Viridian Gate Online: Nomad Soul: A litRPG Adventure (The Illusionist Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

  The crowd was thinner here. A few locals, mainly older men, sat on benches eating finger food. Most people darted in to grab what they needed before continuing their circuit. There were fruit and vegetable stands, both fresh and dried, and several tables of salted fish. I made a beeline for a semipermanent stand where a plain-faced woman with small eyes and big arms worked several spits of roasting meat. There were three spits of red meat—maybe beef, maybe lamb—and two of some bird smaller than a chicken. Quail? Squab? Pigeon? They were making my mouth water, whatever they were.

  “What can I get you?” the woman said, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked me over, taking in my clothes, but her face stayed impassive.

  I swallowed. “How much for one of the small bird things?”

  “Ten coppers,” she said. “Five for some mixed meat and vegetables wrapped in flatbread.”

  My heart sank.

  Her face softened. “How much do you have?”

  My ears burned. Beg, if your pride can take it, Gork had said. My pride could take it. There wasn’t so much of it left. “Two coppers,” I said.

  She held her hand out. I reluctantly dropped all the money I had into her palm. It’s silly, I know; I’d come into this world with nothing but the (shoddy) shirt on my back, but this was the first time I really felt broke.

  The vendor laid out a quarter-inch-thick piece of flatbread and spread a thin layer of smooth white cheese over it. Then she added shredded kale, peppers, and chopped onions on top of that. She dipped a spoon into the drip pan under the spits and drizzled the warm, black-flecked fat onto the pita. She frowned, then pulled a few stuffed olives from a pickle jar, cut them in half, and added them to the mix before rolling it up and handing it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I’m not going to lie—I’d hoped she’d put a little meat in it, not just the drippings, but I was literally the beggar who couldn’t afford to be choosy. I looked up and realized she was watching me, waiting, so I forced a smile and took a bite.

  It was amazing. I’d eaten some nice meals in my lifetime—I’d been to Michelin-starred restaurants twice in the past year, working for Osmark—but this was better. The cheese was rich and creamy, and I could taste the char and seasonings from the spits making my whole body... just... happy to be getting great food. It was like I was vibrating slightly. The pickled and stuffed olives did a perfect job of cutting through the fat from the cheese and drippings, letting the fresh kale, onions, and peppers do their job of finishing the texture and complexity of that bite. And the bread! It was fresh baked, warm, soaked with all those juices, and spoke to that part of a person’s heart that knows bread is a food group all on its own.

  The vendor smiled and turned away. She must have read what she was looking for on my face. I drifted back into the flow of people, savoring each bite as we circled around the far side of the plaza.

  It was the second moment of bliss I’d experienced in the game. The first had been floating free of my body during character creation. The second was enjoying the fruit of someone’s kindness. Gork had been kind, too, in a way, but he’d done it for himself—because of who he was. That woman—I felt a moment of shame I hadn’t asked for her name—had reacted to my pain. I don’t know. I was making assumptions about her motives—assumptions I usually prided myself on avoiding—but that was how I felt.

  Regardless, it was a drastically different experience from any other game I’d played. I was broke, I had grease all over my chin, and I hadn’t done anything. There wasn’t even a tutorial for me to have completed. If I died right now, my legacy would be “Fed by the compassion of strangers,” and yet I felt like my life had been changed in some small way.

  The thought brought up a display of my current status effects.

  <<<>>>

  Buffs Added

  Olive Flatbread: Restore 40 HP over 60 seconds

  Well-Fed: Base Constitution increased by (2) points; duration, 20 minutes.

  <<<>>>

  Huh, I thought. Good for the soul, good for the body. As soon as I’d finished with the information, the prompt disappeared on its own.

  I stepped out of the crowd again, licking my fingers, drawn by the sound of splashing water. A small fountain—really just a metal pipe sticking out of a wall—spilled clear water into a waist-level basin. My approach scared a pair of sparrows away. I sniffed the water, then tasted it. It was cool and clean.

  I rubbed my hands together under the stream of water, then cupped them and leaned forward, drinking from my palms. I stuck my head under the flow, sending shivers down my spine, and wiped my mouth and chin clean before bending down to wash off the knee I’d scraped. It had already healed though; not even a scab marked the spot. Guess that’s one thing this place has over reality.

  Looking around, I saw that several beggars were sitting in the dust with their backs against what appeared to be a temple. There was room next to one of them, an old man with wispy white hair on either side of his bald head. A bowl with three lonely coppers in it sat in front of his crossed legs, making him my social better. He was leaning his head back against the wall, dozing. The shadows of palm fronds shifted over his face.

  My stomach was full. I was hydrated and mostly clean, and the adrenaline from the earlier situation was spent. I had twenty or more hours to kill before I could log out; a nap in partial shade sounded like as good a plan as any. And maybe, I thought, looking at the bowl, when the old man wakes up, I can talk him into sharing the secret of his success.

  I sat down, smirking at my own joke, leaned my back against the wall, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the old man staring at me with open, milky eyes from five inches away.

  SEVEN

  “IS THAT JUNE’S COOKING I smell on you?” the old man said, his voice high and shaky.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Big woman!” he said. “Arms like ham hocks, smells like cedar. Her daddy makes cabinets for a living.”

  Smells like...? I’m not even sure what cedar—

  “Are you simple, boy? June! She’s a quarter turn around the square.”

  “No. I mean, yes, that’s her, and I’m not simple.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” He reached in front of him, feeling around until he found the money bowl. He gave it a shake. “Rats! Only three, but I need five.”

  I winced. Had the game wanted me to give him my two coppers? “I’m sorry, I don’t have—”

  “I know you don’t have money, boy. Don’t apologize. Apologies are for people with change hidden in their pockets, not us, the deserving poor! You don’t have a bent copper bit on you; not unless you ate that, too,” he said with mock suspicion. “Now find me a mark.”

  “A what?”

  “A mark, boy,” he said more softly, placing a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “You pick a fish from that river of people, and I’ll land him. Or her! I’m a dab hand with the ladies.” He winked at me, then leaned back against the wall again, a playful smile on his wizened face.

  I looked at the passing crowd and found my eyes drawn to a woman with twin braids twisted round in a circle, like a crown of laurels.

  An alert popped up, and the woman was briefly outlined in purple.

  <<<>>>

  Ability: Keen-Sight

  A passive ability allowing the observant adventurer to notice items and clues others might not see.

  Ability Type/Level: Passive/Level 1

  Cost: None

  Effect: Chance to notice and identify hidden objects increased by 6%.

  <<<>>>

  Hmm. I guessed V.G.O. taught and leveled skills through use, at least the general ones. I’d always preferred that over just assigning points in a menu. I dismissed the window with a thought. “A female citizen near the seller of potions and charms. She’s moving slower than the crowd,” I said, wondering how the old man planned to act on that information.

  “Is she wearing three bracelets?”

  “Maybe? I...” I squinted
. “Yes!” She reached up to push a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Three slender bands overlapped on her wrist.

  “Perfect,” the old man said. He sat up, hands in his lap, and pitched his voice like an angler casting a line. “Milady!”

  To my surprise, she turned, as if he’d tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Milady! A moment!”

  She hesitated, then moved toward us. She was wearing a bright, daisy yellow shawl draped over a white dress in an intricate series of folds. The shawl had a short black fringe on its lower edge that swayed when she walked. The neck of her dress was high, peeking up beneath the shawl just below her collarbone. “What do you want?”

  The old man smiled, turning his face almost but not quite in her direction. “Nothing, milady, but a moment of your time.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “I see no goods laid out before you, beggar, and yet I feel you’re about to sell me something.”

  “Only because you seek, lady. You seek, and you do not find.”

  She stopped a step away from him and crouched, gathering her shawl and the hem of her dress to keep them out of the dust. It was an aggressive move for someone of her apparent status, and I wondered if the old man hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew. I caught sight of a sandaled foot and a simple henna tattoo of a chain of triangles around her ankle.

  “Mmm. And did your helper tell you that?” she asked, her eyes flicking to mine. Her eyebrows were dark and full, and she’d applied some sort of clear balm to her lips, but her makeup was otherwise simple, darkened brows and a touch of blush to her cheeks. She’d made no effort to hide the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes.

  “No, lady. I heard the bracelets chime on your wrist and knew I’d found a fellow seeker.” He reached with his hand, palm up, and she placed hers in his. “What do you seek, lady? A pretty husband? Luck in love?”

  She laughed and looked at me. “He truly is blind, isn’t he, young man? Or is he offering you up for coin?” She looked me over. I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. She smirked and looked at the old man again. “I’m past such things.”

  “Your husband—”

  She withdrew her hand, pain rippling across her face before freezing over. “My husband is dead in the Storme Marshes these last ten years. He fell to the elves, outside of Yunnam. I have a fabric store in the upper city, a warehouse and a factory in the low. I have no need to replace him or his memory.” She lifted her chin. Her eyes glistened.

  “Why the bracelets, then, lady?” the old man said gently. I was able to see them clearly, now. They were pencil-wide and penny-thin bands of copper, embossed with simple, repeating symbols. One was a circle of waves, the second what looked like wind, and the third a vine that circled her wrist.

  She sighed. “I need an heir.” She tucked her dress beneath her and sat in the dust. “My daughter married a fool. The fool gave her two daughters, and he’s spoiled them with my money. She’s pregnant again. I hope for a grandson, so all I’ve built won’t be destroyed.”

  “All men and women lie in Kronos’s hands, lady.”

  She grinned. “But Gaia follows her whims, old man. Can you not hear her chiming on my wrist? I saw three portents just this morning.”

  “And yet, you will have another granddaughter,” the old man said.

  There was a weight to his words, and I suddenly had the notion that they were true. The woman flinched as if she’d been slapped.

  “But you’ll raise this one,” the old man continued. “She’ll learn to ride instead of sit, learn the gin and carding room instead of how to bat her eyes, and you’ll go to your rest easy with her hand on the loom and her eyes on the books.”

  The lady swallowed. “The fool won’t like it.”

  “Even a fool knows who feeds him, lady.”

  She nodded and licked her lips. Then she stood. “And what of you, old man? What do you seek?”

  The old man grinned. “Just a coin to remember your beauty by, lady.”

  She smiled at him with what I thought was genuine affection. She dropped three coppers into his bowl. “One for you, one for your helper, and one for the goddess, may she prove you wrong.”

  The old man dipped his head in thanks.

  The woman walked away.

  “That was amazing,” I told the old man.

  “Wasn’t it, though?”

  I rolled my eyes. I’d been thinking it was amazing that a random NPC had so much backstory. I was less impressed by his work. The old man had talked a pretty good game, but he’d also made mistakes. He’d almost lost her over the husband thing.

  “I smell the bitter stench of skepticism over there, boy. Wipe it from your mind! Success belongs to the believer!”

  I snorted. “Dude, you’re a beggar. We should have asked her for a job.”

  One of the other beggars leaned forward and glared at me, but the old man waved him off. “And is that why you came to New Viridia, Traveler? To get a job in textiles?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I mentioned I was from somewhere else.”

  The old man blew a raspberry. “Your accent, boy. And your innocence. Did you think she was a lovely lady? Was she a nice old widow you needed to help? That woman was a wolf, boy! She runs a store for the gentry and keeps her labor and stock in the worst parts of town. Do you think she pays a fair wage? Do you think the local gangs leave her warehouse alone because she’s nice?

  “I am not ‘a beggar,’ boy. I am a skilled orator. I convince people to do me small favors, some of them monetary. I could have talked her out of her stola on a cold day, and she’d have walked home to her marble villa, bare-armed like a common girl, feeling like the soul of charity and goodness. Did you smell the saffron on her? Bright yellow, wasn’t it? I could have sold that for gold if I’d cared to walk uptown and haggle.” He crossed his skinny arms. “I’m not sure what a ‘dude’ is, but I suspect that garment would look better on your shoulders. I’m a prince among men. I could have talked you into her fine cotton sheets—”

  “Oh, come on! She said—”

  “She looked. Don’t tell me she didn’t strike you speechless with a glance, boy, because I was right here. There’s no shame in comforting a wealthy widow. She’d have taught you a thing or two—more than you’d learn whoring yourself out to a copper-an-hour paycheck.”

  I laughed. “All right, all right, fine,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “You win.”

  The anger and indignation vanished from the old man’s face like they’d never been there, and he grinned. “Good. Now find me another.”

  SATHIS RAN DOWN THE central aisle of the temple, his sandals slapping against the marble floor. He was hot and out of breath, too old to have run halfway across the city, and scared out of his wits. He threw himself down in front of his goddess’s statue.

  “Blessed lady Sophia, ever may you slumber, may your peace and justice wrap the world forever in its loving embrace.”

  An acolyte came out of the sacristy. “Justiciar Sathis? What—”

  “Out!” Sathis bellowed.

  The acolyte ran out of the room.

  Sathis looked up at the representation of his goddess. The statue was made of carved, lightly striped black onyx, with a wide white band of quartz that hung from her left hip to right thigh like a sash. Her eyes were flawless emeralds artfully set into the stone so they seemed real. She was naked, looking up and to the left at a set of bronze scales she held by a hook. In her right hand, trailing behind her leg so it was partially hidden, was a sword. Sathis swallowed. “Forgive me, blessed lady, for my fear.” He inclined his head once more. Drops of sweat ran down his back and dripped from his forehead.

  “My lady, there are rumors of insurrection in the provinces. The senators ignore your earthly apostles. Most refuse my visits or make excuses. Some expect me to amuse them with stories of the old days, like a jester or a bard, or to educate their children.” He clenched his fists, made slick with perspiration.
“I have become something of a joke.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and touched his forehead to the floor. “But we, the faithful, are content with the bounty of your peace, blessed lady. The offerings are few, but I encourage the acolytes to seek work, so long as it does not interfere with their duties to you and to your ministry.”

  He looked up at the statue again, searching for a sign. The statue had been carved from a single, massive block during the first, great Imperial war to conquer Eldgard. The stone had been quarried and then moved from the hills above New Viridia to the safety of the Imperial stockade, under constant attack from both wild Risi and Hvitalfar druids. Sophia was always at her most popular when her people wearied of war.

  The stone was carved by a devout man whose name was forgotten. When the last chisel blow fell, the statue became immovable, which was why it stood in the outer city, and not on the Heights, which had been occupied by barbarians at the time. A temple was eventually built around it. It was a holy place.

  “My lady, a Traveler arrived today. He fell from the sky and did not disappear like the others. He is loose in the city. I don’t know what to do.”

  There was a loud crack as the statue turned its head to look at her disciple. The scales clattered on the ground. She stepped down from the dais, sword still in hand. Her feet hovered inches from the floor. “Tell me everything,” she said.

  “HUH,” JEFF SAID, LEANING forward.

  He’d stopped watching the world through Alan’s eyes when the self-appointed lab rat hit the market because, while fascinating in a theoretical sense, seeing a partially chewed pita approach the camera over and over, like a gross, organic spaceship flown by garbage people coming in to dock and failing—and hearing Alan chew in surround sound—was the opposite of appetizing.