We go to town once the meat is ready, while Deathdale eats another small package wrapped in leaves that she’s pulled from her list. It’s like she has a direct line to EBAYmazon’s Whole Foods feeding into her list, and I’m about to tease her about it when I think otherwise.
Blanket, I remind myself, and as the temperature continues to drop I think I’d better not get on her bad side if I plan to share any of her blanket with her.
Besides that, I get the sense there is something going on between us. I can’t quite pin my finger on it, and I know I have much bigger issues at hand – like, ahem, saving the world – but the feeling is there.
“Maybe I’m losing my mind,” I say under my breath as Lothar launches into an explanation of the best way to prepare bear meat based on a treaty he read, and how what I’ve prepared isn’t that bad but could definitely be improved upon.
(^_^)
The conversation winds down and like clockwork, Lothar goes to sit on his meditations box. He crosses his legs together, the light of the fire flickering on his face and accenting his features. His shadow is huge, something to marvel at as Wolf finishes the rabbit I didn’t eat.
Deathdale’s armor disappears, evident by the way her fur coat decompresses a bit. She lies on the ground a bit away from the warmth of the fire. A blanket appears on her body and with one eye, she motions me over to her.
No need to ask me twice.
I lose my buffed-over Stater armor and crawl under the blanket. The grass is cold against the exposed skin of my shoulders and neck. I scoot just a bit closer to Deathdale and notice there’s a natural warmth radiating off her.
No wonder we’re so far from the fire, I think as Wolf yawns loudly.
The big Tagvornin canine drops with his back right next to our skulls, providing a headboard if we want it.
Deathdale murmurs at this, but I’m not certain what she says as sleep sits on the horizon of my psyche.
Staring up at the crimson night, listening as Wolf’s body fills with breath, I drift off and find myself in Ducat.
I’m standing in the home I built for myself, two stories, with a downstairs completely defined by its living space and an upstairs that contains a master bedroom, a study, and a smaller bedroom for if I ever hope to expand my little mayoral operation and find a wife.
I glance down at my arm and notice I’m wearing a robe made of silk, my fingernails are perfectly manicured and I have a small golden bracelet on my right wrist. I stand from my writing table and approach a large mirror.
A twirl of my finger and my stats – my old stats – come up:
Eric Roon
Class: Level 22 City Planner
Subclass: N/A
HP: 2549/2549
HP recovery rate: N/A
ATK: 28 +6
DEF: 13 +11
Attributes
STRENGTH: 5
WILL: 30
DEXTERITY: 7
MIND: 15
SPEED: 5
I watch a smirk spread across my face in the mirror’s reflection. This is pretty damn accurate for a dream; then again, I live in a digital dream world, so accuracy is a whole different beast compared to a normal, real-word dream.
It’s then, with a shit-eating grin plastered across my face, that I hear the screams outside my window. I run to the window and look out over the city of Ducat.
Fire to the north – something terrible is coming this way, powered by shrieks and the sound of galloping horses.
My instinct is to run. I glance to my table and see my letter opener, which I’ve recently sharpened after being given a whetstone by a man who owed me a favor.
I grab the sharpened letter opener and stuff it into the pocket of my robe.
I bolt down the stairs of my chambers, not sure where I’m going but also hoping to see or hear more of what is going on.
Once I reach my rather large living room, I shoulder through the front door and out onto the street.
“What is it?” I yell to the neighbor, who is in the process of latching his windows shut.
He opens them and shouts the three words that strike terror into the heart of anyone in a smaller village in Unigaea.
“The Drachma Killers!”
I slam my own door shut and run to the windows, making sure they’re locked. Panic uncoils like a snake in my gut and I suddenly feel weighed down, no longer able to think clearly.
My hand goes to the letter opener in my robe. I pull it out and toss it to the floor.
Wake up.
I scramble back to the window to see the first Drachma Killer coming into view.
The man wears gray armor, mostly made of leather with some bits of forged Taelian steel on common strike points. The armor allows him to move swiftly, but it also leaves him entirely vulnerable.
I fall to my knees, my legs completely jelly.
My eyes settle on the sharpened letter opener and I drag my body towards the glinting weapon.
Sitting up, I glance to the flames now flickering outside my window.
Wake up.
I bring the letter opener to my chest.
“You idiot,” I start to sob. “Pathetic idiot.”
I run my thumb along the blade of the letter opener. I turn the tip towards my throat, pull my hand back, and place a hardened fist on the other side of the hilt of the letter opener.
One …
I steel myself for the pain that will follow.
Two …
My heart does a somersault as a wave of rage erupts inside me. I bring myself back to my feet, look to the door, and take a staggering step towards it.
“You will not … !”
I scream and charge the door, shouldering through it again. My letter opener held over my head, I take a running leap at the Drachma Killer whose back is to me.
I land on him and drive the letter opener into the side of his neck, stabbing him repeatedly.
-31 HP! -48 HP! -22 HP! -57 HP! Critical hit!
Blood flicks into the air with each stab.
Fwwip!
“No!” I shout as my vision pane flashes, a crossbow bolt sticking out of my back. I stagger backwards as more bolts fire into my chest.
Instakill!
Everything is a blur, a tunnel at a thousand miles per hour, a racing cheetah coked up on energy drinks.
“Oric, you’re having a bad dream.”
I blink my eyes, not believing what I see before me.
“Oric, wake up.”
I take a deep breath and fully open my eyes. Standing before me is a woman in white robes, a shaved head, and a large hourglass necklace.
Chapter Fourteen: The Hourglass Mage
“It’s … it’s you!” I say, my heart overcome with joy.
Sam Raid offers me a hand and I take it. Deathdale stirs, sees the oddly dressed mage, and is instantly on her feet, not quite in a battle pose, but ready to produce a weapon at a moment’s notice.
“Relax, Deathdale,” Sam Raid says, her mouth lifting into a mischievous grin.
I break their standoff with a big hug.
“Hey!”
I swoop Sam into my arms and lift her frail body into the air.
“Sam! I can’t believe it’s you!” I pat her on the head. “Going for the monk look, yeah?”
“It’s the way my avatar came. I’m a chronomancer, which Unigaea calls an Hourglass Mage.”
Wolf, who has somehow slept through her approach – strange – is completely beside himself. He’s running little circles around us, looking for his opening, and once I set her down he goes for it, practically knocking her over as he tries to lick at her face.
“Wolf! Chill, buddy!”
Lothar, sitting on his meditations box, slowly starts to wake. The giant’s stomach grumbles as he rolls his head on his neck, his eyes still shut.
“Down, Wolf!”
He drops to all fours and presses his body up against Sam, who naturally starts petting him. “You’re a good boy, Wolf,” she says
as she scratches behind his ear.
“I have so much to tell you,” I start to say, “But you first. What … what are you exactly?”
A handle over her head tells me she’s already at level six, and I’ll get to that later. For now, I’m just curious what she is, and why she wears gray monk’s robes with an hourglass necklace and a shaved head.
“It’s the rarest class,” she tells me as her handle flashes red.
“You’re … a Player Killer?”
Her smile thins. “Player Killer is my subclass, and it wasn’t my choice to take it. None of this was my choice.”
“And your main class?” I ask, glancing to Deathdale.
“I’m an Hourglass Mage, a chronomancer.”
Lothar gasps. “An Hourglass Mage, of course! Why didn’t I recognize that? That’d make you the first in … in a millennium!”
“So it appears,” she says as her hand falls to the hourglass on her neck. “This represents the recharge time between the spells I cast. Notice the sand inside is on top right now and not falling through.”
“I can see that,” I say.
“If I cast a spell, the sand starts falling and I can’t cast another until it is finished.” Her gray eyes brighten. “It also flows in the reverse direction, which is interesting to see.”
“And your, um, weapon?”
“I have a wand.” A thin wand sparkles as it takes shape in her hand. The tip of her wand is gold, the bottom stained Blackwood. “And this book, the Book of Time.”
A leather-bound tome forms under her other arm. She hands it to me and I notice there is a closed eye cut into the leather. As soon as I touch it, the eye opens, revealing a clock with golden hands and an opal backing.
I quickly hand it back to her.
“As I level, spells appear and I’m able to cast them,” she explains. “It takes some getting used to. I, um … I’m not very happy with the class at the moment.”
“Not happy?” Lothar laughs. “You have the potential to be the most powerful mage in a century!”
Sam looks up at the giant and back to me.
“His name is Lothar and he’s accompanying us north. He’s a scholar, interested in – well, lots of things, the source code bomb being one of those things. Also talking too much, he’s interested in that.”
“I’d say I talk just enough to get my point across,” Lothar grumbles.
Deathdale huffs as she moves past. I hardly pay attention to her, so mesmerized I am in seeing Sam. “How did you get your levels?” I ask.
“Same way you did. The Obelisk met me as soon as I spawned. She gave me five levels and whisked me away to Tin Ingot, where I ran into two gnomes that told me you had ridden north. There was a group of merchants leaving and I tagged along with them. I saw the giant on the horizon and figured it’d be worth checking out. It appears I was right.”
“See? I’m useful!”
“Did she give you a big scar across your chest that activates a rage ability?”
Sam shakes her head.
“The ability to breathe underwater?”
“Not this time.”
I hug her again and she relaxes a little. “I’m sorry, I’m probably smelly. I’m just happy as hell to see you. A lot has happened since we were attacked by the Tags at my hut.”
“Oh?”
I give Sam the briefing and as I do, a look of shock slowly spreads across her face. “You’re saying that Governor Talonas has Stater soldiers parading around as Tagvornins?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Consider the evidence: the false flag, the armor that the convoy I discovered was harboring, the fact that Stater soldiers were riding wolves, the confession from the soldier I killed. And then there was the battle yesterday. Stater sent mercenaries after us.”
Sam’s face hardens. “That motherfucker.”
“My thoughts exactly. And I have to be honest with you here, it’s taken just about everything I have not to ride south and put an end to that RPC’s life. Well, Florin will respawn, but at least he’ll no longer be the governor. Deathdale’s all for it too.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t know they were Stater soldiers when she joined up with them,” Sam says, her eyes narrowing on Deathdale.
The Solar Mage turns to her and bares her teeth. “I was unaware.”
Wolf barks, lightening the mood some. He moves over to Deathdale and sits, letting her pet his head.
“Well, the important thing is we’re all here now,” Sam says. “So what was your next plan?”
“We were planning to go to Metica to find a few sellswords.”
“Why do you need mercenaries?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“The Drachma Killers.” I glance at Deathdale and she nods at me.
“Ha! We’re still considering your little revenge fantasy?”
“It’s not a little fantasy; it’s a very real thing.”
“I, for one, won’t be part of taking on the Drachma Killers; I’m a pacifist,” Lothar says matter-of-factly. “I will return home, to Tael, and we can regroup there.”
“No one asked you to partake and that’s fine. Go to Tael; it is a day and a half from Metica. This is something I, we – ” I point to Deathdale. “ – have to do. And you knew it was part of the deal, Sam.”
Sam Raid’s Book of Time disappears. She takes a few steps closer to me, Wolf still at her side. “There are a few things I’ve come to know since taking my new avatar, feelings, really – feelings I can’t really define.”
“What do you mean?”
“The future is hazy, and I’m not able to completely predict it, but I do have the sense that going to Drachma is a step in the wrong direction. We are the ones the Obelisk has somehow linked together, and we should take every effort to do what it is we were put here to accomplish.”
“And we will,” I tell her firmly, “but this is something I was put here to accomplish. Drachma is more or less on the way, and if we’re smart about it, we can close this chapter and move on.”
“For every chapter that closes, Oric, a new one opens. Sometimes, the story on the pages that follow is considerably worse than the story currently being told.”
I shrug her concern off. “Are you a prophet now, too?”
She places her soft hand on my arm. “No, but I am a friend, and I don’t see this ending well.”
“Non-negotiable, Sam.”
She keeps her hand on me for a moment longer and I can feel a spark of electricity between us. “I was afraid you’d say that. In that case, I will go to Tael with Lothar when the time comes. I’ve never visited, and now seems as good a time as any. I won’t argue about this with you again. Too many words are wasted on things that have already been said. I support your decision, but I believe you will come to regret it.”
(^_^)
“... And it was during the reign of Piebald the Powerful that Metica experienced its first and only male ruler. It was a good run, and it was at a time when Tagvornin had spread hegemony as far south as Tin Ingot, if you can imagine that.” Lothar chuckles. “It was years ago; hard to imagine Tags that far south now!”
Sam sits before me, my arms around her waist as we trot along on Wolf’s back.
“Metican rulers have always had allegiances with either the Tagvornins or with Solidus. The Meticans – note that some pronounce this meh-tee-kans and others met-i-kens; meh-tee-kans is correct – are known for the short horses they ride without saddles. Typical male/female roles are reversed in the city too, leaving men at home while women handle government affairs and war.”
“Interesting,” Sam says just to keep him going.
Lothar bites his lip for a moment. “It really is too bad that Tael, my home city, has been at odds with Metica since before I was a child. My parents fondly remember going to Metica and being treated as guests; giants are now treated as suspected enemies.”
“Why’s that?” I scoot a bit closer to Sam and she looks at me over her shoulder. Deathdale, on
the other side of Lothar, travels on a spiral of light at her heels. She hasn’t said much since her brief interaction with Sam back at the campsite.
“A dispute with the last ruler of Metica, a woman named Orchid, whose allegiances were tied to Tagvornin. If Orchid is still the same ruler, I would bet good lira she’d want to meet you and would be partial to your cause.”
“And you?” I ask. “How will they react when they see a big guy like yourself?”
“We will find out shortly.”
Shortly comes in another thirty minutes or so, as the city gates appear on the horizon. Dark clouds hang above the city and blips of crimson light poke through them, a foreboding reminder that nothing will stop the Red Plague.
City guards take off on small horses, stand-riding as they race towards us. It’s been a good while since I’ve been to Metica, and while I am aware of their leader, Orchid, I didn’t pursue a relationship with her as the mayor of Ducat. I wanted Ducat to be entirely neutral, and to do so, it had to be a place where both the north and south could trade.
Aligning with Metica would have skewed this.
“Let me do the talking,” I tell the group as the Metica city guard approach.
Sam laughs. “You? Diplomatic check – since when did you want to do the talking? Maybe it’s better if I do the talking.”
“By all means, Sam,” I tell her. “But when you’re ready to let the big dogs handle it, you let me and Wolf know.”
She laughs. “I seriously doubt there is anything you can say that I couldn’t say better.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve put a lot of points in MIND since we last met.”
She laughs. “You clearly haven’t put enough.”
Wolf skids to a halt and Sam and I both hop off.
Her hands tucked in her robes, she steps before us as the city guards arrive. The women’s horses snort as soon as they slow. The first guard to approach, a muscular female with spiky black hair and an androgynous face, keeps her eyes on Lothar as Sam speaks.
“We have been sent north by the Obelisk to investigate the Red Plague.”
The city guard drops her gaze from Lothar to Sam.
The Metican warrior women wear white armor that accentuates their curves. Tied to the left side of their waists are what, with my little knowledge of fashion, I’d label as “half-skirts.” The bottom of the half-skirts are cut in an oval-like pattern, and there are embroidered symbols along the seams.
The Last Warrior of Unigaea Box Set: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure Page 33