Outpost: A LitRPG Adventure (Monsters, Maces and Magic Book 1)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  The big man dropped to the ground. Kirby sent a boot into his nose. Probably not killing their attacker, but ensuring he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

  Not even letting anyone catch their breath, Kirby signaled his companions. “Jax, take off their boots and line them up. Marigold watch for trouble.”

  Despite his injuries, the half-goblin went right to what he’d been trained to do, thieving, going through pockets and pouches.

  Glenn tugged off one of the men’s boots. “What am I doing this for?”

  “You’ll see,” Kirby replied.

  “People are watching from the cracks between the shutters,” Marigold whispered. She tested her injured leg while holding her rapier ready.

  When Glenn had all eight boots in a row, Kirby drew his cutlass.

  “You’re not going to kill them?” Marigold asked, somehow managing to keep her voice under control.

  “Naw, just keeping them from chasing us tonight. Jax, do what you can for Marigold, while I finish up.” While Kirby hacked each boot once or twice, Glenn placed a hand on Stephi’s injured leg and muttered the magical words that triggered a Minor Healing Draw Spell.

  Stephi gave a sigh of relief. Glenn nearly fell forward, the pain of Stephi’s wound announcing its appearance on his leg.

  Stephi shot forward and helped Glenn keep his balance. The absorbed injury wasn’t as bad as the blow to his shoulder or ribs, and he triggered his self-healing.

  “Are you okay, Jax?”

  The gnome healer nodded. It surprised him that he transferred Marigold’s injury onto himself without question. Maybe the heat of the moment enabled him to do it, coming after a life and death struggle. Maybe because the fabric of her breeches hid the visual aspect of her injury. Maybe because it gave him the chance to touch her leg. That thought turned his stomach. Made him feel like a creep.

  Glenn caught a radiant smile from beneath Stephi’s drawn hood.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I feel better than new.”

  Whatever the reason, Stephi’s sincere appreciation told him he’d done the right thing, giving him hope he’d be able to do it again.

  Kirby picked up the lead thug’s mace and handed it to Stephi. “He’ll be okay. You don’t have a lot of hit points like he does.” He made eye contact with Glenn after looking around for danger. “You okay now?”

  Glenn nodded. After his self-healing triggered, his leg still ached some. He was out of spell, or healing, energy, meaning he probably still retained some of Stephi’s injury or, in this world’s terms, a hit point or two of damage.

  Kirby signaled his friends. “Come on, we still have a little way to go.”

  Watching for any threats from the buildings as they passed, Kirby led them the rest of the way down the narrow street and onto a wider one.

  Twilight was upon them, and the city.

  “No more streets like that,” Stephi scolded. There were a few men still on the streets, but no women to be found. “I think you located part of this city’s hood.”

  Another right, a few blocks and then a left and Kirby stopped and looked left and right at the next cross street. He pointed. “There, the round well house with an eagle carving on top.”

  “That’s where we’re going to sleep?” Stephi asked. “In a well house?”

  “No,” Kirby said. “A landmark. The Ox Wagon Tavern is supposed to be a half block down the street past the eagle’s right wing. There’s an inn next door. The courier said it was affordable.”

  “I hope you and he share the same definition of affordable,” Glenn said, wondering if the courier actually said “affordable.”

  Stephi added, “I hope the inn isn’t run by this world’s version of a slum lord.”

  Kirby led them down the street, past a man carrying a short pole who’d stopped next to the well house’s open doorway. The thinly mustached man, wearing a red and blue sash, but no weapon, nodded to the trio as they passed. He reached up with his three-foot pole and used its hooked prong to catch a loop. He lifted a circular band of sheet metal atop a lamp post that Kirby hadn’t paid attention to. Actually, until that moment, he hadn’t known what the erected eight-foot tall device was.

  From within a glow of white light emerged, emitting 360 degrees of soft light. The lamp’s light, equivalent to a sixty watt bulb, didn’t exactly eliminate all darkness, leaving more than its fair share of shadows. But for a human, Glenn imagined, it was far better than nothing.

  Small slivers of light made their way between shuttered windows on the street level. Some higher up windows remained opened, but no light emerged. That suggested to Glenn that they still weren’t in the safest part of town.

  Did the duke’s guardsmen patrol this area? And this was where Kirby was taking them to stay the night?

  Glenn and Stephi followed in line behind Kirby, around and past the well house. It might’ve looked odd, but seemed the most efficient and least likely to cause a confrontation—apparent street rage should someone get in someone’s way or cross some imaginary line.

  The Ox Wagon Tavern didn’t have a sign, in the usual sense. No words naming it. Rather, illuminated by a nearby street light, above the door of the crumbling brick establishment hung a weathered wagon wheel with an ox’s skull mounted on the hub.

  Behind the single story building with a roof sloping toward the street stood a larger wooden structure. Glenn’s night vision showed it appeared sturdy enough, but he knew little of construction. It had tall, narrow windows, each with a single closed shutter. Kirby might be able to squeeze through such an opening, but no way could Glenn with his stouter form. Stephi was slender, except for her epic chest, so she was out. Ron wouldn’t far any better than Glenn. And Derek, with his broad shoulders and muscles? No way.

  That made Glenn wonder if the point was to keep people out. Or people in?

  Glenn guessed the tall building was the inn associated with the tavern, as the rear of the tavern’s roof attached to it. If he wanted to get out through one of the windows, his cudgel could widen the window frame.

  Across the street, which was nearly as wide as the one leading from the main gate to the keep, was a blacksmith’s shop and an apparent stables, identifiable by the smell and faint sound of horses within. Maybe not so much the smell, Glenn thought, although he had seen several shovels with carts for cleaning up animal waste. Not a job he’d want, and being a gnome would make it…challenging, unless he pushed a smaller cart. And if they paid by volume instead of by the cart load…

  Glenn snapped back his drifting thoughts. He was tired and worn out, but they were about to enter a tavern and he was the height of an eight-year-old kid.

  The establishment had a small porch with several men standing on it. They appeared to be thick-armed laborers based upon their sack-cloth tunics and sandals. Heavily bearded and wild-haired, their conversation hushed as they eyed Kirby’s approach.

  Kirby led the three past the workmen on the porch and entered the tavern through its propped open door.

  The interior was sort of what Glenn expected, like an Irish pub minus any booth seating and neon beer signs. One magical glowing orb hung from the high ceiling which had a lattice work of boards, possibly to allow the smoke from the various tobacco products to rise, and also to allow the sounds to go somewhere rather than be reflected back down into the large room. Several strategically placed lanterns supplemented the central magical light.

  To either side of the door stood a bank of windows, all of their shutters closed, but not barred. Opposite the door, about forty feet in, was a bar with high wooden stools, most of which were occupied. Several round tables were scattered about with wooden chairs, but mainly there were long rectangular tables with benches. Only a few of the tables and bench seats were occupied, again, mainly by laboring types.

  The fireplace along the left wall held red-hot coals under a large steaming kettle. Above the fireplace was the stuffed head of a huge bull with stubby horns. It appeared someone made efforts to ke
ep the fur clean and brushed, because the beast of burden almost looked alive.

  The ox head gave the Irish pub a bit of an Old West saloon vibe. Some of the dry wood in the floor and around the windows added to that influence.

  Everyone’s gaze turned toward Glenn and his companions as they entered. Every face frowned, except for the man behind the bar. He kept a straight face. The meaty waitress carrying mugs of ale or beer to one of the rectangular tables simply raised an eyebrow.

  Kirby made his way directly to the bar, his boots hardly making a sound as he strode across the planks of the wooden floor. Glenn followed, his boots clomping along, with Stephi’s two inch heels making some noise, but far less than Glenn.

  Without any preamble, Kirby said, “We heard you had rooms for rent here.”

  The bartender appraised the half-goblin, before his eyes fell onto Glenn who moved up to Kirby’s right and then to the towering Stephi on Kirby’s left. She’d kept her cloak’s hood over her head. Glenn thought maybe her showing a Hollywood glamor smile might help.

  “Depends,” the bartender said, wiping his bar top with a rag. “You spending any coin to eat or drink here?” He wore a red and white checkered shirt with suspenders. The dark stubble was longer than what a man would have from five o’clock shadow.

  “Depends,” Kirby replied. “On the room.”

  “A room?” He looked at the three of them again, and their gear and weapons.

  Kirby grinned, not quite ferally. “There ain’t any occupancy ordnances, are there?”

  “Occupancy ordnances?” The bartender flipped the wiping rag onto his shoulder. “Awfully big words for one of your type.”

  “My gnome friend’s been tutoring me.” He rested his arm on Glenn’s shoulder.

  “This fella your friend, Mr. Gnome?”

  Glenn wasn’t expecting a question directed at him, and blurted out. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

  The bartender’s eyes settled on Stephi’s chest, which couldn’t be fully disguised by her cloak. His eyes rose as he tried to peer into the shadowy depths of her hood. The lighting angles weren’t working in his favor. “What about you, young lady?”

  “They’re both my friends.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Silver a night, paid up front.”

  “This ain’t exactly a five star hotel,” Kirby replied.

  “Don’t know what five stars means, fella, but a silver’s the price, no matter how many stars, even if all I’ve got is an inn, and not whatever else you said.”

  “Can we see it first?”

  “Sure, and if you take the room, you and your two friends get one drink for no coin.”

  “Kirby said, “If the ale’s equal quality to the room…”

  “Both are passable, what you get for no coin,” the bartender said. “The ‘five star’ drinks require coin.”

  “Give us a look at the room,” Kirby said.

  The bartender called out over his shoulder to a back room, or more likely the kitchen. It was difficult for Glenn to say, not being able to really see well over the bar. “Young Burt, show these three Room Eight.”

  A few of the patrons’ eyes drifted toward the conversation with the bartender, but most weren’t interested. Apparently if the bartender didn’t kick the half-goblin out, they could live with it.

  “We’re weary from travel,” Kirby said. “If we like it can Burt bring down the silver coin?”

  “Sure,” the bartender said. “My name’s Burt. My father’s the cook. He’s Old Burt.”

  Kirby nodded. “Got it, Burt. They call me Gurk, and we’ll have two more friends coming to join us in our room. Warrior types named Lysine and Kalgore.”

  “Only two cots per room,” Burt said. “Floor don’t cost anything extra.”

  “Nor, I trust, will their first drink,” Kirby said.

  Young Burt was probably eight or nine, and rather clean, wearing a shirt and trousers with suspenders, just like his father. His boots were probably a size or two too large for his feet, based on the way he shuffled and clomped down the narrow halls and up the narrow but sturdy stairs.

  “Mostly get merchants and their men,” Young Burt said, opening the door to room eight.

  Glenn counted four rooms on the bottom floor and six on the second, based upon the doors with their faded white numbers painted upon them.

  Room eight was in the middle of the hall, facing the tavern’s side.

  Young Burt carried a candle and lit one sitting atop a narrow dresser next to the door, which opened into the room. The pillow end of two short cots sat along the far wall with a narrow window between them. It was shuttered and barred. A small table sat under the window and it held an oil lantern.

  Kirby counted steps from the left side of the room to the right. Then he glanced out into the hallway, examining the placement of the doors. “Twelve feet. So we get one of the small rooms?”

  “Pa’s in charge of the room giving,” the thin boy said. He pointed to a three-foot-long piece of lumber, equivalent to a two by four. Its ends were cut at angles. “Some like to have those to brace that against the door.”

  Kirby’s left eyebrow rose as he scratched his chin. “Are there a lot of break-ins?”

  “Not if you use that.” Young Burt’s voice held sincerity. “No extra pillows but I can get ya three extra blankets.” He paused and watched Kirby examine the window and the beds.

  Glenn, standing in the doorway, didn’t smell anything foul. Dusty with a bit of mildew. Streaks of dirt on the floor showed someone had at least run a broom across it recently.

  Behind him Stephi huffed impatiently.

  Kirby lifted the lid to the chamber pot that sat in the corner, the side where the door swung open. He nodded in approval. He pulled a pouch from his pocket and unknotted the leather string keeping it closed and tied to his belt. “One silver for the room,” he said, “and two irons if you can round up something that might work for three more pillows.”

  Young Burt smiled. “Ma’s got some sacks with old rags she won’t miss for a few days,” he said.

  “As long as they’re clean rags,” Kirby said with a smile.

  The boy tried to smile back, but flinched at the half-goblin’s teeth, which were a little on the pointed side—not human.

  When the boy scurried off, Glenn stepped aside and let Stephi enter before him. Following, he closed the door and picked up the board to brace it closed.

  “Naw, not yet,” Kirby said. “Wait for the kid to bring the other pillows.”

  Stephi took off her cloak, unbuckled her belt, and set her rapier and the flanged mace on the floor at the foot of one of the beds. She sat down on it. “Lysine is signaling Petie that they’re finished.”

  “That took longer than I thought it would,” Kirby said, using a piece of straw lit from the candle to light the lantern.

  “Perfect timing,” Glenn said.

  “Don’t jinx anything,” she said, closing her eyes. “I need to concentrate to help them get to us.”

  Kirby asked. “Do they have Byeol’s body?”

  Stephi squinted her eyes in concentrated. “No. Lysine’s carrying some of our gear and Kalgore has a big sack. Looks like all of the goblin weapons you picked and that big spiked club are in it.”

  “Make sure they keep off Tremain Street,” Kirby warned.

  “Tremain Street? Which one is that?”

  “Where we ran into trouble.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Petie knows what direction I am from him but he doesn’t see as well as I do in the dark, so don’t say anything to me for a while.”

  Glenn pulled the shield off his back, sloughed off his satchel and pulled his cudgel from his belt. Like Stephi, he put all of it on the floor at the end of the open bed. Kirby watched as the gnome kicked off his boots.

  “I’m beat,” Glenn said, rubbing his leg. Walking with the injury he’d absorbed from Stephi but couldn’t fully heal made it ache even worse.

  “Catch a nap,�
�� Kirby encouraged. “I’ll watch things.”

  “I will in a minute.” He pulled the coins he had wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed deep into his pocket—suddenly realizing that pockets probably weren’t around in medieval times—and showed Kirby what he had: Three gold, six silver, four copper, and eight iron coins. They were all similar size, about that of a quarter, and had the head of a crowned man stamped on one side and an axe framed by four stars on the other. They didn’t appear perfectly minted like the money he was used to.

  “Hey, not bad,” Kirby said.

  “Okay,” Glenn said. “Lysine explained the conversion, but he didn’t really say how much each was worth…what it could buy.”

  “Makes sense,” Kirby said. “He thinks like that. There’s suggested cost charts in the Player’s Guide.” He sat down on the cot next to Glenn. “Think of it like this. Irons coins are like nickels, bronze like fifty cent pieces, coppers like dollars, silvers like a twenty dollar bill and golds like four or five hundred dollars.

  “But in game terms, things don’t always fit. What we’re in is maybe a two-star hotel, but twenty bucks wouldn’t buy that in the real world.” He paused, seemingly remembering something, then continued. “Plus, you gotta haggle most of the time, or no one will respect you. They expect it.”

  “When don’t you haggle?” Glenn asked.

  Kirby shrugged. “When it doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

  “Right,” Glenn said, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “Kick off your boots, Jax, and get some sleep. Marigold will be busy a while and I’ll watch things.”

  “But you’re still hurt, too,” Glenn said.

  “The way you’ve been limping? I’d say we’re about even.”

  Glenn wasn’t so sure about that. Kirby had been favoring his right arm, and had a knot above his left ear. Glenn knew he had most of his hit points, and more than Kirby to start with. Thieves only got a D6.

  Kirby said, “Go ahead, dude. Get some sleep. I’ll get Lysine to cast a minor cure on me when he gets here.”

  Glenn was too tired to argue. He climbed up toward the pillow and caught a glimpse of Stephi, eyes squeezed closed in concentration. It seemed the flickering light made her even more impossibly beautiful.