by Wade Adrian
Tom rested his head in his palms, elbows on the table. "So much for trying to get rid of the evidence. They'll find us logged in when we don't show up. Red handed. Fuck."
"No good thing lasts forever."
"Ugh. A reprimand like that, my uncles freighter will be the only place we'll ever get work."
"Is it a nice ship?"
"This place looks like a cruise ship by comparison."
"Damn."
Tom tilted his head a bit, looking at Max with one eye. "Why do I feel... hungover?"
Max nodded, again wishing he hadn't. "Now that you mention it... yeah."
"We didn't drink that much. I mean, that was casual Tuesday drinking at best. But this feels... more like Sunday morning."
"Also it was fake booze."
"It was." Tom's eyes widened a bit and he nodded, as if that hadn't been apparent before. "The lot of this makes no damned sense."
"What do you think the odds are that something fucked up royally and we're this close," Max held up his hand, two fingers almost touching, "to lobotomized?"
Tom stared at him a moment. "Fifty fifty?"
"Spares us your uncles freighter."
"Well there is that." Tom leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Okay, well, what now? We're here, wherever here is. I'm not familiar with the area."
"Or being a priest, which you still are."
Tom looked down at himself for a moment. "Fuck."
"Caddrach."
"Say what?"
"Your name is Caddrach."
Tom squinted at Max for a moment. "Oh, the priest." He moved his hand to open the menu. "Ugh. Yeah. Bit guttural, isn't it?"
"Certainly unique."
"It gets better. Apparently my divine patron is Yar, the God of Lost Marbles."
"Is..." Max rubbed at the space between his eyes, "Is that a thing? I've never heard of that. It sounds kind of silly for this game."
"I don't think it's normal, no." Tom shook his head a tiny bit, mostly moving his chin. "Come to think of it... I had the weirdest dream."
"At least you did. Think I blacked out."
"You always have been a lightweight." Tom moved his hand around. "Alcohol tolerance of four. You don't think that factored in, do you...?"
Max checked his own stats. "Tolerance of six, lightweight."
Tom grunted. "You do seem less... bothered." His hand moved a few more times. "Huh. Not a dream, then."
"No?"
A few of the other patrons were lumbering to their feet now, most simply walking out the front door like it was perfectly fine to do so. Maybe the storm had let up.
"I don't know what it has to do with anything, but... I've got a quest. Just one, and its kind of basic. But since it was given to me in the middle of the night by a kid straight out of The Shining, I'm going to assume it's what we're supposed to be doing. Maybe it will get us past this priest and rogue thing."
"Can you share it?"
"Uhh... no."
"I see. So, we've got marching orders from a horror movie to wander off into the snow. I'm sure there's no way that can go wrong."
"All I got, man." Tom shrugged.
Max sat up straight in his chair. "Well, I've got nothing better to do. When do we leave?"
4
Getting up from the table was the first challenge. Tom had to keep both hands on it to sturdy himself. After a few moments, he let go carefully. "Okay... good. You think they've got any coffee around here?"
"I'm pretty sure coffee wouldn't grow somewhere this cold."
"It's only a game, man. Merchants have all kinds of crap they shouldn't. Like how wolves drop boots and shit." His feet seemed steady enough for now. He looked down at the chair he had been sitting on, then at his waist.
He opened his inventory and paged around.
Then he leaned on the chair to look at the floor. "You see my mace?"
Max shook his head, said, "Gah," then held it steady with both hands. "No. I don't. Where did you leave it?"
"Right here." Tom pointed at his hip.
His hip that... had no metal covering it.
He blinked as he stared. "Shit." His inventory flew open once more, confirming his suspicions. "I think that kid robbed me."
"A kid did what?" Max rubbed at his eyes for a moment before looking across the table. "Uh... yeah you had a chain shirt, didn't you?"
"Shirt is gone. Mace is gone. No money. Just clothes and shoes."
"Probably wouldn't fit a kid."
"This is serious! I need..." Tom's eyes narrowed at Max. "Give me my stuff back."
Max tilted his head slightly. "You're accusing me of stealing?"
"You're a rogue. You could do it. NPCs don't steal from players. Not unless its part of a quest or something."
"Me. Me. You think I stole something." Max scoffed.
Tom stood, his arms crossed.
"Dude, whatever, check my inventory." He opened his own screen, his eyes widening a moment later, his hand flying to his side. "My dagger is gone."
Tom sighed and leaned against the table once more. "Well, we're off to a grand start. We can't even fight things. At least you still have your armor. They probably just thought it was a tacky vest."
"Now you're just being rude."
Tom grumbled to himself.
A door set into one side of the room opened, the sound of a kitchen noticeable until it closed again. The cherry blonde serving girl from the night before wandered into the common room with a pitcher. She shook her head as she stepped over one of the snoring drunks.
Max held up a hand. "Pardon me, miss?"
She tilted her head at him. "Yes?" The word came out... strange. Almost like it had an I stuck in there somewhere.
"Hate to be a bother but we seem to have misplaced some things last night. Now, I don't want to jump to accuse any of your fine patrons but-"
"Someone stole our stuff." Tom bit off the words.
She blinked at the pair.
Max sighed. "Yes, more or less. Was there anyone around who might be... known for such antics?"
She set the pitcher on the table. Max inched away from it. Tom considered picking it up. Can't be drunk and hungover.
"Voltaig brings many." She tapped a finger against her chin. "Most won't come again until next year."
Max slumped back in his chair.
"What about creepy kids?" Tom crossed his arms. His balance wasn't exactly on point yet, but he remained upright. "Some blonde girl was bugging me last night. She might have taken our stuff. Hell," he pointed out into the room at the sleeping drunks, "maybe some of theirs, too."
She seemed confused for a moment. "No children at Voltaig. None here, leastwise."
Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It's like this, we... have places to be, but we're kind of in a pickle now."
"Pickle?"
"A... jam. A problem. We need our things to move on. Even if we wanted to leave, we wouldn't get far."
She nodded. "Oh. I am seeing. Seeking work."
"Work?" Max pondered it. "I guess we could replace what we lost."
She picked up the pitcher with a shrug. "Always work."
The cold had let up some outside. Standing in the sun they didn't lose any health, and the cold was almost bearable.
Tom had shed his priestly robe in favor of the wool shirt underneath. The game seemed to become more of an asshole by the minute, so he was sure the wool would start itching any second now.
"I just want to point out..." He hefted an axe high into the air before bringing it down in a swift chop, sending two halves of a split log flying. "That we're doing menial labor in a game we play specifically to get away from the actual menial labor we do every day."
Max shrugged and placed another log on the stump. "At least we have applicable work experience?"
"I hate you. I hate this game. I hate this axe. I hate that my hands hurt, which is stupid because they can't hurt." Tom held out the axe to Max. "You're turn."
"It's been my turn until just now."
"Yeah, well, I'm playing support. So, go get 'em Paul Bunyan. Rah, rah. DPS those logs."
Max took the axe. "It's okay, I understand you're having a bad day."
"We. We are having a bad day." He found another stump to sit on. It was cold, but everything was cold here.
"I dunno. Bit of a vacation, I suppose." Max swept his gaze around the rocky, sparsely vegetated, snow laden hell-scape that was all that existed outside the little pub they had found. "Change of scenery is kinda nice, if a tad familiar."
"And that is pissing me off too. I have no goddamn idea where we are. None of this looks familiar, and I have walked the island up and down countless times."
Max chopped the waiting log and set another up. "I'm going to assume... north. Or very south."
Tom narrowed his eyes at the ingrate. "You're enjoying this."
"Trying to. It will be sad to see it all go when we get booted."
"Pfft." Tom rolled his eyes. "Honestly it's starting to feel insulting. It's going on noon and no one has noticed we're missing? I mean, we're not essential, I guess, but god damn."
"You mean Yar damn."
"Dude, fuck you. Tell me your stupid god is better."
Max set the axe down, picked up another log with one hand and opened his interface with the other. "Umbra. Apparently the patron of shadows. Not something I would have picked."
"Well at least yours makes some sense."
"Yes. For the record I am apparently not a rogue, but an assassin."
"Oh, a much more socially acceptable line of work. Assassinate some logs."
Max felled another. "Seems like points we had assigned are still assigned. I seem to be all in on piercing weapons and stealth."
"Mine ended up in spell casting." Tom wore a sour expression as he paged through the character information. "But as you are not a rogue, I am not a priest. I'm a cleric. Seems to mean I can wear real armor and get weapons. Small mercy there. I'd go crazy as a pure caster."
"I think you'd make a fine wizard." Another log fell to pieces. "They don't do any physical labor either."
"Fuck you."
The door to the pub creaked as it opened. The serving girl backed out holding a cloth wrapped bundle in her arms.
Max set up another log, no doubt trying to look busy.
Tom didn't really care what these people thought of him anymore.
"Mother says Voltaig hospitality means we must do our best to replace what was stolen on Voltaig." She set the bundle down. There was a distinct metallic clink or two. "Most likely not good as what you had, but all we have here to spare."
Tom opened the bundle. There was a chain shirt... a bit rusty, a few small holes, and lacking sleeves, but it upped his defense by a power of magnitude, and would hopefully keep his organs where they belonged. Still better than Max's tacky vest.
Paladin boy set the axe down. "What do you mean? Is there some reason you need weapons here?"
The girl nodded. "There are many dangers near. We know them well. Generations have been born and fallen here. Generations more will carry on."
"Maybe we could help."
Tom rolled his eyes. "Oh come on."
"What? They helped us, it's only fair."
The chain shirt didn't look nearly as nice as his old one when he put it on, but... it seemed functional. And dusty. Probably lived in the attic. He hadn't exactly made a note of the stats on his old gear, so it was hard to miss it. "We have a goal."
"Do we?" Max shrugged. "Wandering around the mountains isn't much of a goal. A good way to freeze, though."
The girl nodded. "Many are lost to the mountain every year."
Tom tugged on his beard. "You're a local, right? You know anything about... umm." He had only the vaguest idea of what he was looking for. The kid hadn't exactly been a wealth of useful information. "A kid told me to find their place in the mountains... which sounds a bit odd when I say it out loud."
Max sat on the wood chopping stump. "But they say there was no kid. Maybe you dreamed it."
"A, I don't think I can dream in here. B, I have a quest in my log. Go north, find my place. My only place. The only place for the only one."
The rogue scoffed. "Because that's not cryptic or anything." He paused a moment. "Cryptic... you think it's a priest kind of thing? You couldn't share it with me."
"I guess. Kid with a sick family or something?" Tom turned to the girl. "You know of anything like that."
She shook her head. "No. There are many homes in the hills, but they are scattered. We hold much ground, but we don't often gather in numbers. We value independence. Voltaig is a rare exception. Few homes to the north. None I know of are in danger. Most live nearer the capital."
Max nodded a few times. "But they gather at this Voltaig thing? Like a holiday? Then maybe someone did come looking for help."
"Priests are rare here. Most often when someone is ill or ailing they seek out a shrine. The gods may listen, or they may not. A priest would be more useful, I suppose. Able to go to the sick who can not be moved."
Tom looked over the text again. It seemed... far more vague than someone looking for a healer. "Maybe." He stood up and put his robe back on, over the armor. "Tell me about these shrines."
Max chopped another log. "Why?"
"If this is a priest quest, maybe I'm dealing with the dead, or someone who tried to go to a shrine but it was broken or something. Doubt just anyone can fix one."
The girl frowned. "If you truly wish to risk the mountain, you'll need better supplies."
Max scoffed as the axe hit again. "Yeah, we figured that one out yesterday the fun way. What will all this cover?" He put another log on the stump.
"Cloaks and food, I'm sure."
Tom was mulling over his character sheet. "Which gods have shrines out there?"
She seemed confused. "All of them?"
Max smiled a bit. "Is there one to Umbra?"
The girl's hand grasped something hanging around her neck through her blouse. Her eyes had grown wide for a moment. "No. There would not be."
Strange.
Tom closed his character sheet. "How about Yar?"
The girl started for the pub. "If you wish to depart, sooner would be better. Shadows grow short."
Max set the axe down. "Huh."
Tom watched her until she was back inside, the door shut tight behind her. "That was a yes."
"I guess the trick now is getting out of here before they can whip up a stake to burn you on."
"Probably a good idea."
"Maybe that's a name you don't want to throw around."
Tom shrugged. "She didn't seem to like your god either."
"Yeah, but she kept talking to us after I mentioned mine. She rabbited at the mere mention of yours."
He frowned a bit, staring at the door. "That's kind of worrisome though, isn't it? This seems like a really complex quest. I mean, hell, she was conversing with us. Responding. Seemed confused when we mentioned things she didn't know about, rather than simply ignoring it. Those didn't seem like dialog points."
"You're getting paranoid. Maybe your god of crazy is rubbing off." Max knelt by the little bundle Tom had taken his new shirt from. He sighed. "Really?"
Tom looked back. "What's up?"
Max pulled two rusty metal knives from the bundle, which looked to be a ratty old blanket when unfolded. The knives were... simple. Large, but they'd clearly come from a kitchen.
Tom scoffed. "I see we got the included set of ginsu knives."
"Laugh it up." Max set the knives aside and picked up a hunk of wood, which he held out to Tom.
It was hefty, had a defined handle, decent stats, could probably crack a few skulls... and looked a lot like a table leg. "Well... I'd say this has given us a leg up."
Max groaned. "Really?"
"What? I thought it went the distance. I mean, it has legs."
"Stop it." Max picked up the knives, looking them over bef
ore tucking them behind his belt.
"Or what? What are you going to do with those? Serve me pie?"
Max looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Just for that..." He grabbed the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. "This is mine. I was going to try and cut it in half, share with you if crafting allowed, but no. Mine."
"You keep it, Chef Boyardee. I don't want fleas." He also already had a robe which put him way ahead. And it didn't need fleas.
Tom opened the door carefully, a few bits of cut firewood loaded under his other arm. "Hey, where does this go?"
Max lumbered past, loaded down with as much as Tom managed to get into his arms before he started dropping them. A chunk fell off and Tom picked it up, adding it to the three he already carried.
"So hard to find good help."
The serving girl appeared in the main room. When she saw Max she pointed at the fireplace and helped, taking a few pieces of wood from the unstable top of the stack and setting them in a wrought iron thing by the fire. It took a few minutes, but she stacked it all carefully as Max stood dutifully.
When she got toward the middle of the stack, Tom set his bits of wood on top of Max's bundled arms when her back was turned.
The room was empty now, aside from the three of them. The front windows and door were open, but the door to the kitchen was shut, as were the doors on the second floor. Probably where the proprietors slept.
Seemed like nobody was feeling talkative.
"Place seems dead."
The girl paused a moment before continuing. "Visitors tend to come in the evening."
Max let out a sigh of relief when he handed over the last of the firewood. "Thanks." He stretched his shoulders a bit, the blanket hitting his ear. He grabbed a pinch of the material. "You want this back?"
"Hmm? Oh, no." She smiled sweetly. "You keep it." She stared a moment before she blinked and turned away. "Umm, for the firewood. More than expected. A few days at least." She pointed at a table by the door. "We gathered things for your journey. Food, warmth."
Tom was already poking through the folded cloth and bundled food. Mostly bread. It wouldn't keep. Some potatoes and carrots. It might do. For now. "Thanks."
"Of course. A fair exchange."