if we brought up his charisma, but reputation with Tristad? Or what would change after removing the alcoholism debuff? Maybe that was what was cutting all Patrick’s attributes?
Boom!
Thunder blasted and a notification came in. There was a new threat in the world, this one of class D. I panicked for a moment before I realized it was not talking about me. The message said the threat’s location could not be determined. Just imagine the jolt this must have given the preventers!
Patrick meanwhile looked as if he hadn’t noticed a thing. The odd NPC started shaking my hand and thanking me:
“Thank you, Scyth!”
It took me a few seconds to realize what for.
“But I warn you – no more alcohol!” I said sternly. “If I see you drinking even one time you’ll have to get Jane back on your own. Got it?”
“Not even elven white? But it’s a lovely concoction that tastes of berries...”
“No elven wine, and no dwarven drink. This is the most important step on the path to getting your wife back!”
“Good,” Patrick said seriously. “When I asked you to pay a visit to Behemoth, I didn’t think it would lead to anything. But now that it has, the gods have given me a clear sign that my path is not at an end.”
“By the way, speaking of the gods...” I remembered Behemoth’s recommendation. “The Sleeping one...”
“I am ready,” he interrupted me with a chuckle. “What needs to be done? Sacrifice somebody? Swear an oath of loyalty? Swear off...”
“Nothing of the sort,” interrupting him, I shook my head. “Give me your hand, Patrick.”
He extended me a dirty palm with blackened fingernails and got on edge. I squeezed his hand and activated Touch of the Sleeping Gods. Patrick gave a barely perceptible nod and clenched my fingers in reply. Nothing happened visually, but Behemoth and his lethargic friends had gained a new follower.
Patrick O’Grady has become a follower of the Sleeping Gods.
As Apostle of the Sleeping Gods, you can see information about new converts in a special window in your profile. For now, it’s just general facts, but as the temple of the Sleeping Gods grows in level, you will have more access to information about followers.
The free city of Tristad has been added to list of cities where followers of the Sleeping Gods dwell.
Not enough followers in Tristad to proclaim it a city under protection of the Sleeping Gods! Requires: more than 75% of residents are followers of the Sleeping Gods. At present: less than 1%.
Dominant god in Tristad at present: Nergal the Radiant.
You have received experience points for converting a new follower: 100.
Experience points at present level (11): 7840/8800.
Unity Effect: +1 to Strength.
Would you like to initiate Patrick O’Grady as a priest of the Sleeping ones?
A priest has the ability to convert new followers, receiving new bonuses for each one.
Present temple development level (0), gives a maximum of one priest.
A bot priest of the Sleeping Gods? The idea seemed attractive to me, and the legend was more than appropriate: a drunk suddenly converts and gives himself up to the priesthood to make new converts. But it wasn’t that easy: Patrick didn’t accept.
“Hold your horses, padre,” he explained. “First tell me about these Sleeping Gods. I’ve heard a lot about them, and none of it good. It’s one thing for an atheist like myself to officially become a ‘follower’ to butter up a friend,” he bent his fingers into quotation marks, “it’s a totally different thing to go bringing innocent people into a cult.”
“I don’t know much myself at this point, Patrick.” I got up and helped him to his feet. “Let’s go see the vendors before they’ve all gone home. You could use a new set of clothes as well... And what do you fight with, a sword?”
“What, are we going somewhere?” he asked. “Who are we gonna fight?”
“You’ve got the idea. We’re gonna be exterminating vermin,” I said, moving on an idea I had to kill two birds: this would help him and get me on track with levelling. “Have you seen the rewards the city council gives for monsters? That’s what we’re gonna do.”
“I’ve got everything I need then!” he exclaimed. “Of course, I drank through everything I ever owned, even my mind, but I never sold my sword or armor. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just need to drop by my house.”
I couldn’t find either Underweight or Overweight in the vendor rows. Maybe that was for the best. I didn’t have to waste time talking. Instead I just bought a normal white bow from a yawning low-level gear dealer for ten silver.
Composite arched bow
Damage: 7-10.
Ranged weapon.
Durability: 55/55.
Requires level: 10.
Sell price: 3 silver coins, 25 copper coins.
Then Patrick and I dragged ourselves into town, went back to the city jail and, in the streetlamp light, I replenished my inventory of quests for the heads of wanted monsters and criminals. Overall, it was just a formality to help to the players know what to hunt and have an idea of where to find certain creatures. You didn’t need a quest to turn in the head of the sinister Witch Meredith, who lured travelers into her hut. Just bring in proof that the witch was dead and get your reward.
The players we came across followed us with surprised gazes but, if they asked any questions, I had a perfectly good reason to be walking with a mob – a quest. And I could easily show it off if anyone got cu
rious. Sure it may have been a unique quest, but it wasn’t a big enough deal for anyone to envy me over it.
“Ah, wee lad! I can just imagine seeing Jane again. Even from afar she’s the only one for me. Everything inside me is singing!” Patrick said dreamily. “And you know, even if she doesn’t want to know me or forgot, for example, I won’t be upset. Just knowing she’s alive is be enough for me. And now, I would do anything to get back her love!”
After the jail, we went to the other end of town so Patrick could get his gear. By that time, he was getting on my nerves. It just seemed he had a story for everything, usually more than one. He told me about being a young peasant’s son who enrolled in the army then suddenly jumped to his refusing the priesthood and took a wild tack.
“You know, Scyth, I used to know a bearded old preacher,” Patrick began, unable to stop staring at the tavern door and smacking his lips reflexively. “But he didn’t preach faith in any one god. In fact, it was the exact opposite. His name was either Carlos or Marcus. I don’t remember anymore. But he was always calling for collective living and equality and other such nonsense. He said earnings should be shared, everything should be shared, even wives. And by the way, he was dishonorably discharged from the army after banging his corporal’s wife, the rogue! He was mixed up and couldn’t tell the difference between other people’s things and public property. But there was one thing I remember in particular. He said there were like no gods, just the opium of the masses. And gods were all just something dreamed up by priests to fill their coffers with offerings from their parishioners. They said to him: you fool, where do blessings come from if not from the gods? But he balked, saying it was nothing more than cheap magic...”
Patrick stopped next to a small house with crooked shutters. The low pockmarked fence was reminiscent of an old man’s toothless lower jaw and the gate was just lying right on the ground.
“We’re here. Sorry, you can’t come in... yet. It’s not very picked up... I’m embarrassed,” he admitted and asked with hope in his voice. “Are you in a big rush? I’d like to wash up. I don’t want to stink up my uniform...”
“I’ve got other things I could do,” I confirmed. “But I’m afraid it might be too late. Patrick, you know everyone in the city. Could you tell me where I might find the master of unarmed combat?”
“Didn’t you just buy a bow? I thought you were an archer...”
“I am. But I don’t have the skill yet. I need to learn to shoot.”
“You must be kidding!” Patrick guffawed. “They don’t just put bounties on the heads of those bogies just for fun. Don’t you know that? They’re dangerous! How are you planning to handle with them? If you were pinning your hopes on me, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not exactly in shape if you understand what I’m getting at... Or are you just trying to get rid of me? You didn’t need to go through all this trouble for that, wee lad! I’m just as happy to die without a bath!”
“No, I that was not my plan. But I am already starting to regret agreeing to help you. I asked you a direct question and all I get in response is...”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Patrick raised his hands in conciliation. “Sorry, I haven’t had a drop to drink for two hours, and it isn’t coming easy! My pipes are burning, my throat is shredded... But it’s fine, I’ll survive. Listen, the hand-to-hand fighting teacher is Master Sagda. He lives in the armory quarter. There’s a red fist on his banner, you won’t miss it. By the way, he can also teach how to use your feet, Nergal willing, errr, Sleeping one willing! Maybe you can learn to windmill! You’ll find Conrad the hunter in the same place, if you like. He’s the bowmaster. He can put an arrow in a squirrels eye from five hundred steps! Though it is honestly night and they aren’t likely to let you in, but feel free to try your luck...”
Patrick yawned wide and, when I saw him, I did the same. My first day in Dis since the ban was dragging on, and I still hadn’t really accomplished anything.
“You know what, wee laddie? Maybe we should put it off until tomorrow?” my underling suggested. “I’ll go get some sleep and get myself together starting in the morning then clean my armor, sharpen my sword and you calmly get your lessons from the masters and...”
I didn’t realize what happened at first. O’Grady suddenly seized, choked on his words, burbled and then I saw a black bubble come from his mouth in the light of Geala the moon. Blood. The town drunk’s body fell to the ground and behind him was the dark silhouette of his murderer. In his hands there were a pair of smoking daggers twirling ravenously.
He didn’t run away. Looting the corpse with a cool smile, his white teeth shimmered.
Atiyakari, level 18 human
Clan: Axiom.
Real name: Sanji Reddy.
Real age: 15.
Class: Cutthroat.
“Woah, almost a gold worth of silver! Some beggar he was. I always knew he had money! Damn, minus three rep with the city...” he said.
“What the heck?” was all I could burble out.
“Did I break a unique chain? My sympathy,” but I didn’t hear any sympathy in his voice.
“What the hell, Sanji?”
“I don’t understand,” he shrugged. “Just following orders.”
“From who?” I asked even though I didn’t have to.
“Uh, I guess I forgot to say. Big Po sends you a big hello!”
The cutthroat dissolved in the darkness. I looked at the pool of blood spreading beneath Patrick and heard laughter growing quieter in the night.
Chapter 10. Judge Cannon’s Dilemma
THE STARRY SKY was reflected in Patrick’s glassy eyes. My initial shock had passed. And it was replaced with questions. How much did Atiyakari hear? What if he was invisibly there the whole time and saw us talking about the Sleeping ones? Had Patrick perhaps managed to accept my offer while dying?
I had no answers to any of those questions. The deserted outlying street suddenly grew lively. Torchlight and the sound of clanging armor let me know the guards were on the way. I was quickly surrounded by ten city guardsmen, one of whom patted down Patrick’s corpse.
“On the ground!” someone drawled out authoritatively, snarling. “Hands behind your head! Don’t move!”
I was knocked off my feet, twirled around and disarmed. Grabbing me by the hair, the guardsman lifted my head and the smell of meat and onions struck my nose. Curling his lips, the familiar senior guardsman, Gale, stared me straight in the face:
“Tristad visitor Scyth! You are charged with the premeditated murder of former city guard patrol squadron captain, honorary citizen Patrick O’Grady!” he announced. “Take him to the slammer, boys!”
“It wasn’t me, guardsman Gale!” I shouted, coming to my senses. “I saw who it was! It was...”
A strong punch to the gut stopped me from finishing. Gale picked me up painfully by the ears, broke my nose with a sharp blow of his forehead and, rolling his eyes furiously, roared:
“Shut up, you son of a bitch! You will open your mouth only when it is asked of you!”
Just then, my reputation with the city plummeted to hostile. A thought flickered by that I should use Ghastly Howl and flee the city, but I brushed it off. That would be equivalent to admitting guilt. It was better to wait and see how things played out. Naturally, I also decided against taking the guards down. If I did that, I might as well forget about the Commonwealth forever.
The only consolation was that Patrick did accept my offer. Notifications usually popped up on their own, but ones related to the gods specifically were filtered out and I could only see them by scrolling through the logs:
Patrick O’Grady has accepted your offer to become a priest of the Sleeping Gods.
He did it! Seeing Patrick twitch as his killer repeatedly stabbed with his dagger, I reacted intuitively and sent him another request. And he accepted!
After that came another notification. And it showed why Patrick’s new title mattered:
The sole priest of the Sleeping G
ods, Patrick O’Grady, has died.
The Sleeping Gods have decided to intervene! By the will and power of Behemoth, the lone priest of the faith will respawn in 23:58:21…
With a sigh of relief, I stopped trying to negotiate with the guardsmen and decided to keep silent while they dragged me to jail. Just wait for Patrick to respawn and then hope that his miraculous resurrection would restore my reputation with the city.
Apostle of the Sleeping Gods Page 8