[Previous]
[Next]
Chapter 2 fork: Package Pilferer
After due consideration, Dale says, “OK, I know it’s evil to rob an orphan - stick with me here - but it’s not much more evil than orphaning her in the first place. Especially now that you have my word I won’t murder any more NPCs in cold blood.” Deirdre wants to argue with this, but can’t. She pulls a shuriken from her bag of tricks and slices open the paper package.
Inside is a banded stack of bills, and four cylindrical wooden containers, each about the size of a two-liter bottle. While Deirdre counts the money, Dale opens one of the cylinders. A foul stench fills the air, and Dale says, “Eww! That is rank!”
Deirdre wrinkles her nose as the smell hits her and says, “Ugh, what is that nasty shit?! Close it back up!” Dale stoppers up the cylinder and carefully uses his Flame spell to re-seal the container. He thinks about checking the other three, and decides against it.
Deirdre finishes counting up the cash, and says, “Jesus, there’s twenty grand here - all in small bills.”
“So, what are we thinking,” Dale asks. “Drugs?”
“Don’t know, don’t care - that shit was disgusting and I’m not carrying it anywhere. Here’s your ten K.”
“Shouldn’t it be fifteen? I’m the one who shot the guy.”
“And I’m the one who’s helping you get away with it! Speaking of, once we get to town, we should say we stumbled on the scene. Since we’re obviously not psychos who kill old men in cold blood, that should help us avoid suspicion.”
“OK,” Dale says, “But we should burn the packaging. I’ll toss it in the blast crater with the letter and cast Flame on it.”
“Just don’t burn those canisters with it.”
“Duh - that stuff smells bad enough as is, I don’t wanna know what it smells like on fire!”
The Sun is setting when they break from the woods and see Noob Town in the distance. The town itself is surrounded by a high stone wall, reinforced with thick wooden beams evidently cut from the numerous old stumps buffering the town from the surrounding forest. A pair of guards are at the gate, armed with poleaxes and shields, wearing gambesons and some light but functional metal armor pieces; more guards can be seen on the wall, armed with longbows, the red sunlight glinting off their armor.
As they near the gate, the guards step forward and hail the travelers. Deirdre gives a token wave and mutters under her breath, “Remember, let me do all the talking.”
“What brings you to Noob Town, travelers?”
“Trade, and bad news,” Deirdre says.
The guards exchange a worried look. “What news, young man” one asks. Deirdre does not bother to correct him.
“We found evidence of a disaster at the crossroads. Burnt remains, and some scattered belongings.”
“Remains? Of whom?”
“Not sure, it was too messy to say. There were just... chunks. Burnt chunks.” She rolls Performance; they buy it.
One guard turns to the other and says, “What do you think? Noobs?”
The other guard sighs and says, “Fuckin’ noobs and their fuckin’ fireballs.”
Deirdre sighs and says, “I know, right?”
She nudges Dale, and he adds, “Goddamn noobs, someone oughtta do something,” with a shake of his head. He rolls Speech and barely makes it, so the guards read his anxiety as due to the grisly nature of the scene rather than dishonesty.
“Right, then,” a guard says after a moment’s respectful silence. “We’ll double the patrol for a bit, see to it that those noobs behave themselves. You said there were belongings?”
“Yes,” Deirdre says. “There was a bag, and some things scattered around. Looked like a canteen and four wooden cylinders? We decided to leave it alone.”
“Oh, that must be old Vincent, then,” the other guard says. “Comin’ to bring Yvonne her noob shit.” One guard nods gravely at the other guard’s words. “Someone’ll have to pick that up.”
One guard says, “Head on in, Yvonne should be starting her set soon. In through the gate, and she’s at the Last Inn, on the left. She’ll be sad to hear of her father’s passing, but at least her noob shit’s recoverable.”
The other guard says, “Surely. And try not to let this unpleasantness color your visit to Noob Town. I see from your jaunty garb that you’re out-of-towners, you must’ve come through Leetsburg, so please don’t... y’know, dwell too much on this when telling tales of your travels in the future.”
“I assure you,” Deirdre said, “No one outside these walls will hear of this unpleasantness.”
“Unless we catch the noobs who did it,” Dale says. Deirdre tries not to wince.
One guard harrumphs, and says, “Good luck with that, lad. We can’t tell one noob from another.”
“Wild fuckin’ animals, they are,” the other guard mutters.
“Well,” one guard says, “Best not to delay bad news.” They open the gates.
As Deirdre and Dale enter the town, he looks around appraisingly and says, “Huh, good job! This looks like a real town! The buildings are all different, characters aren’t standing rooted to the spot, they’re walking around and pulling carts and shit - and oh my God, what is that smell? Is that shit? Why does it smell like shit, Dee?” He raises a hand to his face to hold his nose and cover his mouth.
Deirdre pulls her mask up over her nose and says, “Well, it is a real town, and in the Medieval period-”
Dale interjects, “Yeah, ‘cuz nothing drives home a Medieval Fantasy setting quite like the smell of hundreds of animals’ shit and piss! Look, I admire your commitment to realism, but you have got to work on your priorities!”
Deirdre says, “Look, barnyard animals don’t smell like roses, and almost every house needs a horse or a cow or a pigpen, and now everyone’s staring at the asshole in the orange jumpsuit making a big deal out of something they don’t even notice any more.”
Dale glances at all the onlookers and mutters, “Oh, sure, now they all stand in one spot,” then cups his hands around his mouth to shout, “Sorry, it’s my first day!”
“In town,” Deirdre stage whispers through her mask.
“In town!” he blurts, but he rolls a 20 on Speech and so everyone nods and moves along. “Well, that was lucky,” he says after a moment. “And this is why we let you do all the talking, isn’t it?” Even with her mask on, Deirdre is visibly satisfied as they walk to the Last Inn, just to the left of the gate.
Warm, savory scents greet them as they make their way inside, and the bustle of the streets is replaced by the clatter of plates and the hum of friendly conversation. By the roaring hearth, Deirdre spots a woman playing a lute and wearing a dress of green and brown homespun. Dale looks above the aged but gleaming bar to see a pricing board, which seems very reasonable to him - and a good thing, because now he can count on his money buying what he thinks it should be able to buy. He nudges Deirdre and directs her gaze to the board.
“What about it,” she asks.
“The prices. They’re normal.”
“Yeah, duh.”
“Thought you’d like to know, is all,” he says with a shrug.
“Why would I come up with a pricing scheme that made no sense?”
“I don’t know, why would you start us in a grassy field?”
“No, you’re right,” Deirdre says. “I clearly didn’t take into account that you’re unable to go a few hours without-”
“Sssshhhh!”
“What,” she asks innocently. “I was going to say ‘eating.’ What were you worried about?” Dale looks daggers at her, and she heaves a sigh before saying in resignation, “I clearly should have started us in a tavern. Or this inn. On that, we finally agree.” Deirdre then points to the woman with the lute, and they head over.
“Excuse me - Yvonne?” The woman with the lute looks up.
“Yes? Have a request?” She looks up from her lute, and her eyes sparkle at the sight of the adventurers. Dale lowers his face, and Deirdre takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” Yvonne says, suddenly concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Not at all, ma’am. But I’m afraid we have bad news. Your father seems to have been on the road here when he... well, I won’t belabor the point. The poor guy’s dead.” The color drains from Yvonne’s face. She runs from the inn, sobbing.
Deirdre and Dale turn to follow her, but a well-dressed elderly man stands in their way. This wouldn’t be an obstacle for some people with plasma blasters, but the elderly man is flanked by two burly men with scarred faces in sharp suits. The teens size up the obvious bodyguards, and decide to let themselves be delayed.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” the old man says. Deirdre does not bother to correct him. “I hope you’ll pardon the interruption, but you seem to be causing quite a stir in our little inn.”
Deirdre and Dale silently contemplate their options.
“However, I believe in politeness and the benefit of the doubt, especially for out-of-towners such as yourselves. So allow me to introduce myself: I am Jim, the town elder. These are my personal assistants, Wungaard and Ottergaard. Now, may I ask your names?”
“Well,” Dale stammers.
Deirdre says, “Pause!” and starts fast-talking. “OK, we have thirty seconds so talk fast but do you really wanna be called ‘Deirdre and Dale’ the whole time we’re here?”
Dale says, “You can pause?!”
“Yes but only for a few seconds I mean our initials are literally D&D and it’s just begging to be lampshaded.”
“You can pause!”
“OK look I’m gonna give ‘em a different name you do what you like.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you could pause?!”
“Time’s up think fast love you bunches!”
Pause wears off.
“Of course, Elder Jim,” Deirdre says. She stands up straight and says proudly, “I am Pannych, lesser goddess of fear and anxiety!” (For the record, that’s pronounced panic, as in “a sudden, unreasonable, overpowering fear - from the Greek word panikos, of or for the god Pan, who was believed to cause sudden or groundless fear.”)
As she takes a step back, Dale flexes on Jim’s “assistants” before saying, “And I am Phyr, lord of destruction and chaos, whose wrath makes the very heavens tremble in reverence to my otherworldly might!” (That’s pronounced fire, as in “a destructive burning, as of a building,” or, alternatively, “any raging evil.” Definitions ©1993 Funk & Wagnalls New International Dictionary of the English Language, Comprehensive Edition.)
Jim and his “assistants” are visibly confused - they look to him for guidance, but he must’ve botched a Savvy roll or something because he is baffled. After some seconds, he clears his throat and says, “Are you the Pannych and the Phyr, destined heroes foretold to lead us from this time of darkness and despair?”
“Who else,” Deirdre asks, beaming.
“I don’t know,” Jim says, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Why don’t you tell me...”
Deirdre tries to look confused, Dale tries to look like he’s not reaching for a blaster, but it turns out Jim wasn’t finished with his sentence and was just speaking slowly for dramatic effect.
“...what business you have with Yvonne?”
“Oh,” Dale says affably, happy to be back on track.
“Oh,” Deirdre says sadly, remembering the answer to that question.
“Well,” they say together, after remembering the reason for the answer.
Dale says, “You see, Elder Jim, her father… the crossroads… there were chunks!”
“Vincent? What happened?”
“We’re not quite sure,” Deirdre says, “But we think it might have been noobs.” Jim’s assistants tense up at the mention of the word, in a mixture of frustration and disgust.
“Noobs,” Jim says softly, lowering his eyes and voice. “Of course it was noobs. I tried warning him. I told him at every festival for the last ten years, ‘Vince,’ I said, ‘You’re in great shape for a man your age, but you are not impervious to injury.’ But did he listen? No, he was always headstrong and reckless, like a bull. People always said, ‘In vino, veritas; and in Vince, a bull’.” Jim closes his eyes in a wistful moment’s reverie.
But fuckin’ Deirdre has to make a Social roll because she can’t resist a pun, apparently. And she rolls a four. Great! She starts to giggle, and snorts a bit.
“Pause!” She spends her entire thirty seconds laughing like an asshole, but has to make another Social roll if she wants to stop laughing when Pause wears off. She barely makes it. Oh, but now Dale’s laughing. I suppose he just got the joke, eh?
“No, I got it,” he gasps between laughs, “And it wasn’t that funny,” wheeze, “But now I’m laughing at the fact she’s laughing in front of this guy and his friend just died!” Fine. But they wind down, and then Pause wears off.
“I’m sorry,” Jim says, “But are you feeling all right, Lady Pannych?”
“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m fine. And I’m sorry. I thought of something tremendously inappropriate, and I had a lapse in judgment, but I’m OK now, and I apologize. Please, carry on, he’s your good friend.”
“Yes, well, that’s about the size of it. And I suppose you just told Yvonne, then?” Deirdre nods. “Of course, of course. So sorry it fell to you to bear the bad news. And you have my apologies, Lady Pannych, Lord Phyr, for my earlier suspicions.” He bows deeply. “But please, come see me tomorrow, after you have concluded your business with Yvonne. I have an important matter to discuss with you.”
“Of course, Elder Jim.”
They say their goodbyes, and then Deirdre and Dale head outside.
Yvonne is on the front porch, crying, but she seems to be more or less winding down.
“Yvonne,” Deirdre says.
“Yes? Oh, it’s you. Thank you for finding me. I’m sorry I ran off.”
“Not to worry,” Deirdre says, trying to console the bereaved woman.
“Thank you.” She sniffles, tries to compose herself, and continues: “I guess I’ll have to tell Zach, and Xander, and Wendy. Tell me, was there a package on his body?”
Deirdre says, “Sort of? Some of his effects were strewn about, but there weren’t any remains to speak of. We think a noob got him with a fireball.”
Yvonne sighs and says, “I see. I guess we’ll need to hire some adventurers to recover what they can, now that noobs are coming all the way out to the crossroads.”
“Boy,” Dale says quietly, “You guys sure like your end of the alphabet, don’t you?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Yvonne says with a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, Daddy used to say all the time, ‘First end of the zyxwvut, first called in class, first in line, first in life.’ Seems to be working well for Zach, not so much for me, but then I guess I’m not first. But it’s a family tradition: Great-Grandpa Wyatt named his seven kids from the start of the zyxwvut, and so did Grandpa Zeno with his six, and so did my daddy with the four of us.”
Dale looks at Deirdre, but she motions for him to be quiet. They console Yvonne, they chat in the Inn, she buys them dinner, they make an excuse about long days of travel and rent a room for the evening for thirty bucks.
“OK, Dee, that was weird, right?” Dale has closed the door as soon as they’re through it, and is physically pressed back against it, as if to shut out the world.
“Yes, usually people buy dinner for the bereaved, not vice-versa. She must’ve thought we were poor, or been exceedingly grateful.”
“No, not that! The alphabet here! It’s backwards!”
“Oh. Yeah, I got that. So what?”
“So what? Why would you make the alphabet backwards? Or… the six-a-butt, I guess? I’ve been dying to ask without sounding like I’m five or impaired!”
“OK, ageism and ableism, not cool. And second, ziks-uh-vutt. It’s just the last seven letters - or the first, rather. But again, so what? It’s probably just a thing I do: mix things up for fun. Don’t wanna take things for granted, do we? Get cocky about our surroundings? Be too genre-savvy?”
“But I like being genre-savvy! I like seeing things coming, and this freaks me out!”
“Well, that’s why God invented Pause,” Deirdre says, laying down on the alarmingly comfortable bed. “Holy shit, these are comfy. Siddown!”
“Yes, that’s another thing! You can pause?! Also, if I shouldn’t take anything for granted, then what if that’s a bed mimic?!” Dale stands, as deliberately and obviously as he can, away from the bed that is definitely not a mimic, because that’s not clever, it’s just mean.
“Bed mimics aren’t real, man! Relax! And besides, there will be clues whenever something’s super-important. I may be a crazy fuck, but I’m a fair crazy fuck, and I hate Insane Troll Logic, so I’d never foist it on anyone. So don’t get paranoid, but be on your toes. Like, casually aware of things. Can you try that?”
“Casual awareness, got it. OK. I’m gonna do some breathing exercises, and then maybe build some trust with the bed before I touch it.”
“Suit yourself, pal. G’night.”
The following morning, Dale wakes up and sees a ragged gash and an enormous bloodstain right on top of the misshapen lump that probably used to be Deirdre’s body.
To READ THE NEXT CHAPTER, click here.
[Next]
No comments:
Post a Comment