by Sean Davies
“Damn,” the Needle Maiden sighed disappointedly. “Well, at least I met you tonight, handsome.” Spensa slapped a surprised Stitches on his backside.
“Erm, thanks?” the smartly dressed Alt replied awkwardly.
“So do you remember anything about mistress Mortissa?” Spensa asked eagerly. “What did she make you for? What can you do?”
“Sorry, I don’t know... this is all new to me,” Stitches replied, completely baffled. “I can mimic other people’s skills, though.”
“Maybe you two should discuss it all over a drink or two?” Constance suggested.
“Well, I suppose—” Stitches began.
“Good thinking, sexy-bum,” Spensa said to Connie, before dragging the Alt to the tavern’s old-fashioned bar. “Genevieve, that Book Wielder’s a keeper!” she called back, merrily.
“That was a sweet thing to do,” Genevieve said.
“Driving the poor lad into the belly of the beast is hardly sweet,” Quoronastra cut in haughtily, shaking his scaled head. “He can do better than some trollop.”
Constance mouthed ‘trollop’ at Genevieve, and the pair spent the remainder of the short walk trying not to crack up with laughter again.
Lord Imperator Alice Eve stopped talking to an armoured Mage knight, and looked over towards Connie and Genevieve. “You took your time,” she grumbled.
“Sorry, Ali, we were jumped by some goons,” Genevieve explained.
“We are all in one piece though, ma’am,” Olishia said in a formal tone.
“Good to hear,” Alice replied with a nod, giving the Dragon in human form an appraising glance.
“This is Quoronastra, by the way. He’s coming too,” Constance began, checking out the mercenary group while gesturing to the Dragon behind them. “Quoro, this is—”
“I know who—and more importantly, what—she is, thank you,” Quoronastra said rudely.
“Very well,” Alice replied uncaringly. “Mr. Stern, your Book Wielder has arrived.”
Ricardo eyed Constance up and down, before craning his neck to get a better look at her ass. “This is the Book Wielder?! I was expecting some wrinkled old fart, not an Archipelago babe—not that I’m complaining! You know this is a very dangerous quest you’re embarking on, don’t you, baby doll?” he asked patronisingly.
Constance gritted her teeth for a moment before replying. “I’m fully aware of how dangerous this mission is, thank you. Especially knowing that you, the famous Ricardo Stern, turned tail and ran home crying to his mummy.”
“She’s starting to grow on me,” Quoronastra said quietly to Genevieve.
“I’m actually surprised the big-man, Emperor Winston ‘dimension-merging’ Reynolds, isn’t taking this on for himself,” the adventurer said accusingly.
“The Primary Regulator is too busy to deal with this problem himself,” Alice said convincingly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll find that I’m more than capable of pulling this off, baby doll,” Constance hissed, still annoyed.
Ricardo burst into drunken laughter and tipped his hat to the Book Wielder. “Glad you’ve got some fire in you; you’re gonna need it. Now, what’s the deal with you two? You together-together, or nonexclusive?” he asked cheekily, gesturing to her and Genevieve.
“I’m gay,” Genie said flatly.
“And I’m bi, but I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on Mydia,” Constance added.
“Dang it,” Ricardo said, disappointed.
“You must be losing your touch, Stern,” a young man in a full set of red and black plate armour joked, before turning to face Constance. “I’m Kieran, but most people call me ‘the Warrior’. The dude with the bow is my brother, Kyle, and the other tin-can is my dad, Az—the leader of the Swords of Fortune mercenary group.”
Connie quickly introduced her half of the gang, and pointed out Stitches at the bar, who had his arm around the scantily dressed Needle Maiden as they shared a massive glass of some sugar-loaded concoction.
“Happy to be of service,” Kyle said with a little salute.
“Speak for yourself,” a gruff Werewolf sitting next to the bowman slurred. “I’m Till Vanderborg, and that fucking pillar is the last place on Mydia I wanna be.”
“No one cares, dude,” Kyle said, giving the wasted Werewolf a nudge. “Just close your eyes and think of the loot.”
Az walked over and shook Constance’s hand. “We won’t let you down, Constance Lee.”
“Whoa, hey, you work for me!” Ricardo said sharply.
“Standing by your side in dives like this is hardly fitting work for me and my organisation,” Az replied firmly.
“I made you and your organisation,” Ricardo huffed angrily.
“You funded us, and then you drove us into the dirt,” Az glared. “Now we’re going to restore our name and our honour.”
“Noble sentiments,” Alice said appreciatively.
Till let out a repulsed sigh. “I’ve still got your back, Ricardo—for the right price, of course.”
“Embarrassment,” Az scoffed, rolling his purple Mage eyes. “You can leave us any time you want, Till.”
“Not while there’s money to be made, Az,” the Werewolf replied disrespectfully.
“Azalea has a long-range airship waiting for you all in Tropica City,” Alice explained. “Gather the other mercenaries if you want to, but make sure you all keep this as quiet as possible. And don’t dawdle—the world may be counting on your efforts.”
“The other members of the Swords of Fortune may still be around Gaelliard City and Beachhead Two. I highly recommend we take the long route to Tropica and pick them up on the way,” Az suggested to Constance.
“Sure… sounds good to me,” the Book Wielder said uncertainly, confused as to why the armoured Mage was directing the information at her.
“If we’re heading that way, I could use a pit-stop at my apartment in Woodsholme,” Genevieve chimed in. “I didn’t exactly pack for the end of the world and ancient structure exploration when I popped over to Central Isle in the first place.”
“If that’s the case, we should split up,” Ricardo suggested slyly.
“Good thinking,” Genevieve agreed cheekily. “I’ll go with Connie, and we’ll meet you in Gaelliard,” she concluded with a wide grin.
“Oh, to be a fly on your bedroom wall…” the adventurer mused.
“I’d swat you before you could see anything good,” Genie said with a wink.
“See, man? You are losing your touch,” Kyle the Ranger teased. “You need to give you’re a boost, say… from exploring the greatest find in history?”
“Fame’s no good if you’re dead,” Till the Werewolf countered gruffly.
Ricardo took a swig from his cocktail. “You’re both right. Shit, what a pickle.”
“Well… now that you’re all set, I had better visit the Mayor,” Alice said unhappily. “Sergeant Winters, I trust you’ll be able to keep everyone on track until you reach the pillar?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Matthias Winters said with a bold salute.
“Good. Best of luck to you all,” Alice said, before taking her leave.
Ricardo waited until he was sure that the Lord Imperator had left, before speaking. “So if we’re really going to do this, how about we give ourselves a decent send off?”
“What are you talking about?” Matthias asked bluntly.
“We’re a ragtag group heading out on an incredibly dangerous adventure, so I think we should at least get to know each other a bit first,” Ricardo hedged confidently. “And I find the best way to get to know someone is over a few dozen drinks…”
Sergeant Winters tutted. “Do you really think I’m going to fall for something like that?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” the adventure told him impatiently. “That poxy pillar is the last place I want to visit, but do you really think I’d be dumb enough to double-cross the leader of the Justiciars?”
“Yes, to be perfectly hone
st,” Connie said with a cruel smirk.
“That hurts my feelings, baby doll,” Ricardo said, clutching his chest dramatically. “Besides, my man Kyle here is right: if I don’t get out of this rut then the name ‘Ricardo Stern’ will fade away into obscurity.”
“Where it belongs,” Quoronastra muttered under his breath.
“So what do you say, Connie Lee?” the adventurer asked with an audacious grin on his handsome face. “You up for letting the troops cut loose before the grand finale?”
“It’s not even close to nightfall,” Sergeant Winters muttered disapprovingly.
“It’s always night time in Gloomingdale,” Till Vanderborg belched and smiled.
“And I’m not asking you, Sergeant straight-and-narrow,” Ricardo said, dismissing the Justiciar with a wave of his hand. “I’m addressing the most crucial part of this mission, who also happens to be the best-looking Book Wielder I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”
“Oh, please,” Constance said, incredibly embarrassed. She was glad to have Genevieve by her side; the adventurer had some roguish charm at his disposal, even though she hated to admit it. “It’s really not down to me… but I do think it would be good idea for us to bond a bit, as long as we don’t get too drunk—and you don’t try anything stupid.”
“I do need some blood, might as well mix it with something interesting,” Genevieve said, backing Constance up.
“As much as I disapprove of socialising needlessly… I could murder a sherry,” Quoronastra admitted.
“I could definitely use a drink, especially after that fight,” Joran added.
“Well, if you are having one, I don’t want to be left out,” Olishia said.
“You two aren’t drinking, you’re on duty,” Matthias said abruptly to the Tropican troopers.
“Actually, Queen Azalea was rather vague about who we were actually reporting to once the Lord Imperator was gone,” Olishia Rose replied cheekily. “If the Book Wielder says we’re relaxing, then we are relaxing.”
“Nicely said,” Joran commended, giving his fellow Tropican trooper a subtle fist pump.
“Unacceptable—” Sergeant Winters began.
“Actually, sir, this could be a good way for us to get to know each other,” the Justiciar, Licinia Florens, cut in.
“Think of it like a team-building exercise, sir,” Hector Webb added from behind his commanding officer.
“We have a diverse range of skills and abilities,” Kieran ‘the Warrior’ began. “It’s definitely in our best interests to at least discuss what we can do. These old ruins have some pretty nasty traps and defences, and the one we’re heading to is the mother of them all.”
“I’ll stay sober,” Az volunteered to the exasperated Sergeant. “That way, you’ll have another set of eyes on the lookout for trouble.”
“The lack of faith you guys have in me is really upsetting,” Ricardo complained, making an exaggeratedly sad face.
“Fine,” Sergeant Winters conceded, “but take it easy, everyone.”
Ricardo rubbed his hands together and reached for his wallet. “Spensa!”
“What? I’m busy here!” the Needle Maiden shouted back from the old bar.
“We’re sticking around for the day,” Ricardo called, holding a thick wad of two-hundred Imperial Credit notes in the air, “and everything’s on me! Oh, and be a dear and find me Emileelee—it might be the last chance for me to get my end away! Unless I can squeeze in between Connie and Genevieve…”
“Keep on dreaming, sleaze-bag,” Genie replied with a chuckle.
“If my dreams were that good, I’d never wake up,” the adventurer retorted smoothly.
“That was quite slick, you’ve got to give him that,” Constance snickered.
“At best he can watch, but only to make him jealous,” Genie joked playfully.
“Such a cruel blue-haired temptress, you are,” Ricardo said theatrically.
“Complete and utter buffoon,” Quoronastra said scornfully, rolling his fiery eyes.
The Dragon’s choice of words sent the girls spiralling into another fit of giggles, and Quoronastra let out an annoyed sigh before heading to the bar for his sherry.
“Sorry, hun,” Spensa said, giving Stitches a kiss. “Business calls, but I’ll be right back!”
Stitches chuckled, and returned to his cocktail of sugary drinks. “Okay… cool.”
The group began to mingle, and the food and drinks started flowing freely, and although many of them had intended to keep their intake controlled, it wasn’t long before things evolved into a full-blown party. Olishia and Joran underwent the arduous process of removing their power armour manually, stashing their heavy plates behind the tavern bar, and Licinia and Hector followed their lead soon after, much to Sergeant Winters’ apparent disproval.
Genevieve ordered some potent Dreamleaf joints and Rushdust pouches from behind the bar and shared them out between the Justiciar and Tropican troopers, before hitting the dancefloor with Constance.
Connie tried snorting a pinch of the pink and red dust for herself and became so overwhelmingly hyperactive, switching quickly between ultra-bitchy to insanely hysterical, that she couldn’t cope; instead, she stuck to the relaxing blue hallucinogenic drug as she strutted her stuff alongside the troopers and the sexy Vampire Nightclaw that had captured her heart.
Meanwhile, the stoic Matthias Winters and Az exchanged their tactical expertise—alongside Kieran and Kyle, who could hold their liquor well—while keeping Ricardo Stern in their eye-line the whole time.
Spensa returned to a sugar-overloaded Stitches, and they swapped stories over sweet treats and long kisses.
“This secret quest of yours sounds awfully dangerous,” Spensa purred, running her hands down the smartly dressed Alt’s green suit. “Who is going to fix this fine material of yours if it gets all torn up?”
“I don’t know,” Stitches replied drunkenly. “I guess I’ll have to stay in one piece!”
“Easier said than done, sweet Stitches,” the Needle Maiden advised, reaching into one of her silicon arm’s secret compartments.
Spensa pulled out a small, nondescript sewing kit packed with shimmering needles, coiled thread, and a few plain buttons, along with a little red pen. She scribbled on the back of it and handed it over.
“This is a very special bit of kit. It belonged to mistress Mortissa herself, and it should patch you up nicely. I can’t bring myself to allow her handiwork to get all tattered—that, and you’re really, really cute. Okay, I shouldn’t drink on the job,” she added, surprised at how far gone she was. “My number’s on the back, for when you return.”
“I don’t know how to thank you enough!” Stitches gasped, pocketing the enchanted Alt repair kit.
“The day is far from over… I’m sure I’ll think of something inappropriately indecent,” Spensa said seductively, grabbing Stitches by his tie and drawing him close for a passionate kiss.
Ricardo was busy kissing Emileelee’s tanned artificial neck, when Till Vanderborg staggered towards him.
“Nice work throwing ‘em off-guard, boss,” the Werewolf murmured, gesturing to the others. “We gonna hit the road?”
The adventurer shook his head. “Not a chance. There’s no way we can hide from the Justiciars forever.”
Till let out a pained sigh. “So what, then? We go back to that death-trap, fill our pockets with riches, and then ditch ‘em when the shit hits the fan?”
“More or less... at least that way we can say we tried, when their friends catch up to us,” Ricardo smirked nastily, as he ran his hands down his Needle Maiden lover’s perfect body.
✽ ✽ ✽
In the dreamscape, the Reynoldses arrived at the Hotel without any more grandiose distractions, and parked directly opposite the entrance.
In the real world, the Hotel Noir was one of the finest hotels in the world, boasting such a high level of exquisite finery that it even managed to put some of the greatest Tropican resorts to shame. T
he psychological version of the hotel, however, was bleak and abandoned, with boarded-up windows and heavily damaged architecture riddled with bullet holes and burn marks.
“It's depressing seeing the place like this,” Winston said weakly.
Veronica rubbed his shoulder. “I know, but just remember that it's only in your mind. Think of anything that really stings as just more fuel for our vengeance when we track down Archmage dick-for-brains,” she added playfully, trying to keep her own spirits up after the documentary.
They looked around and confirmed that they were alone, before leaving the sports car and heading to the entrance. The outside seating area was ruined and caked in dry blood, and the front entrance was blocked by a large board of wood marked with the Holy Autocracy’s symbol and the words ‘forbidden area – trespassers will be executed’. The couple glancing around again, making sure there was no one present, and raised their hands in unison. Winston's force magic and Veronica's telekinesis made short work of the barricade, and they headed inside.
The musty air hit them immediately, and they both felt as though they had breached an ancient tomb. Everything was decrepit, broken, and even scorched in places, and the dust was so thick they could see it floating in the air.
“It looks like the Gloom,” Winston said sadly, before an angry sobbing sounded from behind the reception desk.
The Reynoldses glanced at each other, prepping for trouble as they took a step forward. Suddenly, they were hit by an invisible wave of static, and the hotel warped and distorted around them until it resembled its former glorious appearance. Although the Hotel Noir looked restored, every surface radiated a ghostly glow, and translucent guests went about their business, walking through each other and walls while acting as though nothing was amiss.
“What the actual fuck?” Veronica gasped.
Winston nudged his wife and nodded towards the reception desk, where a solid woman was still crying in-between angry growls. He drew his pistol and held it steady with both hands.
“Hello, who are you?” Winston asked warily.
“Forgotten me so soon, have you, Winston?” the woman hissed.
She turned to face the couple and they both recognised her immediately; it was Mary, the young woman who had attempted to break Winston and Veronica up and lost her hair for it. She looked the way she did before Veronica's revenge with the clippers, with wavy brown shoulder-length hair and light blue eyes, except that her skin was pallid, scarred, and covered with stitches.