by M B Reid
She cleansed herself with rose water, and applied the blood-red lipstick she’d found buried in the dresser. She had no idea who it belonged to, nor did she care. The colour went well with her fiery hair, and drew just the right kind of attention to her lips. Perhaps more importantly than the perfect look, the lipstick gave her an extra persuasion bonus for the next few hours. This was going to be child's play.
In the wardrobe she found a pair of high heels. They were crude by modern standards, but impressive in this world. They added a few inches to her height, and accentuated the air of sexuality she’d been cultivating. Unlike the other items, these carried no bonus. They simply helped her get into the right mindset. She’d last seen these men a few days earlier. They were twins, as dense as rocks and twice as solid. For whatever insane incestuous reasons, the two had a burning desire to share her.
She had no interest in being shared.
But she could use this to her advantage. Reality didn’t matter, all that was important was that they thought they had a chance with her. Men would do all manner of stupid things when they were thinking with the head below their belt, the one that was so easy to mislead.
Liorel was clearly designed by men. The virtual world had only the most basic collection of goods for her purposes. Still, the unavailability of makeup meant that the NPCs of the world didn’t expect anything more. Indeed, it seemed that lipstick alone was enough to drive them mad.
Satisfied with her appearance, and the gentle scent of rosewater, Voria stalked across to the bedroom door. She unlocked it with the key that lived in the lock, and stepped out into the hallway. A servant was waiting outside, a young blond girl who’s name Voria could never remember. Thee girl had been cleaning up after Voria ever since she’d ingratiated herself with the mayor.
“Clean your sheets miss?” The girl squeaked, studying her shoes. Voria was certain she was pretty, but couldn’t remember ever seeing her eyes.
“Yes, please. Open the curtains while you’re there.” Voria ordered. She was already walking down the hallway, and still hadn’t seen the girls face.
She had business to attend.
Voria double checked the name above the door and sighed. The ramshackle bar was covered in faded and chipped paint. The sign hung askew, and every single window was broken or boarded. It was a hovel, and the sounds of whores at work coming from the second floor turned her stomach. There were few things that she would never sink so far as to do, and selling her body was one. She shuddered. Better to get this meeting over and done with, so she could leave this horrid place behind.
She stepped forward and pushed open the less filthy of the two saloon-style doors. The bar inside actually surprised her. It wasn’t the depraved hole-in-the-ground she had been expecting. It was far from clean, but it wasn’t much worse than some of the dive bars she’d visited back in the real world. Hell, compared to the dumps she’d had to wade through to find her mother some nights, this was almost luxurious.
Then a particularly loud whore moaned something and the illusion was shattered.
Voria fought the urge to turn around and leave. She needed to make sure something was done to those undead creatures before they could do anything to ruin what she had going here. Eyes on the prize, and all that.
She glanced around the room, finally noticing the two lumbering giants approaching her. That was them alright.
“Voria my darling.”
“My darling, Voria.”
The Winkelvoss twins spoke over one another as they greeted her. Randall’s deep baritone voice clipped her name strangely, as if he’d forgotten how to say it half way through. Sven’s voice was less musical, and more of a mumble. Or maybe it was the other way around, she couldn’t tell the two brothers apart.
“Boys!” She beamed, extending a hand to each. They enveloped her delicate fingers with rough paws, lifted them to rougher lips, and kissed. They moved in almost identical motions, so similar that Voria was convinced the game had bugged and triggered the same animation for both.
“I’m so glad to see you again” She wore her smile like a mask to hide her unease. They wouldn’t understand that it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact, with this dress she was almost certain they wouldn’t spend any time looking at her eyes.
She was right.
Sven - or maybe Randall - kept hold of her right hand as his brother released her left. He led her to a booth against one wall. The other brother frowned, as if disappointed he didn’t think to do it first, and then followed. Voria slid onto the bench with her leader. The slower sibling sighed as he sat opposite them. A pitcher of ale was already in place, and Voria wondered how many the twins had consumed before she’d arrived. She could smell it on their breath. The thought of drinking at midday, on an empty stomach no less, worried her for only a moment. The brothers didn’t think to offer her a drink.
“Are you ready for your adventure?” She whispered, infusing her voice with a huskiness that she knew they couldn’t resist. Sven actually nodded, an enthusiastic smile devouring his face.
“For you my love, anything” Randall intoned. He looked a little vacant. Perhaps he’d drunk more than his brother, or maybe he was busy imagining his reward. He didn’t seem to be the sort of man that could handle two simultaneous thoughts.
Voria caressed his thigh under the table, delicate fingers moving from his knee up towards his hip. She led them across to his inner thigh, then back down to his knee. The brute stiffened in his seat, as if her touch had turned his spine to steel. Voria very carefully concealed a shudder. She might have overplayed herself on that one.
“You know where the dungeon is?” She directed her question at Sven across the table. Ignoring Randall was guaranteed to drive him insane, in all the right ways. It also gave her a chance to withdraw her hand, lest he get the idea to place it on something else.
Sven nodded.
“Yes ma’am, in the scalewoods. One little dungeon, a couple of dead things to get deaderer.” He frowned at the last word for a moment, then smiled. The jury was in, they had unanimously voted that he was guilty on the charge of being an idiot.
“That’s right!” Voria cried, as if he were the smartest man in the world. Sven beamed with pride.
Beside her, Randall leaned forward. His heavy brow knitted itself together into a deep frown, directed at his brother. Voria leaned forward as well, giving Sven a glorious view of her cleavage. He failed to notice his brothers expression. Were this the real world, Voria would never have dreamed of performing such a manoeuvre. There was something about controlling a virtual avatar that divorced her from the action. Seducing these buffoons was no different to clicking on a skill in a pre-immersion game. Without that mental divide, Voria could never have met with these fools.
“Okay then, I’ll be seeing you both in a few hours” She pulled back, savouring the expression on Sven’s face. He was like a small child being told there were no more cookies. She turned to Randall beside her.
“How would you like to hold on to this?” Voria made a show of sliding a hand up her thigh, under her dress. Randall’s breath caught in his throat. Her fingers deftly untied the knot on the belt around her upper thigh, freeing a key from its place next to her dagger. She placed it on the table in front of him.
“The guards have been told to expect you. You know where my room is, don’t you?” Voria purred.
Randall looked from her to the key, then to his brother. For a worrying moment she thought they might high-five. Instead, he took the key and slipped it into his pocket. She noticed the bulge in the front of his pants as he did so, and forced herself to keep her expression neutral. She felt sick.
“Oh yes, we know that” He boomed.
“And what are you going to bring?” She gritted her teeth and gave his loins a pointed look.
The gruff man had the decency to blush.
“We’ll bring you their heads.” He said.
It was the right answer.
Voria fled the bar at th
e earliest excuse. She hadn’t wanted to spend a second longer with those buffoons than was absolutely necessary. She had expected to be hungry by now. After all, it was mid-afternoon and she’d yet to have breakfast. But that encounter had left a slimy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t think of food just yet, and she certainly wouldn’t have bought it from that place.
She followed the road as it curved up towards the church. This poorer half of the town seemed to have been built around the church, most roads led to it and the great courtyard before it. On the weekends the courtyard became packed as the pious filled the streets for the weeks prayers. In truth, she’d only seen it once, so it may have been a special occasion. Since establishing herself in the mayors court she preferred to keep away from the unwashed masses.
Today though, the thought of manipulation and intrigue sickened her more than any peasant could. She was not proud of what she’d done with the brothers, but she hadn’t been left any other options. The mayor refused to listen to her on the matter, and she didn’t have the coin to place a bounty upon them.
“Spare a coin miss?” A man asked, interrupting her thoughts. She looked down, seeing the homeless man for the first time. He was dressed in a filthy rough-spun tunic, his bare feet stained with dirt. Between dirt-encrusted fingers he held a wooden cup, which he was extending towards her. His eyes were both pleading and bloodshot, though he didn’t have the strung-out look of an addict.
“What’s your name?” She asked as she fished in her coin-purse for a few coins. She wasn’t wealthy - most of her possessions, including her clothes, were gifts from the mayor - but she had enough walking around money to improve this mans day.
“Matthew, miss. My name is Matthew.” He said, with the shell-shocked expression of someone who’d just remembered who they were.
“Well Matthew, I hope this will improve your day.” She gave him a pleasant smile and dropped two golden coins into his cup. They clattered against the wood, the only coins he’d earned that day.
“Thank you, miss! If there’s ever anything I can do for you…” He trailed off, blushing. Of course there was nothing he could do for someone like her.
“If I ever need your help, I will seek you out.” She replied, fishing out a third coin.
“Thank you for your offer.” She said, adding the third coin to the cup. It would be enough to feed him for a week or so. The man looked up at her in shock, clearly not expecting the generosity.
“Thank you miss, thank you so much.” He looked apt to weep.
“You’re most welcome Matthew” Voria said before continuing on her way. She made it a few steps before he spoke again.
“Miss, I wouldn’t go to the markets. Not until it clears.” He said, rather cryptically.
Voria turned back, inspecting the mans solemn face.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a sickness, miss. I think it’s going to be a bad one. If I were you, I wouldn’t go to the markets.” He replied. Then he glanced up the road, in the direction she’d been walking.
“Lots of people, all packed in together like that, makes it easy for the sickness to spread” He mumbled.
“Thank you.” Voria said, accepting his warning.
She bid him farewell and changed direction, picking a road that circumvented the main marketplace. Normally she’d have cut through the market on her way back to the manor, though today she’d been planning to spend a few hours perusing the wares. Retail therapy and all of that.
As she followed the curve of the road, Voria’s mind returned to her guilt.
She hated what the game was turning her into. She would much rather hide away in the mayors guest house and pretend the world at large didn’t exist. But those damnable undead couldn’t be trusted not to tear everything down around her. She wasn’t proud of her scheming to send the brothers after them, but it was all she could do. She wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of them, even with the element of surprise.
Besides, entering the fray herself was a risk she couldn’t justify. Not unless she arranged a resurrection deal. Voria cast her gaze back to the church. It would still be there tomorrow, and she could discover what was needed for a deal then. She turned her back on the poorer distract and made her way up the road to the mayors manor.
She wanted nothing more than to take a long bath and wash away the feelings of disgust at what she’d done. If she could avoid everyone else in the mayor's house, all the better.
Chapter Four
Perfect dark gave way to a murky indistinct grey. It happened so gradually that the Bearer didn’t even notice. He was making his way slowly. Frequently stopping to drink the water from his flask. It had curdled in the bottle, thickening like yogurt. The taste of the earth was stronger now. It was addictive.
The flask only had enough to last him a few more hours at the rate he was drinking. He should return to the deeper dark and top up. The light could wait a few more hours.
Go into the light. You’ve drunk the water. Go to the light.
The voices echoed through the dark. They circled the Bearers mind like dirt washing down a drain. Round and around the whispers went. They told him what to do and where to go. His flask was full enough. He wanted to go into the light. It was his job to go into the light.
He continued on until he could see the pinprick of brightness at the end of the tunnel. The light beckoned him. It drew him in like a moth to the flame. The Bearer stopped to take another swig from his flask. He could see his arms moving now. It wasn’t just a trick of his mind, not anymore.
Return to the light. Take the water. Share the water.
The whispers were different now. They’d never told him to share the water before. The Bearer didn’t want to share! The water was his. He’d found it. He’d gathered it up. It was his to drink, and he didn’t want to share it.
The Bearer sat heavily on the ground, peering at the dark blob that was the flask in his hand. Why should he share his water? Why should he listen to the whispers at all?
Drink the water. Share the water. Share the water. Drink the water.
The whispers were chanting, torturing him with their circular thoughts. The Bearer suddenly felt sleepy, as if he’d been walking for days. His eyelids drooped. This seemed like a good place to take a little nap, he wanted to be awake and alert when he went into the light.
It was his decision. The whispers could not control him.
Go into the light. Share the water. Share the water in the light.
The urge to sleep abated.
The Bearer decided he wanted to continue into the light. It wasn’t because of the whispers. He wanted to go into the light.
He stood up again, careful not to knock the flask over. Once he’d reached his full height he took a long drink of the water. He held his breath as he capped the flask. Then he carefully placed it into his pocket. Great coughs rattled him, bursting forth with globules of phlegm. The filth splattered the walls of the tunnel, but the Bearer could not see the mess he had made. Everything was still an indistinct shade of grey.
The last of the water was for someone else. He wouldn’t be greedy, he wanted to share it. He wanted to share it with the world. And he wanted to get back to the light. He’d been walking towards it for so long. Others would be there - he knew with certainty that there would be others there waiting for him. He could share the water with them.
The bearer started toward the light once more. One invisible hand rested against his pocket to ensure the flask couldn’t go anywhere. The water would be safe for the next person.
Return to the light. Share the water.
“You’re traders?” Azoth asked, looking around the sparsely populated camp. A few people were moving about doing their normal evening routines - cooking dinner on the campfire, and gathering wood. The man standing next to Azoth would be easy to pick out of a crowd. A tanned leather eye-patch hid his right eye and his face was deeply wrinkled. He stood almost seven feet tall. Back in the r
eal world Azoth had lived his life being head and shoulders above his peers, and his height had been copied into the game. It was uncomfortable having to look up to someone for a change.
“Yep, Traders. Picked up furs and leather in Dawncreek, even a few precious gemstones that’d be good for magic. You come on back in the morning and we’ll have stalls of all sorts.” The stranger said. He was an old man dressed in black robes. A hood hung back over his shoulders, as though it were common for him to hide his face. Looking around Azoth noted that everyone in the camp was hooded, and most wore loose fitting robes like the man he was talking to. He shouldn’t be surprised he supposed, he and Logan hid their faces as well. That thought tickled at his curiosity though, he and Logan had very good reasons to hide their identity. Azoth couldn’t help but wonder what these people were hiding.
“What sort of wares would you buy here?” Azoth asked, eyeing the groups horses. He wanted a horse, though he doubted they were for sale. Even if they were he didn’t have any money.
“Not a lot to buy here I’m afraid, we’re just making a stop to sell. Let the lads visit a proper tavern for a change, you know.” The old man winked, a genuine smile deepening his wrinkles. This was a man who had spent his long life smiling often.
Three figures walked into camp from the far side at that moment. They wore loose fitting black robes, just like the tall man, but theirs were covered with dirt. One carried a shovel.
“There’s not any buried treasure around here is there?” Azoth asked, half jokingly.
“No? Oh, they were digging a latrine.” The tall man said quickly. A little too quickly, in Azoth’s unprofessional opinion.