by A. J. Markam
Eh. I’d finally come done it.
Varkus?
Fuck Varkus and the money I owed him. That guy was a mob boss who wanted to have me killed.
But Dorp was a gentle soul whose only mistake was trusting the wrong asshole: me.
I’d spent weeks looking for him after that horrible night, but he’d apparently disappeared from Exardus. If I ever had the chance to apologize, I knew I would do whatever it took to make things right with him.
That might seem stupid to you, seeing as he was only an NPC in a video game… but that didn’t matter. He felt real to me, and the suffering I’d inflicted on him had felt just as real. And ultimately, the guilt came from the fact that I’d done something that went 100% against the way I tried to live. Until I made it right, I knew my conscience would continue to nag at me like some malevolent version of Jiminy Cricket with razor-sharp teeth.
But until I could find Dorp and apologize, I did what I always did: I pushed the memory down and tried not to think about him.
Instead, I went back to wordlessly watching the boring-ass, grassy hills that rolled out endlessly in front of us.
A small reprieve came when we stopped for lunch four hours after leaving Asterwaite. Then we resumed our trip… and the tedium.
Several hours later, Alaria dropped down from the sky and announced, “We’re close.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, relieved as all get-out. I was slowly going mad from boredom.
“I remember there was a town near Orlo’s hideout that had a church with three spires on top. I can definitely make out a town a couple of miles away, and there’s a building with three pointed turrets on it.”
“Orlo? That was your ex-master’s name?”
“Yes.”
I patted the saddle behind me. “Maybe you should settle in for a while and give me some more info on this Orlo character.”
She smirked as she fluttered down behind me and put her arms around my waist. “You just like feeling my tits against your back.”
“Not just that,” I protested humorously. “So what are we up against?”
“Well, for starters, he’s a gnome.”
I snorted with laughter. “A gnome?!”
“Yes, a gnome,” she said crossly. “What’s so funny about that?”
“What, besides the fact that we’re going up against a guy who’s shorter than Stig?”
“When it comes to warlocks, size doesn’t matter.” I could hear the evil smirk in her voice as she added, “Something which you should be very thankful for.”
“Watch it,” I growled, my ego stung.
“Oh, I’ll do more than watch it,” she whispered seductively in my ear.
I felt her hand reach around the front of my pants. I was beginning to anticipate a very pleasant rest of the journey indeed –
When her fingers bumped into Stig’s back.
“Awkward!” he yelled belligerently, which shut things down pretty damn quickly. After all, nobody wants to get a hand job with an angry imp riding in the saddle in front of you.
“I should make you walk behind the horse,” I said, annoyed.
“I would still see it,” Stig said, then proceeded to make his favorite gesture: poking one finger through an OK sign he made with his other hand, which created an obscene slapping sound.
fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap
“That’s not – it’s – I should make you walk a mile behind the horse!” I snapped.
“I would still hear it,” Stig said, and began crying out orgasmically in his croaking, chain-smoker’s voice. “Oh! Oh! OH!”
I wasn’t sure if he was imitating me or Alaria, and frankly, I didn’t want to know. It was like listening to Yoda as a phone sex operator, which was about the biggest boner-killer you can possibly imagine.
“Stop that!” I yelled.
He complied, but the damage had already been done.
Alaria’s hand retreated from my crotch, and instead patted my shoulder.
“Maybe later,” she said.
“I should tie you to a rope and drag you along behind the horse at a gallop,” I snarled at Stig.
He ignored the vitriol in my voice. Instead, he sighed contentedly and announced, “Not awkward anymore.”
7
Alaria told me the rest as we rode towards the town.
Apparently Orlo was even more powerful than Saykir, which gave me pause. We had only defeated the frost elf with help from a high priestess and a ship full of demon pirates, none of which we had at our disposal anymore.
Unlike Saykir, who had given up his demonic retinue, Orlo supposedly presided over a dozen demons – or at least he had when Alaria had left him twenty-five years ago. By now he might have even more.
I had absolutely no idea how we were going to beat this guy. But he was next up in the queue, so I didn’t exactly have much choice.
According to my map, the town’s name was Maredo, and we reached it a couple of hours before sunset. It was little more than a farming community, with some herds of cattle grazing off in the pasture land. Just like Alaria had said, the largest building in town did indeed have three spires, each one topped with different symbols: a five-pointed star, a crescent moon, and what I assumed was a comet. Other than the pagan symbols, it looked like a clapboard church straight out of the old West. In fact, the entire town would’ve looked right at home in Texas circa 1850.
The inhabitants were mostly human, and stared at me, Stig, and Alaria with undisguised hatred.
I figured we had run into a Midwest version of Fernburg, the ultra-religious community where I had begun the game. Everybody in Fernburg had hated me because I was a Warlock who trafficked in demons, and they were devotees of a goddess of chastity.
I had no idea who or what they worshipped in this town, but since they were all dressed like schoolmarms and ranch hands, it probably didn’t help matters any that I had a barely clad, hot-as-hell chick riding behind me.
There was something odd about the town, though. It took me a second to put my finger on it, but when I did, it stuck out like a sore thumb.
There wasn’t a graveyard.
In fact, I hadn’t seen a graveyard since we had left Asterwaite.
This was both bizarre and troubling. Bizarre because graveyards were the starting points for players after they got killed in the game. You found cemeteries virtually everywhere – even in places where you wouldn’t expect them, like in the middle of a jungle, on a remote ledge in the mountains, even at the bottom of a lake.
The fact that there wasn’t a graveyard in a populated area was very strange, to say the least.
It was troubling because we were about to go up against the most powerful opponent we’d ever faced. Unless he had a graveyard in his lair – which would be very convenient, and therefore unlikely – I was going to be stuck resurrecting somewhere way out in the middle of buttfuck Egypt when I inevitably got killed the first couple (or couple dozen) times.
“Should we stop here for the night?” I asked. “Maybe go after Orlo in the morning?”
Alaria shrugged. “Up to you. I think he’s only a half-hour ride from here, so it’s your call.”
We still had a couple of hours of daylight left. However, we had been riding for almost eight hours. I was tired – plus I wasn’t exactly relishing the prospect of facing down a master Warlock, gnome or not.
“Let’s get an inn for the night and start fresh tomorrow,” I suggested. “We can grab some food and – ”
“Booze!” Stig cried out.
I didn’t want a drunk imp on my hands again, but I couldn’t exactly cut Stig off completely. After all, he had played babysitter for me during my epic bender in Exardus.
“Maybe a drink or two,” I said.
“Or five,” Stig suggested.
“Don’t push it.”
We dismounted Balrog in front of the only structure in town that looked like it could be an inn, and I dismissed the horse with a wave of my hand. He disappeare
d in a black mist, and we walked inside the building.
If it wasn’t an inn, it was definitely a pub. There was a bar at the back of the room surrounded by small wooden tables and roughhewn chairs. A human bartender with a black mustache glowered at us as he cleaned glasses with a rag. A female waitress in a calico dress drifted between the handful of occupied tables, where half a dozen patrons nursed steins of beer.
Stig, Alaria, and I took a seat at one of the tables and waited.
And waited…
…and waited.
When it became obvious that the waitress was doing everything possible not to look in our direction, I spoke up loudly. “Hey, could we get something to eat?”
“And booze!” Stig croaked as he stood up in his chair with his fists planted on the table, looking for all the world like a demanding toddler.
The waitress glanced over at the bartender. The man squinted at us, then gave her a subtle nod.
The waitress shuffled over to us with a combination of skittishness and resentment. “What do you want?” she mumbled.
“Booze!” Stig cried out.
The waitress flinched like he was a dog frothing at the mouth.
“One beer for the imp,” I said, then asked Alaria, “You want anything to drink?”
“Just water.”
“Make that two waters,” I said, then asked, “Do you have some roasted meat? Maybe a chicken or a hunk of beef?”
“We have some quail,” the woman said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Fine, two quail for each of us. And a big bowl of roasted potatoes or whatever vegetables you’ve got.”
The woman turned and hastily beat a retreat.
I checked out the other patrons, who were all watching us on the sly while trying not to be obvious.
I leaned over and asked Alaria, “What’s with these guys?”
“Well, I’m a succubus, and we’re traveling with an imp, which means you’re obviously a warlock. Everyone in this town knows Orlo, so they probably assume you’re a friend coming to visit. If the situation is anything like it was when I lived here, then they all hate Orlo’s guts – and yours by association.”
“Maybe we should clear that up right now,” I said, and stood up from the table.
Alaria caught my hand. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“Relax – I’ll be smooth about it.”
“So what you’re telling me is I should get ready to fight, is that it?”
“NO, I’m just going to talk to them.” I gave her what I considered to be a winning smile. “Trust me.”
She sighed, let go of my hand, and looked over at Stig. “Get ready to fight.”
Stig pointed at me accusatorily. “Not before I have my drink!”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I said.
“Oh ye of unwarranted optimism,” Alaria retorted.
I ignored her and walked over to the bar, where I sat down on a stool and asked in the friendliest tone possible, “How’s it going?”
The bartender just scowled at me. “What do you want?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Maybe you should go make conversation with your friends and leave the decent folk alone.”
Decent folk.
Reeaaally.
“Do you have a problem?” I asked in irritation.
“No problem, stranger,” he said in a Fuck you tone of voice.
“Well, that’s good to hear,” I said sarcastically.
I thought about following Alaria’s advice and just walking away, but I was so annoyed by the asshole’s attitude that I wasn’t going to slink off like some yellow-bellied dog. (Look at me – just five minutes in town and already talking in Western lingo.)
Not to mention that I had at least one question I wanted answered.
“Just out of curiosity, where’s your town’s graveyard?” I asked.
“That tears it!” the bartender roared as he reached under the bar, whipped out a gun, and pointed it right in my face.
Now, granted, the gun was more like a pistol from the American Revolution than a revolver from the old West. It had a wooden handle, a single flintlock hammer, and a black metal barrel. I doubted the weapon was accurate enough to hit a barn at 30 feet.
Unfortunately, I was a lot closer than 30 feet.
I wasn’t sure if a point-blank headshot would kill me outright or just do significant damage, but I didn’t really want to find out without a graveyard nearby.
I heard chairs scrape across the wooden floor behind me, followed by the telltale fwoosh of demons summoning fireballs.
“Told you so,” I heard Alaria say.
“CHILL, BITCH!” Stig roared. “SOMEBODY TELL THAT BITCH TO CHILL!”
“Might want to follow your own advice, imp,” the bartender snarled.
I heard the scrape of other chairs, then the sound of bowstrings being pulled back.
By the time I looked over, all six bar patrons had bows out – and their arrows were aimed right at Stig and Alaria.
“Oh shit,” Stig muttered in a low voice.
“Guys?” I called out to Stig and Alaria. “It’s okay. Don’t do anything. Just sit down and relax.”
There was a moment’s hesitation – and then I heard the creeeaak of bodies settling into wooden chairs.
The archers let up slightly on their bowstrings, though they didn’t stop pointing their arrows at my friends.
“Wise decision, warlock,” the bartender snarled, never taking the pistol away from my face.
“I don’t understand what the problem is,” I said as diplomatically as possible.
“You’re the problem! You and your kind, destroying all our graveyards for miles and miles around! And when we make a new one, no matter how far away it is from him, here he comes to destroy it again, over and over! We’ve had to resort to burning our dead instead of – ”
“Wait – are you talking about Orlo?”
The bartender’s scowl deepened, and his finger quivered on the trigger of his gun.
“ – because we hate that guy,” I said quickly. “We’re actually here to kill him.”
The bartender kept frowning, though he eased his finger off the trigger the slightest bit. “Why should I trust you?”
“See that succubus behind me?”
“Oh yes. I see the Hell Slut.”
Alaria’s voice barked out, “You little – ”
“Alaria, DON’T,” I warned her, and held up a hand behind me. “Please.”
She harrumphed, but I didn’t hear any more magical sounds related to fire.
“She’s my succubus. Was,” I corrected myself. “I freed her a couple of months ago, and since then we’ve been on a quest to kill all of her ex-masters. Orlo is one of them.”
The bartender gave a short, bitter laugh. “Now I know you’re lying. What kind of a warlock would free his own demons?”
“A good warlock like me. I’m the Emancipator of Abaddon – maybe you’ve heard of me,” I said, and couldn’t help but give a smug little self-satisfied smile.
“Nope,” the bartender said.
My smile drooped. “Well, I freed a whole bunch of demons – “
“Why in damnation would you do that?” the bartender snapped. “Now they’re free to wander about and terrorize decent folk!”
“No, no,” I said hastily, “they’re not here, they’re in Abaddon.”
“Where’s Abaddon?”
“…um… it’s in one of the Seven Hells…”
The bartender looked both horrified and furious. “You died and went to hell?!”
“No no no,” I said even more hastily. “I was actually just visiting.”
“You chose to visit HELL?!”
I clearly had not thought this out.
“No no no no – look, the whole point of this conversation was to demonstrate that I’m a good warlock. The kind that frees demons.”
“Except for that one in Exardus,” Alaria called out
mischievously.
“Yeah, Blutus,” Stig agreed. “You didn’t free him.”
“Yes I did,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Only at the very end,” Alaria pointed out.
“When you had to,” Stig said.
“And we shamed you into it,” Alaria added.
“Guys? You’re NOT helping,” I snapped. Then I forced a smile at the bartender. “Anyway, I’m not the same kind of warlock as Orlo.”
“Do you use dark magic?” the bartender asked.
“Well… yes, but – ”
“Then you’re the same kind of warlock,” the bartender hissed, and his finger began to quiver on the trigger again.
“No no no no no,” I said, shaking my head. “See, if you’re going to be a warlock, you don’t have any choice but to use dark magic.”
“So why don’t you just choose to not be a warlock?”
“…uh…”
I thought about explaining to the bartender that if I ceased being a Warlock, then I wouldn’t be able to draw a paycheck from the video game company that had created his digital ass – but I didn’t think that argument would go over any better than my previous one.
“The point is,” I said, “all we want to do is get on our way so we can kill Orlo. I’m assuming that would be a win-win for both you and me – right?”
The bartender glared at me, but finally relented. Or at least he relented as much as anyone can while still keeping a gun pointed between your eyes.
He flicked the barrel over a couple of times to the left. “Get out of town right now and maybe we won’t kill your sorry ass.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, and stepped away slowly. “Just backing up… leaving very slowly… no problems here… nosiree…”
I accidentally bumped up against a chair. It scraped across the hardwood floor, making the bartender’s trigger finger twitch the tiniest bit.
“Everything’s fine, everything’s fine,” I said as I felt my way past the chair and table. “Just leaving… let’s go, guys.”
Stig and Alaria followed me out of the bar, although Stig paused just long enough to ask plaintively, “Can I get my booze?”
The archers all pulled back their bowstrings.
“Guess not,” Stig muttered as he scurried out of the room.