by A. J. Markam
“…no…”
“Then you’re fine.”
The villagers conferred amongst themselves.
If one of them was smart, he probably said, They’re coming ashore whether we like it or not, so we might as well not antagonize them.
I guess someone was smart, because the bearded man finally shouted, “Alright – come along then, but don’t make any false moves. We don’t want to have to attack you.”
“I’m sure,” Krug said drily.
Our boats hit the stony beach and everyone stepped ashore. We were all wearing cold-weather gear from the ship – parkas trimmed with fur, heavy fur boots, and leather gloves. My clothes stunk of mothballs, but at least they seemed clean.
Alaria looked absolutely stunning in her getup. She was wearing a parka made specially for Tarka with the edges trimmed in mink. The brown fur contrasted beautifully with her red skin. With her black thigh-high boots and otherwise skimpy clothing, she looked like a Playboy Bunny dressed for a winter photo shoot.
Stig, on the other hand, looked like Maggie Simpson all over again, just dressed for a snowstorm.
The pirates started bartering with the villagers over their stores of salted fish, smoked wolf meat, and pungent local alcohol. Meanwhile the bearded leader took me, Alaria, Stig, Krug, and Shee towards the largest shack.
“I am Mo,” he said as he led us inside.
“Mo?” I asked in surprise.
If you’re voyaging out to the ass-end of nowhere, you kind of expect to find high fantasy names like Kaldorak or Voltor. Not Homer Simpson’s bartender.
Mo glared at me. “Perhaps it is not the type of fanciful name you outlanders are accustomed to, but here we live simply.”
He wasn’t kidding. His home was the most spartan kind of living you could imagine – a simple wooden structure of four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and little else. The bed was basically a pile of greasy furs. There was a small wooden table with two chairs, which all looked like they were 50 years old and had lived through a couple of wars.
A lantern hung on a nail in the wall. It burned some kind of oil that filled the room with an acrid stench, but at least it gave off enough light to see inside the windowless shack.
The only thing that was even remotely decorative was a board that hung on the wall with a collage of wolves’ teeth glued to it. The fangs were curved and sharp, and were arranged in a pattern like a gruesome version of a child’s macaroni artwork.
“Did you make that?” Alaria asked.
The man blushed. “Yes. It’s my art.”
“It’s… interesting…” Alaria said diplomatically.
Mo blushed again, then turned and opened up a wooden trunk in the corner. Out came pieces of an ancient, tattered map that Mo assembled on the table. The faded drawing showed a rough coastline, various trails, and numerous mountains made of ice.
At the top of the map was a hand-drawn skull with long, pointed ears. Elf ears.
He pointed at the shoreline.
“Here we are… and here is where you want to go,” he said, pointing to the skull. “This is the beginning of their kingdom. In between you will have to face dire wolves, yetis, and ice goblins.”
I frowned. “Ice goblins? Are they made of ice?”
“No,” Mo said, and gave me a disgusted look. “They’re just called that because they frequent cold climes. But they’re vicious little buggers – and if they don’t kill you, the frost elves most definitely will.”
“If they’re so horrible, why aren’t you guys dead?”
“Because we keep to the shores and rarely go beyond except to hunt wolf meat. The ice goblins keep to their underground kingdom – ”
Here he pointed to a black dot in what looked like a mountain of ice.
“ – which, unfortunately, you must pass through to get to the elves.” The man shook his head. “You would be wise to turn around, get on your ship, and sail back to wherever you came from.”
“That’s not an option,” Alaria said.
Mo shrugged. “It’s your funeral, not mine.”
“Their funeral,” Krug said, pointing to me and Alaria.
“Still not coming with us?” Alaria asked.
“That was never part of the deal.”
Alaria sighed and went into negotiating mode. “If you come with us – the entire landing party, that is – I’ll knock off one of the remaining five voyages you owe us.”
“Or,” Krug said, “the three of you can die out there, and I don’t have to make any of the voyages.”
Alaria glared at the grey demon. “Even though Stig and I are free, as our former master, Ian can summon us from beyond death. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“So?”
“So as long as he survives, we fight.”
“And you wonder why I drink,” Stig muttered.
“Then I hope you don’t survive long,” Krug said to me good-naturedly, like it was a joke.
Except it wasn’t. Not really.
“I have an unlimited number of resurrection spells,” I said, only slightly fudging the truth. I didn’t need a spell to come back, it just happened automatically – but Krug didn’t need to know that. I turned back to the bearded leader of the village. “Do you have a graveyard around here?”
“Yes, just down the shoreline.”
I looked back at Krug and smiled. “First time I get killed, I’ll resurrect at the graveyard and summon Alaria and Stig. Then we go back and try again… and again… and again. And since you swore to give us those other five rides, you’re going to be waiting for us a very, very long time if you don’t help out.”
Krug glared at me. “So, eternal death for the rest of us free demons, but not for you. No thanks, we’ll wait.”
“Actually, that’s not true. Since I took you from Tarka, you officially got added to my roster of demons I can summon, even though you’re free. Same with Alaria and Stig. So if anyone gets killed, I can summon them back to life. You won’t actually be in any danger of dying permanently.”
Krug looked at me, unsure whether I was bluffing or not. “You can resurrect any of my men if there’s a problem?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it,” he said, then went to the door of the shack and yelled out, “ZROB!”
One of the pirates walked inside the shack. He was an ugly, purple-colored brute who resembled a hairless gorilla. I remembered him not just because of his appearance, but because he was one of only two pirates who hadn’t thanked me for cutting off their collars. In fact, he’d acted surly and contemptuous, like he was offended a mere human had been the one to free him.
“What,” Zrob asked petulantly.
“The warlock needs to cast a spell on you.”
Zrob looked at me distrustfully. “Why?”
“We need to test something.”
“No,” Zrob sneered. “I don’t want to.”
“Too bad,” Krug said, and grabbed him in a half-nelson from behind. Then he nodded at me. “Go ahead.”
“STOP!” Zrob yelled. He began kicking and flailing, but Krug held him tight.
I hit Zrob with Soul Suck until he reached 5% of his health –
And then Krug drew his sword and cut off Zrob’s head for the coup de grace.
There wasn’t any blood. Zrob’s head just toppled off his shoulders, fell to the floorboards with a THUNK, and then both his head and body disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Still, it had been pretty damn violent.
I grimaced, then looked over at Mo the bearded villager. He’d gone pale.
He was probably thinking, If they do this to one of their own, what will they do to US?!
Krug sheathed his sword. “I never liked him, so if you can’t resurrect him, no hard feelings.”
I looked through my submenu of demon faces and found Zrob under the purple section. I pressed the icon, there was a crackling puff of fire, and suddenly the purple brute was standing in front of us, enraged.
“I’m going to kill y
ou for that!” he roared.
“You didn’t die,” Krug said.
“…what?”
“That was just a spell. Nothing actually happened.”
“But – you cut off my head – ”
“Remember the phantom snake we battled on the deck? The one we couldn’t hit?”
Phantom snake? What was he –
Oh yeah.
The giant penis.
“It was the same thing,” Krug lied. “He made you believe I cut off your head, but nothing happened.”
“But it was exactly like when Tarka brought us back when we died!”
Krug scoffed. “You’re a free demon now. How could he have brought you back if you’re a free demon?”
The gorilla looked confused, but he wasn’t exactly packing enough IQ to make a rational argument otherwise.
“Fine,” he grunted. “Can I go now?”
Krug dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Once Zrob was gone, the captain turned back to me and Alaria. “All right – take off the other five voyages and we’ll go with you to battle the frost elves.”
“One voyage,” Alaria said. “I’ll take off one.”
“Four,” Krug counteroffered.
“One.”
“You’re not even negotiating,” Krug growled.
“I don’t have to. You’re honor-bound to transport us to the next five locations – which means you have to stay until we finish. I’m perfectly fine with letting you sit here in the frozen waters and wait for us, even if we have to die a thousand times.”
“Wait – what?” Stig said in alarm.
Rather than shush him, I pulled out a small bottle of rum I’d snagged from the ship – sort of a back-up baby bottle for the trip – and handed it to him. Stig uncorked it and began slugging it back.
I’m not sure I was fine with dying a thousand times, either, but I didn’t say anything. Alaria was a pretty damn good negotiator, and I didn’t want to stick my nose in where I would just foul things up.
Krug glared at her. “I sent your letter for you by raven, and this is how you repay me?”
“I repaid you by bringing Ian, who set you free,” Alaria said. “Now we’re more than even. Which is why you owe me.”
“Take off two voyages, at least.”
“One,” she shot back. “And I’m offering it only so I don’t have to spend the next two months here.”
Krug shook his head in disgust. “Fine. One. But we swear on the Seven Hells to bind the agreement.”
Alaria’s dainty little hand grasped his massive paw, fire spread from her fingers to his, and they both said at the same time, “I swear by the Seven Hells that I shall uphold this pact.”
After it was over, Krug turned to me. “If Zrob dies, don’t bring him back unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
I nodded. After all, I was already doing the same thing with Dorp.
For the second time ever, Krug smiled. “Good. You do that, and this entire trip might just be worth it.”
I turned to Mo. “Can we hire you or someone in your village to lead us to the ice goblins?”
“Can you bring us back from the dead?”
“No.”
“Then no, we’re not risking it.”
Fair enough.
I activated my Map Window. The area around the fishing village was visible, but the terrain beyond that was greyed out. “Is there any way we can buy that map off you, then?”
“It’s been in our village for generations. It’s not for sale. But just stick to the path we’ll put you on and it will take you to the ice goblins. If you make it past them, you won’t have any problem finding the frost elves. They’ll find you.”
We left the shack and went back outside. Krug sent two boats loaded with liquor and salted meat back to the ship, and the boats returned with planks of wood and iron implements for the villagers.
Once the bartering was complete, Mo walked us out to the edge of the village, where the rocky banks of the shoreline turned to ice and snow.
“I have another request,” Mo said. “You’ll undoubtedly cross many wolves and yeti on the way to the ice goblins. We could use the wolves’ teeth and the yetis’ horns.”
“For your artwork?” Alaria asked.
Mo blushed again. “The teeth for my artwork. The horns we use to store things we need to keep dry. For every 40 canine teeth and 40 horns you bring me, I’ll gladly furnish you with as much meat and alcohol as you can pack onto one of your rowboats. Plus I will give you an enchanted cloak in return for the first set of teeth, and a pair of yeti-hide boots for the first set of horns. But bring me back as many as you can.”
Krug turned to me. “If I get those provisions, I’ll pay you ten gold per boatload.”
“I thought you didn’t have any gold aboard,” I said, irritated.
“I know of a treasure chest on a nearby island. I’ll pay you then.”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
I thought of Wimpy and Popeye: I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for some salted meat today.
Two windows popped up:
Wolf Gang? I’mma Do ‘Is! (Mo’s Art)
Kill 20 wolves and gather their fangs for the following reward:
3000 XP
Provisions worth 5 gold
Cloak of the Northern Wastes: +6 Armor, +10 Intelligence, +15 Stamina
Are We There Yet-i?
Kill 20 yetis and gather their horns for the following reward:
5000 XP
Provisions worth 5 gold
Boots of the Yeti: +10 Armor, +12 Intelligence, +20 Stamina
A total of 16 armor, 22 Intelligence, and 35 Stamina, not to mention ten gold? Not a bad haul for a quest out in the ass-end of nowhere.
I groaned inwardly at ‘Are We There Yet-i,’ but I was mystified by the other quest title.
Wolf Gang? I’mma Do ‘Is! (Mo’s Art)
Before I hit ‘Accept,’ I read it out loud softly, sounding out the words. It had to be a pun of some kind.
“Wolf gang I’mma Do ‘is MOH MY GOD.”
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Jesus.
They’d named an NPC ‘Mo’ and given him wolf-teeth macaroni collages just so they could make that horrible play on words.
I really was going to rip the OtherWorld writers a new one if I ever met them. I shuddered to think how they were going to work in ‘Beethoven’ or ‘Rachmaninoff.’
The entire group looked at me in alarm when I shouted out ‘Oh my God.’
“What’s wrong?” Alaria asked.
“Nothing, just… terrible, horrible, awful puns.”
“What’s a pun?” Stig asked.
“It’s a play on words.”
“Aren’t all plays made of words?” the imp asked, confused.
“It’s – never mind.” I could imagine Stig trying to make dozens of bad puns over the next few hours, and I needed that like I needed a second Dorp. “Let’s go. Thanks – ”
I couldn’t even bear to say Mo’s name out loud. It was irreparably tainted by that damn quest title.
“ – uh, for everything.”
“May Hastorok guide you and keep you safe,” Mo said, then turned and headed back into the village.
Then Alaria, Stig, Krug, and I set off with 30 pirates into the icy wastes under a dim and cloudy sky.
10
As we walked, I took stock of the demons’ individual powers and even had them demonstrate their abilities. After all, there wasn’t much else to do but stare at white nothingness as we trudged through ice and snow.
Krug was able to summon balls of granite and shoot them off like cannonballs. Shee could blast things with her sonic shriek, knocking enemies back and breaking ice apart. The other demons I arranged into groups by their abilities: lightning casters, pyrokinetics like Stig and Alaria, and a few who shot force beams out of their eyes.
And now, before we were attacked, it was finally time to summon Dorp.
He appeared next to me in
a proof of smoke.
“I’ll be quiet this time, I promise,” he whined.
“I’m sorry, it was my fault. It was an accident.” I winced. “What happened? Did you drown, or get caught in the engines, or – ”
“Something ate me,” Dorp said miserably.
“Something’ll probably eat you out here, too,” Stig said.
I glared at Stig. “Not helpful.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“By the Ab-b-byss,” Dorp chattered as he hugged his thin arms around his body, “why is it so c-c-cold?”
“We’re going to fight a bunch of frost elves,” I said, and pulled out an extra parka, pair of pants, and boots. Thank God for inventory bags, where things as big as a fur coat could get reduced down to nothing.
“Here, put these on,” I said to Dorp as I handed over the clothes.
“Oh, Master,” he whimpered, his beady little eyes filling with tears. “You do care.”
I winced again. It was hard to bear adoration from somebody you’d left hanging from a rope when the ship landed. “Don’t make a big deal about it, everybody’s got them. And don’t call me ‘master.’”
Dorp quickly stepped into his new clothes, which hung slackly off his thin frame. But he couldn’t have been more grateful.
“Thank you so much, boss – thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome. Now, let’s not speak unless spoken to, all right? There’s a bunch of stuff out here that can kill us, so if you talk, you’re going to give away our position – and then I’m going to have to have Krug kill you until we need you next time. Don’t make me do that.”
“Okay,” Dorp said shakily, and stared up at the grey pirate.
For the first time since I’d known him, Dorp stayed silent for longer than ten minutes.
He might have remained quiet even longer, but ten minutes was about how long it took us to reach the first dire wolves.
“Halt,” Krug said as he raised his arm. The entire company of pirates halted.
“What is it?” I asked.
Krug pointed wordlessly out in front of us.
There they were, about 200 feet away – a pack of twelve. Almost twice as big as regular wolves, both in bulk and height. The alpha of the group’s head was level with my chest. They weren’t racing towards us – they were slowly fanning out, surrounding us. And they were relatively hardy, with 3000 hit points apiece.