Chapters 62 and 63 (Patreon)

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Chapter 62

Entering The Desperado Club

The first room of the loud, garish Desperado Club was open to the general public. It was packed. 

The exterior of the building looked straight out of 1920’s New York City. It was all square, concrete columns with a semi-circle relief punctuated by triangular, sun-like rays, similar to the construction style of the top of the Empire State Building. The club took up an entire street and rose a good six stories into the air. The glowing, neon knife logo spun above that. 

“This place seems much too big for this town,” I said as we stepped past a bored-looking rock monster bouncer and into the main room. 

“There are two main clubs in the Over City,” Mordecai said. “The Desperado Club and Club Vanquisher. Generally, once you have access to one, you’re not allowed in the other. This one is easier to get into. The Vanquisher Club is more like a country club where old clerics sit on leather chairs and smoke pipes and occasionally tell racist jokes. This place is like your Las Vegas Strip mixed in with Mardi Gras and the discos of the 1970’s.”

“This sounds much better,” Donut said. She did that little neck bob before she jumped up on my shoulder, and I knew she was overly excited.

“Oh believe me, it is,” Mordecai said.  

“I want to try one of Miss Beatrice’s favorite drinks. Either a Sex on the Beach or a Long Island Iced Tea. Or that one. What is it, Carl? She always says it’s her Kryptonite.”

“A Dirty Shirley,” I said. 

“Yeah, I want to try that one.” 

“Cats don’t drink cocktails,” I said. 

“Cats don’t shoot lasers from their eyes, either, but here we are, Carl. Mama needs a night off.”  

We followed Mordecai as we walked through the busy pub. Multiple NPCs and actual crawlers littered the room. It felt as if all eyes were on us. The crawlers watched us. The NPCs stared at Mordecai.

“Mongo would love this place,” Donut said from her perch on my shoulder. The dinosaur had screamed furiously as Donut pulled out the pet carrier. 

“He probably would,” I said. I eyed one of the burly, rock-skinned bouncers standing in the corner. “But we aren’t going to find out.” 

“This first room is exclusive to this town,” Mordecai said. “Any local can come here. You do not need a pass. Crawlers who’ve yet to obtain access can come here and pick up quests to win themselves a tattoo.” 

We approached a red, glittering door at the back of the room. We pushed our way through and found ourselves in a small vestibule leading to another door. Sitting in a chair in front of this second door was a lizard-faced monster. This was the same race of creature as that crawler we’d seen on the recap show, the one with the shotgun. 

Clarabelle – Crocodilian. Level 40. 

Employee of the Desperado Club. 

This is a Non-Combatant NPC. 

Crocodilians are an intelligent, thick-skinned, semi-aquatic race. They tend not to be the sharpest tools in the shed, but they’re certainly more intelligent than their smaller cousins, the Troglodytes. They are inclined to work as muscle or enforcers for both legitimate and not-so-legitimate organizations throughout the universe.  

“Hello, Mordecai,” Clarabelle said. “You know that disguise can’t fool me.” 

“It’s not a disguise when I have no control over it,” Mordecai said drily. Then a huge smile spread across his face. He leaned forward and kissed the bouncer on both cheeks. “What’s it like in there?” 

“Dead. But there’s more people in there than there were last night.” The bouncer looked at me and then Donut in turn. “I’ve seen you two on the recap show. Where’s your pet?” 

“Mongo?” Donut asked. “You know about Mongo? He’d be so excited to meet a fan! He’s in a pet carrier. Do you want me to take him out?” 

“No. Do not let him out. I’m glad you have a carrier. The pet room is currently out of order. We don’t want another incident like last night. I see you two both have a pass. The bar and dance floor are open. The casino isn’t ready yet, but you’ll probably find a card game if you look hard enough. We’ll open it up in a few days.” 

“Thanks, Clarabelle,” Mordecai said, patting her on the shoulder. He tossed her a gold coin. We went through the door.

“Holy shit,” I said a moment later, gazing upon the room. I had to shout to be heard. “This is considered ‘dead?’” 

There had to be 500 people of all shapes and sizes in this first room. Pounding dubstep filled the nightclub. Seizure-inducing lights flashed. The floor shook. Smoke rose from all corners of the room. 

Mordecai made a circle in the air with his finger, drawing a halo over himself. A translucent bubble formed over his head, making him look like he was wearing Zev’s spacesuit helmet. He motioned for me to do the same.  I twirled my finger in the air, and a circle formed, covering my head. Donut did the same, waving her paw in the air. 

The moment the bubble formed, about 95% of the pounding music filtered out. I could still hear it, but it was now background noise. A new sound emerged. I looked about, and a small portion of the people in the club had the bubbles on their head. I could hear them talking amongst themselves, like we were in a moderately-busy cafe. 

“There are a few types of privacy bubbles,” Mordecai said. “This is the most basic. You can talk to anyone in the room without having to shout.” 

“Weird,” I said. I poked at the bubble with my finger, and it popped. The pounding music returned, startling me. I quickly reformed it. 

“So this is the main room of the Desperado Club,” Mordecai said. Several rooms led off to different areas. Most of these rooms were labeled with floating, neon signs, all in that same 1920’s, speakeasy-style font. The whole place gave off a retro-futuristic, Blade Runner vibe. Of the 500 people filling the dance floor, almost all of them were NPCs. I did see a few bewildered-looking crawlers wandering about. My map also showed the distinctive white dot with a cross, indicating a few elites trawled the dance floor.

“This room,” Mordecai continued, “exists on a different plane as the rest of the club. It’s the same thing as my guildhall. The moment you come into the members-only area, you are in the same room as everyone in all the club locations throughout the entire level. So these Crawlers you see come from all corners of the Over City. But when you leave, you’ll come out where you come in. You can not use the club as a fast travel location.” We approached a booth. The four, elven NPCs sitting at the table jumped up. They popped their bubbles and moved to the dance floor, allowing us to sit down. 

“Most of these NPCs are bots,” Mordecai said. “The club will always appear as if it’s full of people, but that’s just an illusion. If it’s a young, buff or beautiful, half-naked creature it’s likely a bot. They’re not even real NPCs. You can dance with them. You can even bang them if you have the gold. But they can’t hold more than a rudimentary conversation, and they don’t exist outside the club. The moment a real NPC or Crawler enters through the door, one of the bots disappears, and vice versa.” 

“Weird,” I said, looking about. I counted about ten crawlers and three elites. Each of the three elites were engaged in conversation with crawlers. I felt my hackles raise at that.  

Donut jumped to stand on the table. “How did you get in here so easily,” she said. “Do you also have a tattoo?” 

Mordecai nodded. “I had a pass early on. They know me here now.” 

A blue-skinned woman NPC came to stand over the table. She didn’t have a name or level floating over her. It just said, Waitress. “Drinks tonight?” 

“I want a Dirty Shirley,” Donut said. “And you have to put it in a bowl.” 

“Certainly, your majesty,” the waitress said. 

“Do you have earth alcohol?” I asked. 

“Absolutely, hun. What can I get you?” 

“Bring me a bottle of bourbon.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “That can either be a ten gold request or a 1,000 gold request.” 

“Let’s keep it around 50.”  

She nodded. My eyes caught the haze of smoke filling the large room. It flashed in the light. It didn’t smell right, but I felt a familiar tug in my chest. “Wait, do you sell cigarettes here?” 

“Absolutely not,” Donut said. “He’s not allowed to have cigarettes.” 

The waitress shook her head. “I’m sorry, hun. We don’t have earth tobacco. We have blitz sticks, however. Would you like me to send a pharmacist over?” 

I had no idea what a blitz stick was, and the last thing I needed was some sort of new addiction. 

“No, that’s okay,” I said, sighing. 

“Actually, who’s the pharmacist on duty?” Mordecai asked. “Is it Quint?” 

“Quint is working, yes.” 

“Send him over,” Mordecai said. “And I’ll take a flagon of Empress's Mead.” 

“Very well,” she said, wandering off.   

“What the hell is a pharmacist?” I asked. “And what’s a blitz stick?” 

“Oh, he’s just a drug dealer,” Mordecai said. “And stay away from blitz sticks. They’re hallucinogens, and they’re highly addictive. Magically addictive. You don’t want that.”

“Then why are we summoning a pharmacist?”

“He’s an old friend,” Mordecai said.   

“Are we safe here?” I asked as we waited. 

“This place isn’t a saferoom. But the security here is pretty good. But only in this room. This place has a lot of nooks and crannies. The bouncers aren’t in the other areas. Except the casino.” 

I looked up at the neon signs leading off to other areas. Three signs were unlit, but I could still read them. One read Casino, one read The Hunting Grounds, and the third was Guild-O-Rama. Of the lit signs, they were Bitches, Penis Parade, Jobs, The Silk Road, and Restrooms. 

There was a ninth door, but there was no sign over it. A rock monster guarded the entrance. I watched as a waitress emerged, and I realized it was the room to the back. 

I’d noticed the Bitches and Penis Parade signs first, and I’d assumed they led to the restrooms until I saw the actual restroom sign. “So, what are these places?” I asked. 

“Bitches is the female strip club and brothel. Penis Parade is the same thing, but for those who prefer dudes. Don’t go in either of those places, especially not on this floor. You’ll get shanked. Plus viewers tend to ridicule the crawlers who go in there.” 

I immediately thought of that new quest with the prostitutes. Mordecai had just shook his head when we told him about it, and then he told us to ignore it. The quest would go away the moment we left the floor. 

“…Jobs is a place to get quests,” Mordecai continued. “These tend to be NPC assassinations and theft-themed gigs. The silk road is a marketplace. We’ll go in there in a bit. Guild-O-rama holds several rogue-themed guild rooms, including an explosives guild. There are guilds available on this third floor, but the more specialized ones don’t become available until later. So that section isn’t open yet.” 

“Wait, will the Desperado Club be available on the lower levels? Like four and five? And are those really stairs to the Hunting Grounds?” 

“Yes and yes,” Mordecai said. “But the club will be harder to find on the fourth and fifth floors. When you go in, you’ll find yourself back here in this room, just like my guildhall. Those stairs to the Hunting Grounds open up once you hit the sixth floor. So basically you can only come back up to this floor once you get to the sixth floor. That Hunting Grounds level is much bigger than this one. Something else interesting happens once the crawlers hit that floor. I’ll explain that later.”   

I watched as a group of three human crawlers were led away into the Bitches room by an elephant-headed elite who stood about seven-feet tall. I had the urge to get up and tell them to stay the fuck away when the waitress returned, pharmacist in tow. 

The waitress placed our drinks in front of us. I received a glass and a bottle that was suspiciously missing a label. Donut received a bowl with a bright-red vodka drink. A trio of maraschino cherries floated within. She sniffed at it and made a face. 

But I barely noticed our drinks. Instead, I stared at the small, floating drug dealer. Quint. 

The top half of Quint was that of a sharp-toothed, beady-eyed opossum. The bottom half of the creature was a whirling dervish, like he was halfway being swallowed by a miniature tornado. It twisted and turned on the floor, and I could feel the wind blowing off the small cyclone. Unlike the waitress, this guy had a description.   

Quint – Level 75 Half-Djinn, Half-Garbage Scowl 

Desperado Club Pharmacist 

This is a non-combatant NPC  

Half-Djinns are common amongst the Hunting Grounds and other forested levels of Dungeon Crawler World. Nobody knows for certain why there are so many hybrid Djinns out there, but one theory suggests that a rather ill-timed expletive is the cause of the population explosion. It is posited that a person in control of a Djinn’s lamp and the resulting three wishes once exclaimed, “Fuck this forest” or “Fuck this level” or “Fuck you all” or some iteration thereof, and the enslaved genie took that as a challenge. As a result, thousands of half-Djinn, half-forest creatures roam the dungeon. Only a few are intelligent. Only a few are sane. They are all dangerous little fuckers.

If you kill too many of them, rumor has it their daddy may come looking for you. 

“I have lost count of the years, old friend,” Quint said, looking Mordecai up and down. He had an unexpectedly deep and growly voice, like he was British street kid trying too hard to sound like Batman. “I thought you were supposed to be free several seasons ago. I was a little sad you hadn’t come to say goodbye.”   

“Hello, Quint,” Mordecai said. “I’m on manager duty. This is Princess Donut, and she is my ward. This other fellow is Carl, who is in Donut’s party.” 

“Pleased to meetcha both,” Quint said. “Mordecai here used to be one of my best customers in the early days. So a manager, huh? That’s pretty lucky. I’m jealous. It’d be nice to be immortal for once.” He stopped, looking up into the air. “Oh shuddup, I ain’t telling ‘em nothing they don’t already know.” 

“Quint here is a former crawler like myself,” Mordecai said. “He actually chose this as a race. He’s from a… an orcish world, right? I don’t remember. Wait, don’t answer. I don’t want you to get in any more trouble from the AI.”

The drug dealer shook his opossum head. “Being a manager is a sweet gig, I gotta tell you. No AI breathing down your back.” He looked up in the air. “Because that nanny can be a right bitch sometimes.” He pointed a clawed finger at my chest. “You two don’t bother trying to make a deal on the tenth floor, you hear me? If I could do it again, I’d push my way through to floor eleven. But you, pretty girl,” he said to Donut, “You got yourself the most knowledgeable manager in this game. You listen to what he says, okay?” 

Donut looked at Quint through half-slitted eyes. “Who are you again? And why are you floating?” She looked at me. “Carl, is that a talking porcupine?” 

Ah shit. 

“You’ve taken like two licks of that drink, and you’re drunk already?” I asked, examining her properties. 

“I didn’t like it. I just ate the cherries. Vodka is gross.” She reached down and lapped up some more of the drink. “I am absolutely not drinking this bile.” She took yet another sip. 

“Don’t worry. Quint here has a potion to snap her out of it,” Mordecai said. “Don’t you?”  

“I sure do, Mate,” Quint said. “Need anything else? My menu is mostly the same. I’m more expensive than those gits over in the Silk Road market, but my stuff is better.” 

“Your stuff is definitely better,” Mordecai agreed. “But Donut’s charisma is 76, and she has a merchant class, which means we’ll be buying it at a quarter of the price you sell it for.” Mordecai, ever the teacher, turned to me and said, “Charisma bonuses don’t work on half-genies.”

“It’s Djinn. Not Genie, mate,” Quint said. “You know how I feel about that.”   

“I’ll tell you what,” Mordecai said. “You still offer the starter kit? And you up for a trade?” 

Quint’s beady eyes grew even smaller. “I do indeed. But I wasn’t expecting anyone to be able to afford one until the fifth or sixth floor. What can you possibly have to trade this early?” 

Mordecai sent me a quick, private note. A moment later two bottles of Rev-Up Moonshine appeared on the table. I’d been using them quite a bit in battle, but I had a stash set aside to sell. I still had 23 bottles left, not including the two on the table. I also had another ten boom jugs left in my inventory. 

“No way,” Quint said, sniffing the bottle. “That Krakaren bitch said no more of the stuff was being made this season.” 

“They were making it,” Mordecai said. “And Carl and Donut here are the reason why it was shut down. They have the last of it.” 

That wasn’t exactly true. At least one other crawler out there had gotten their hands on some. I hadn’t received any royalties since the first few coins, but it meant someone had come across a few bottles and had made boom jugs.

“Make it four bottles, and we have a deal,” Quint said. 

“We’ll give you three, and you also give me the potion to stop the world from being wavy,” Donut said sleepily. I hadn’t even realized she’d been paying attention. “Oh my word. Carl, I think I might vomit. You didn’t warn me about this.” She took another drink and then started growling at the bowl. 

“Deal,” Quint said. 

“Wait, what the hell are we buying?” I asked. 

“A starter kit,” Quint said. “It’s a suitcase filled with everything you need to start your own pharmaceutical empire. You’ll be the dungeon’s next kingpin, mate. Just don’t be selling in my territory.” He shot at me with a pair of finger guns.   

“Trust me,” Mordecai said. “I ain’t buying all this stuff for giggles. I’m putting together a library for you.”  

“You need a table?” Quint asked as we made the trade. He had a merchant-style inventory, similar to my own. The suitcase was actually a large chest. I had to move my bottle out of the way for it to fit on the table. It was filled to the brim with chemicals and herbs. Mordecai opened it up and started sifting through it. 

“An alchemy table?” I asked. “We already have one.” 

“Suit yourself. You need anything else? Word on the street is you’re looking for earth tobacco. I don’t have any right now, but I’ll keep an eye out for you.” 

“Hey,” I said to the opossum as Mordecai rummaged through the box. “What happened last night? The bouncer said there was an incident with a pet or something?” 

“Oh yeah,” Quint said. “It was crazy. This woman came in here. A crawler like you. I can’t remember what her race was called. It was something I’d never seen before. She was human, a real looker but with one goat leg. Anyway, she had two pet dogs. She put them in the playroom, and they went bonkers. The monsters killed two attendants plus another pet, and then they broke out onto the dance floor, snapping and biting and snarling. The bouncers moved in, but their owner cast a spell that froze the whole room. I’ve never seen anything like it. A crawler from the third floor casting magic that powerful. Anyway, while the room was frozen, she stole a couple bottles of tequila from behind the counter while her dogs made a chew toy of a few dancers. Then she took out a mace from her inventory and splattered the brains in of an elite gnoll who’d been talking to her. Luckily she didn’t kill any of the real bouncers. You should’ve seen this place afterwards. The playroom ain’t gonna open back up for a week. She got away, but she ain’t coming back. Her membership has been revoked, thank the gods.” 

“Holy shit,” I said. “That’s Lucia Mar.” 

“Those dogs sound just awful,” Donut said, her voice slurring. “Bitch-ass rottweilers. Almost as bad as cocker spaniels. Think they’re so smart.”   

Goddamnit, Donut. “Don’t be saying that stuff,” I said. 

“I don’t see any brin root,” Mordecai said, his head still stuffed in the chest. 

“Yeah, it’s hard to come by,” said Quint. “I gave you two vials of bujold sap instead. It’s more stable anyway.” 

Mordecai grunted and shut the case. He nodded, and I pulled out a third bottle of moonshine. They quickly disappeared as I pulled in the large case. An anti-alcohol “Hair of the Dog” potion appeared, along with three licorice sticks. 

“On the house,” Quint said, grinning, indicating the three sticks. “It’s not your earth tobacco, but you might want to give it a try.” 

Blitz Stick. 

It’s like candy, but for your mind. If you eat this, your Intelligence temporarily rises by five points. If you smoke it, there’s a 15% chance your Intelligence will permanently rise by 1. 

There might be a side effect or two. Or three. 

Before Mordecai could object, I pulled the sticks into my inventory. I had no intention of using one, but you never knew what might be useful. Donut took the hair of the dog. She immediately sobered up. She looked down thoughtfully at the still half-full bowl of her alcoholic Shirley Temple. I pulled it out of her reach. 

She looked as if she might object, but then she sat up straight. “Carl, Carl, I just got a notification. It says I can now open my fan box!” 

“Okay, we’ll do it when we’re done here,” I said. A moment later, I received the same notice.

Mordecai and Quint chatted some more, but I could tell Mordecai was done with the conversation. This was the real reason why he wanted to come here. He was collecting a war chest of potion-making supplies, all in preparation for the fourth floor when would be able to set him up with an alchemy table.  

I skipped the glass and drank from my bottle of cheap bourbon while Donut popped her noise bubble and moved to the dance floor. The bot NPCs laughed and clapped as the small cat leaped around the floor. A large ogre NPC hopped around her, and she jumped to his shoulder, and they twirled about the floor for several minutes, both of them laughing hysterically. 

Mordecai and I watched for a moment, neither of us saying anything. 

“Why were you so upset when Donut chose you as a manager?” I asked Mordecai. “Are we really that awful?” 

Mordecai didn’t answer at first. He looked down into his drink.

“It’s not you,” he finally said. “It’s complicated. When I’m done being your manager, I’ll still be free. I will get my stipend, and I will make my way across the universe.” 

I felt relieved. I hadn’t even realized it until he’d said it, but I’d been thinking perhaps we’d inadvertently sabotaged his efforts at getting free. 

“But that’s what you said would happen anyway,” I said. 

“I know,” Mordecai said. He looked up and gave me a grim smile. “Like I said, it’s complicated and it has nothing to do with you.” 

“That dude said you’re immortal now. Is that true?” 

“Sort of,” Mordecai said. “You know how Zev wears that ridiculous armor when she visits? It’s because there is no protection for staff on the first three floors. Nobody knows why. It’s likely a cost thing. But starting on the fourth floor, the system-based protection kicks on. Not for you, of course. For the employees. And the tourists. Plus a few select NPCs, including the managers.”

“So it’s like being in a saferoom, but everywhere?” 

“No,” Mordecai said. “In the saferooms, you’re protected from attacks, and those who attack you are punished. You are kept from being injured. This system-wide protection is something different. It’s both better and worse. It’s worse because you can still be wounded, and you can still feel pain, and you can still die. It’s better, though, because when you do die under system protection, you don’t really perish. You’re just kicked from the game. Your body is transferred out of the dungeon. Before, as just a guildmaster, I wouldn’t be offered any sort of security. It’s just part of the deal. Nor am I protected right now, not for the remainder of this level. But starting on the fourth floor, managers such as myself are given a protection package. It’s the same thing the tourists playing Faction Wars will have on the ninth level. I can still be killed, but I won’t really be dead. I’ll just be kicked from the game. So as far as you and Donut are concerned, my immortality is irrelevant.”

“But why are managers protected when guildmasters aren’t? That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I would think it’d be the opposite.” 

He shrugged. “In the early days, managers were allowed to fight alongside their wards. And when they died, they’d become available again on the next floor. That only lasted a season or two. Now, if I die as a  manager, I’ll be done for the season. And as long Donut makes it to the fourth floor, my obligation will also be done. I’ll be free to go. They don’t protect the other NPCs, like the guildmasters or the merchants. Again, it’s a cost thing. There’s a whole lot of us. Of them. I think some bosses might be protected, because sometimes you have to face bigger versions later on. But that’s it.” 

Oh shit. “So you can step in front of a murder dozer on the next floor and be done with all this?” 

“Yep,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. They incentivize us not to do that. The longer Donut survives, the more money I earn as a bonus. It’s written into the rules. The stipend I receive as a guildmaster is next to nothing. The money I get as a manager is significantly higher. The better you do, the more money I receive when I’m free. Every level past nine is just an obscene amount of credits.” He sighed, watching Donut. Her purple tiara glittered in the flashing lights of the dance floor. 

I kept coming back to my first question. Why was he upset about being chosen as a manager, then? And why did Odette know he was going to be pissed? I was missing something, something important, but I could tell he would broach no more discussion on the matter. Not now. 

“Let’s go check out the Silk Road Market,” he said abruptly. “The recap show is about to start, and they’ll stop the music for that. We’ll want to be out of here before the second half of the show. If they show you two on the program, the bots will swarm us, asking us for autographs and dance. If that happens, we’ll never get Princess Donut out of here.” 

Chapter 63

The Silk Road was set up like a farmer’s market. It was a long, mostly-empty room with a single row of stalls. An eclectic mix of items filled the tables. But there was room for five or six more rows of booths. 

“This room is mirrored down on the next floor,” Mordecai said as we entered. Donut sat on my shoulder, bouncing her head to the music which still pulsed through the wall. “Eventually both this market and the next one down will be packed with merchants. Not too many are out yet.” 

We walked past shops selling black, bubbling potions and round, magical items called “Spider Shields” that cost 200,000 gold. Each booth held merchant of different races, from short goblins to tall, robed figures with four sets of pincers.

A single booth sat in the back of the room, surrounded by five or six empty spaces. I knew exactly what the booth sold as we approached. Multiple notifications floated in the air over the items on the merchant’s tables. 

“There’s a double-sized booth normally set up next door to that one, but they won’t appear until the fourth floor. Those guys sell trap supplies. But in the meantime, I wanted to make sure you were aware this was here,” Mordecai said. “The proprietor is a little odd, but she’s harmless. Now give me 500 gold so I can check out that alchemist over there while you browse.” He paused. “You two need to make a good impression on this woman because you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”  

This store was called Hobgobs and Boom Sticks. I examined the proprietor.

Pustule. Hobgoblin – Level 30.

She was the first living hobgoblin I’d seen face to face. She stood about six feet tall, and she looked mostly like the hobgoblin sample I’d seen during race selection: a large, muscular goblin. She had an open sore on her face that bubbled with black and green ooze. The pus ran off her face, down her shoulder, and stained her shirt, which was a threadbare, pink graphic tee featuring a unicorn wearing sunglasses. She smelled like rot and sickness. I swallowed. I still held the bottle of cheap bourbon in my hand. I took a drink to get the smell out of my sinuses. 

“Carl,” Donut whispered. “She’s ugly. Like really ugly.” 

“She also has excellent hearing,” the hobgoblin said, her voice surprisingly feminine. I winced. “Are you in the market for explosives tonight?”

Her tables held multiple boxes of both goblin dynamite and hobgoblin dynamite, along with smoke bombs, detonators, and several odds and ends I’d never before seen, like flat, pancake-like explosives that were basically claymore mines. The yield and stability of the mines was impressive, though they cost 5,000 gold each. 

She also sold barrels of gunpowder and few other chemicals, most of which I already had plenty of.

A case of goblin dynamite held 25 sticks and cost 500 gold. The hobgoblin sticks were 20 for 1,000, which was highway robbery. 

“Two questions,” I said. “Do you sell smaller explosives? Preferably ball-shaped? Also, do you have smoke bombs that don’t suck?” 

She laughed. “Yes to both questions, though I don’t have it all in stock today. Goblin smoke bombs are crap. They don’t understand the chemistry, so what you get is a lot of smoke in a small cone for a short amount of time. They’re good in enclosed spaces, but if there’s any ventilation, you might as well just pull your dick out and point at it.” She laughed at her own nonsensical joke. There was an edge of crazy to that laugh, and I suddenly felt uneasy. “A hobgoblin smoke curtain works much better and is inexpensive, but I don’t have any right now. I do normally carry round bombs. Hob-lobbers. Both impact-enchanted and fused. I only have a case of the fused ones in tonight. Yield is one-eighth a hobgoblin stick, or a quarter of a goblin stick. It packs a punch if you’re interested. I once watched my mother bite the head off of a vorpal muskrat. She said she did it to teach the warlord a lesson, but I’m pretty sure there was another reason.”

She’d added that last part without pausing, as if it was just a natural part of the conversation. 

Donut: CARL, THIS LADY IS CRAZY. 

I decided it was for the best to just ignore that last part. “Okay, so, does impact-enchanted mean what it sounds like?” I asked. 

“That’s right. Dangerous to use, but Hob-Lobbing Lobbers use them almost exclusively. Don’t drop ‘em. Otherwise they’re pretty stable. The fused ones work like hobgoblin dynamite. Impact resistant, extra stable. You gotta light the fuse then toss them. Like I said, I have a case of those. 25 for 500 gold.” 

I sent a quick message to Donut via chat. 

“What’s your best price on a case of the Hob-lobbers and two cases of regular goblin dynamite?” Donut asked. She jumped down from my shoulder and landed on the table. “Also, we’ll be back in a day or so if you promise to bring in some of those smoke curtains.” 

“Well, two cases of goblin dynamite and the last of the Hob-lobbers would be 1,500 gold,” Pustule said pleasantly. “I’m sorry if that price is too ugly for you.” 

“Oh sweetie,” Donut said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pustule said. “We wouldn’t want anybody getting off on any feet.” 

Donut gave me a sidelong glance. “Well, it might be a little late for that. But we do want to buy stuff from you. And I think we’ll be buying a lot of stuff from you, so I would really like it if we could be friends?”

“Friends?” Pustule asked. “I was friends with Tiff. The muskrat.” 

“Yes, friends,” Donut said. “Hopefully your mom won’t bite my head off, though.”

“Oh, she died. It was a vorpal muskrat. You can’t bite the head off a vorpal muskrat without doing a little dying in the process.”    

From there, they went back and forth for a few minutes. Donut did not have the extra discount that automatically came with the Artist Alley Mogul class, but she still had that insane charisma, and she managed to talk the hobgoblin down to 1,000 gold for the lot. 

After that transaction was completed, I pulled one of my Boom Jugs from my inventory and placed it on the table. “Out of curiosity, how much would you give me for this?” 

She picked it up, examining it carefully. “Nice design,” she said. She rubbed the side of the bottle and made a whimpering noise, one I could not decode. Then she pulled the bottle close to her face and licked it. I looked at Donut and mouthed What the fuck? 

She snapped back to seriousness a moment later. “Your material cost is much too high. If you used a different accelerant, the effect wouldn’t be nearly so hot, but your build cost would be 90% cheaper.”

“So how much is it worth?” 

“I’d probably sell these for about 7,500 gold. I’d give you half that. You looking to sell?” 

“Not right now,” I said, taking the boom jug back. It was good to have a value reference in my inventory. I resisted the urge to wipe off the wet streak. “Thanks, though. It was good meeting you.” 

“I’ll have more for you tomorrow,” she said as we walked toward the exit. “Beware of meteors!” she called. 

“She wasn’t so bad,” Donut said as we left. “She just needs both a dermatologist and a psychiatrist. I can’t tell you how relieved I am you didn’t pick that race.” 

“Excellent hearing,” Pustule called from her booth, about 50 paces away.

“Wow,” Donut said, looking over her shoulder. “You’d think someone who blew things up for a living would be deaf.”  

I pulled a hob-lobber out of my inventory. It was a hair smaller than a baseball, but it was dense and heavy. 

“Damn,” I said. “Too big for my slingshot.”

“Nobody likes your stupid slingshot, Carl,” Donut said.    

“At your current strength, you can probably just throw this further than a slingshot anyway,” Mordecai said, coming to walk beside us. He handed me a pile of herbs and vials. “That’s what the Hob-Lobbing Lobbers do. They’re the Hobgoblin equivalent of a Bomb Bard.” 

We exited the market and hurried through the dance arena, which was now showing the recap episode. All of the dancers sat on the floor, watching the screen. They’d all gone eerily silent, and the scene was disconcerting. The next room with the locals was also displaying the show. A handful of crawlers watched while the other NPCs went about their business, pretending like there was nothing on the screen. 

“You two go ahead,” Mordecai said, eying the bar. “I’ll catch up in a bit.” 

“You’ll catch up whether you want to or not as soon as we get back to the inn,” I said. 

“I know,” he said. “I just don’t like missing any of the show. Sometimes they hide important stuff in there. I’ll see you back at the inn. Go straight there.” 

~

We stepped out into the night. Darkness had descended on the city, and the city guards had all disappeared. Still, it wasn’t too late, and the streets were still busy. A street vendor selling scatterers on a stick remained open. It made me think of that first boss, the Hoarder. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Eagles soared above us, filling the sky. Music drifted from the open doors of several pubs. 

Still, the alleyways were now dark. Occasionally I’d see a flicker of a red dot. Donut said most of them were small, like maybe rats. We stuck to the center of the street. 

The One-Eyed Narwhal was only a few blocks over. We didn’t really have to spend the night there again, but I liked that the place was much less busy than most of the other inns. We’d easily catch the end of the episode if we hurried. I hoped they’d show Lucia Mar and her dogs going apeshit in the nightclub. I really wanted to see that. 

“There you go, Mongy,” Donut said, releasing her pet back out onto the street. He formed right in front of us with a pop, like when Zev teleported into the room. “Did you miss your mommy? Mommy missed you!” The pet screeched in outrage and hopped up and down a few times, circling around us, waving his arms. 

“Oh, get over it,” I said. I pulled a pet biscuit from my inventory and tossed it at him. He snatched it in midair. He made a growling noise as he chewed, but I could tell he was placated. He then moved to my right side to walk next to me as Donut leaped to my shoulder. 

“He really is well-trained,” I said. “You’ve done a really good job.” 

“Of course I have, Carl,” Donut said. “I am a product of the pageant circuit, after all. I’ve had plenty experience watching what does and doesn’t work when it comes to teaching obedience. Maybe when this is all over, I can dictate a book on the subject. You can type it all out for me. That reminds me, Zev and I have been talking about writing a new episode of Gossip Girl since…” 

And that’s when Mongo screamed in rage and rushed straight into the dark alley.  

~

“Goddamnit, Mongo,” I cried as I turned to chase the dinosaur. “And you stay put,” I yelled up at Donut as we rushed into the alley. “Don’t run ahead.” 

“Mongo! Mongo!” Donut cried as we ran. She cast her Torch spell, and the blazing light rose into the air, illuminating the dingy alleyway. This was more a substreet than a real alley, but multiple tributaries sectioned off of it, and Mongo turned down one such street. A group of red dots appeared along with an X of a corpse. 

Shit, shit. 

I also smelled fire. Like burning meat. 

We passed a pair of stinking rubbish bins. Ahead of us, a group of four figures loomed. Three of them were flying, hovering off the ground. The fourth was humanoid, tall and lean. This one held his hand in the air, and it burned, smoke pouring off it. It was the source of the smell. Mongo squealed and headed straight for the tall creature. 

I could also see the corpse. It was GumGum the orc. Her chest had been rent open.  

The flying creatures were floating, disembodied female heads. Their long hair flapped about them like sea creatures. What appeared to be the rest of the creatures’ organs hung loosely from the hole in the bottom of their necks. Blood dripped freely. The three horrifying monsters screamed at the presence of Donut’s light, and they twisted and twirled up into the night, corkscrewing and howling like banshees, their loose intestines and lungs swinging underneath them. 

They disappeared into the night, but not before their description popped up. 

Krasue. Level 16. 

Holy crap! These things are terrifying! Who comes up with this shit?

Said to be the undead shell of a woman who lived a life of sin, Krasue roam the dark places, hiding their hideous true form. They are ravenous, and they devour the blood of the unsuspecting. In other words, these things are flying heads who are also vampires. And, they bring their organs along because… Well, nobody knows why. Probably just because it’s really freaky. 

You may kill the head and trailing organs to fend her off, but this mob doesn’t truly die until you find and destroy the rest of her corpse. You will not earn experience for killing this mob until it is dead-dead. Not just dead.   

Warning: This is a ghost-class mob. They are only injured with magic or magical items.  

Mongo squealed and leaped at the remaining figure, the one with the burning hand, but the creature disappeared in a blink… 

…And appeared right in front of us. 

“The final battle is here!” the creature—an elf—screamed. He cackled with laughter. His hand stopped trailing smoke. “You may have scared off my minions, but you will not do the same to me! I have trained my entire life for this moment! I have used dark magic to lure your familiar into my trap! Carl and Donut, prepare to taste the ultimate death!” His hands started to glow red. “Now watch as I…” 

I kicked him in the nuts at the same moment Donut’s magic missile slammed into his neck. The elf’s head ripped off as he was raised bodily off the ground. I felt my foot shatter his testicles and fracture his pelvis. The dead, now-headless elf rose into the air like a rocket. He splattered onto the ground in a heap, blood showering over us. His head tumbled like a poorly-inflated soccer ball, coming to a stop in front of Mongo, who picked it up and started shaking it back and forth like a squeaky toy. 

For a long moment, neither Donut nor I said anything. I slowly turned to look at the cat.

“Who the hell was that?” I asked.