“Quiet, woman!” the merchant hissed at her. “You want to get us on Felix’s bad side? Or worse?”
That was the most interesting thing he heard. Most of the customers spoke of mundane things: crops and weather and small-town gossip. Here or there, people mentioned ‘him’ and their conversation faltered. They were afraid. Not afraid enough to do anything about it, but Hawke couldn’t blame them. ‘He’ had to be the Necromancer and Hawke knew exactly why his power was growing. He was taking it from other gamers like him, brought to this world and turned into energy batteries after which their corpses ended up in the arachnoids’ larder to be reborn and go through it all over again.
I made a promise to change that.
When the girl brought him his ‘peet-sha’ he offered her another copper coin. “I was hoping you’d answer a couple of questions for me,” he told her.
She glanced around the dining room before replying. “Things are quiet for now, so I might spare a few moments for a kind stranger,” she said with a grin and sat across the table from him. “My name is Alba. Alba Bastardes.”
For second, he thought she might be related to one of the guards, Calvo Bastardes, until it clicked in his head that the name simply meant ‘the bastard.’ No legitimate parents. Sucked to have that stuck to your name.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Hawke. As you can see, I’m in need of some clothing. Do you know where I can buy some?”
“Weaver Tacito has a shop right off the main Via, south of the Prefect’s Keep. And Decimo Tailor is a couple of blocks east of the inn, right off the town wall. But they won’t open till morning, and you need something right away, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Bear ate my pants.”
“So that’s what happened! I’m glad you survived!” she said, patting his hand lightly. “Well, you can ask Dorrham. There’re always some spare clothes around, things offered for payment instead of coin, or left behind by those who left in a hurry and forgot their things – and to settle their bills, as often as not. He’ll do right by you, and at better prices than you’ll find at the shops.”
Browsing through the inn’s lost and found and buying secondhand clothes didn’t sound very appealing, but Hawke figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. Dr. Reich, his old history teacher, had mentioned how expensive clothing was in premodern times. People were lucky to have more than one set of garments. If he wanted to stretch his meager cash reserves, going through Dorrham and buying some castoffs might be his best bet.
“Thank you. My other question was, do you offer lodging here? It’s getting late and I need a place to sleep.”
“Why yes, we have rooms for travelers. Three copper denars will get you a room and breakfast in the morning; or you can stay in the common room by the stable for one din. And if you’d care to have some company,” she added, leaning forward so Hawke could get a good look at the cleavage her shirt was carefully cut to display. “It’d be five copper denars, because you are cute. Ten coppers for anyone else.”
He splurged for the single room and spent another seven copper for a set of woolen leggings and shirt that Dorrham assured him had been boiled and lye-washed to ensure no fleas or other vermin were included in the sale. Trading in the torn-up shirt and leather pants knocked a copper off the price. Hawke had a feeling those bloody rags would be patched up and offered for sale in the near future. He didn’t mind. In a world where killing monsters made money almost literally rain down from heaven, he should be able to support himself.
The room was one of five on the second floor, a tiny four-walled space with a honey bucket by way of toilet and a bed covered by a clean if ragged piece of cloth; the ‘mattress’ underneath was straw that felt both too yielding and lumpy, not to mention scratchy. There was no light; Alba took a lamp with her to show him the room.
“The offer still stands,” she said with a smile and a bit of a wiggle.
Hawke was very tempted to take her up on it, but he was down to a few coppers and had no idea how easy it would be to sell the stuff he’d acquired along the way. Alba pouted when he declined and left, taking the lamp with her. He didn’t care; his Half-Elf vision worked fine. Hawke barred the flimsy door and lay down.
He was trapped in a world where misery and poverty were the order of the day. He wanted to go home to his life, his friends, his family. For several seconds, he took long, slow breaths, ignoring the stink of the mattress and the room – sort of a combination of gym locker, the back alley of a bar, and moldy sawdust – and shrugged off the bout of self-pity.
It is what it is, he told himself. Get over it.
Something or somebody had felt entitled to abduct him and who knew how many other people and bring them to some twisted version of a game where living beings were used like playing pieces. His only options were to make his way through this world or lie down and wait to die. He knew which one to choose. Besides, he had made promises that he intended to keep.
Thanks. You were pretty quiet back there, after you told me about Arcane professions.
Thank you.
The sword’s voice, even with the extra snark, comforted Hawke. No matter what, he wasn’t completely alone.
He slept.
Seventeen
“Wazzit?” Hawke mumbled as he stirred. It was still dark as sin in the room and he was so tired that drifting off back into sleep was almost too tempting to resist.
That woke him up in a hurry. Hawke sat up, clutching the sword tightly; he started to draw it out of its scabbard until he felt the string around the hilt. “Where?”
A moment later, a scream broke out in the distance.
“I should do something,” he said, not sounding at all sure of himself. The thought of going off into the night to fight the living dead was not attractive at all. Not after what the Dire Bear had done to him. It was all fun and games until you felt your flesh being eaten right off your live body.
Nobody had elected him to be town sheriff. Orom had guards. They’d probably handle it. If he went out looking for trouble, they might even arrest him for disturbing the peace. His armor was messed up and he didn’t have a shield. It made no sense to risk getting killed. The XP would probably suck anyway. He had promised to protect the innocent, but was that every innocent in the world, or did he have some discretion?
Excuses. The truth was, he was terrified of going out there.
Another scream echoed through the night.
Hawke activated his auras, illuminating the room. He got up and started to put on his new clothes.
“Yep.”
“Good.”
He went downstairs. The tavern’s door was
barred from the inside. As he started to remove the obstruction, Dorrham came into the common room, wearing a robe and holding a loaded crossbow.
“What’re ye doing?” the dwarf asked in a harsh whisper.
“There are vampires out there. I’m going to take care of them.”
“Going to get killed, more likely,” the innkeeper grumbled but he lowered the weapon. “If it’s yer will to go outside, I’ll help ye unbar the door.”
“Um, can I borrow one of your stools? The bear ate my shield and I could use something to block with.”
The bear also ate me, but let’s not get into that.
Dorrham nodded and set the crossbow on the bar. “Might be I can help ye, Paladin. And with something better than a stool.”
You have earned +64 Reputation (Base 40, +60% Charisma Bonus) with Dorrham Stern
Current Reputation: +64 (Respected)
The Dwarf ran into the back room of the inn and came back with a shield; its rim and boss – the central metal part – were polished bronze, and its outer facing was painted with a pair of eyes and a scowling mouth beneath it. It was bigger than Hawke’s old shield, and it would have protected most of the Dwarf’s shorter body.
“This here was my standard-issue shield, from my last year in the Mordenhen Legion,” Dorrham said, looking wistful for a moment. “Never took it to battle, more’s the pity, for it was me best shield. Been gathering dust, hanging from a wall all these years. Take it, Paladin. May it serve you well tonight.”
Hawke accepted it, feeling strangely moved by the Dwarf’s gesture. The handle was different than the one on his old shield, but his body knew how to hold it properly. The same instinctual knowledge told him that he would need to change his fighting stance while using it. Attacking would be trickier; the larger shield offered more protection but would also get in the way of some of his moves. His Shield Skill seemed to cover that, though, so he should be okay.
You have received: Burnished Reinforced Shield (Good Quality):
Block Bonus: 28%. Damage Absorption (Successful Block Only): Physical: 30/35%, Elemental (All) 15/20%. Durability: 30/30. Requires Shield Skill
“Thank you very much. I’ll bring it back after I’m done.”
Dorrham made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Nay, nay. It’s yers now. I’m not brave enough to go into the night with ye. Too old and slow to do anything but get meself killed. A shield like this should belong to those who would place their bodies between danger and their people. It is yers now.”
“Thank you,” Hawke repeated. “If there is anything I can do for you after this, consider it done.”
I know. But I also know when I owe somebody, Hawke replied.
You have earned +48 Reputation (Base 30, +60% Charisma Bonus) with Dorrham Stern
Current Reputation: +112 (Friendly)
“We will talk, later,” Dorrham said. “May the gods watch over ye.”
Hawke left.
* * *
One more scream pierced the night while he tried to navigate through the town. Hawke ran down the twisty streets, his boots splashing into puddles of mud – and who knew what else – as he headed towards the Undead.
Can you tell me anything about vampires? Hawke asked the sword.
That means we’ll have to figure out who turned her.
“Good to know who the final boss of this quest will be,” Hawke muttered to himself as he slowed down and caught his breath.
The screaming had stopped, but the sword created an arrow overlay pointed in the direction of the Undead, along with the distance in feet. Eighty-one feet, to be exact. Close enough to stop running and get ready to fight.
He turned a corner and saw a handful of men in chain mail armor milling around a water fountain in the center of a small courtyard. They were Town Guards; Hawke recognized Marko, the head guard at the gate. He seemed to be in charge and was whispering furiously at the other four soldiers.
“Steady, boys. Patros will be along soon.”
Hawke’s arrival caught everyone’s attention; the glowing golden aura around him was pretty noticeable. The guards readied their weapons but they relaxed when they saw who it was. Two of them held short spears and shields, two wielded crossbows, and Marko had a big chopping and stabbing blade at the end of a two-handed shaft, something like a halberd or naginata.
“Ohio Hawke,” Marko said. “Did the Priest send you?”
“Haven’t seen him yet,” he replied. “But I can tell you there are three Undead in that house over there. I’m here to deal with them.”
The arrow was pointed at a two-story house on a corner of the courtyard. A sign with a painted thread and needle hung over the door.
“Tailor Decimo’s home and shop,” Marko said.
“I’m going in,” Hawke told the guards.
“Three Undead? They don’t pay me enough for this,” one of the men said. He dropped his weapons, took off his helmet, and flung it to the ground before taking off at a dead run.
“Hey!” Marko yelled at the fleeing figure. “Get back here, Dimo, you coward! That mail shirt is town property!”
The shouting must have alerted the vampires in the tailor shop, so Hawke decided not to waste any more time. He reached for the sword and snapped the peace-bond string around it with one sharp tug. He looked at Marko to see if the guard leader objected, but the man just hung his head in shame, clearly too afraid to follow him. Hawke shook his head and marched up to the store.
He leaned against the door. It wasn’t locked and swung open easily. All hell broke loose.
Eighteen
The room beyond the front door was an open area fifteen feet across and twenty feet long, with tables covered by rolls of fabric or tailoring items along the side walls. A doorway at the other end led deeper into the house. A body lay in the middle of the room: a middle-aged man wearing a robe, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. That was all Hawke had time to see before a blur of motion erupted from the doorway and a pair of slender figures came rushing at him. Both male, clad in the remains of tunics and leggings, their mouths open impossibly wide to display two rows of shark-like teeth. Their stats were identical:
Lesser Newborn Vampire (Undead)
Level 2
Health 36 Mana 13 Endurance 36
Hawke unleased a Hammer of Light at one of them for 45 damage, blasting a hole clear through the creature and dropping it on the spot. The other one leaped at him; Hawke slammed the monster aside with a swipe of his shield, doing eight damage from the impact and his Aura of Light. As the vampire twisted like a snake to leap at him again, Hawke spitted him on the point of his sword. The unearthly shriek of agony at the deadly wound – 29 points – only lasted a moment; the Undead convulsed a couple of times and fell perfectly still, his secondary stats all down to 0. Both vampires burst into a cloud of dust a few moments later. Dead, or re-dead, however that sort of thing worked. Loot bags popped up over the dust piles, earning Hawke nine copper coins.
For Slaying Your Foes, you have earned 120 XP. Current XP/Next Level: 120/1,000
Where is the third one?
There was a loud crash somewhere above him; a moment later, bestial growling and screams of alarm broke out in the street. The vamp had jumped out of a window and attacked the guards.
Hawke ran outside. The last vamp – an old woman wearing a shredded nightgown – had landed
on top of Marko, pinning him to the ground. The guard had interposed the shaft of his halberd between him and the creature, but the Undead’s superior easily overpowered him. Two of the other soldiers had run away and the last one had missed his crossbow shot – Hawke noticed the bolt sticking on a nearby wall – and was working the cocking level of the weapon, which was going to take too long to do any good.
He and Saturnyx had been wrong. The old woman had to be the original vampire:
Lesser Vampire
Level 4
Health 80 Mana 20 Endurance 60
Before the monster could sink her fangs into Marko, Hawke shot her with another Hammer of Light for thirty-seven damage, not enough to kill. The vampire twisted in agony and turned towards him, throwing the guard aside as she leaped at Hawke. He slashed and ducked in one fluid movement. The blade struck home and he nearly lost his grip on the sword when it cut into the creature’s flesh. The vampire landed fifteen feet away. The wicked slash where Hawke had hit her ran down her middle, bloodless but deep. Her hit point counter had gone down to 29.
Just as he started to cast Hammer of Light again, she charged him, low to the ground. He abandoned the spell and tried to cut her down, but she avoided his swing and slammed into his shield, shrieking in pain as she was burned by his aura. She weighed a lot less than him but her strength was truly inhuman; she held onto the shield and lifted him clear off the ground. Before he could do anything about it, she tossed him against the nearest wall with bone-breaking force.
His breast plate took the brunt of the impact but he still took fifteen points of damage. The vampire was on him a moment later. Hawke tried to use the sword but a clawed hand gripped his wrist and squeezed. He screamed in pain as a big red ‘11’ floated in front of his closed eyes. When he reopened them, he was on the floor, but the vamp had let him go and was hissing in pain as she backed away; smoke came from every spot where her naked skin had touched his Aura of Light. She was down to eight Health but was gathering herself for another pounce, aura or no aura. Hawke tried to cast another Hammer of Light, but his sprained wrist slowed him down. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
Twilight Templar (The Eternal Journey Book 1) Page 10