Grand Game 098: A Mug of Ale (Patreon)

Day Three. Dawn.

The gate slammed shut ominously behind us.

I paid it no mind, though. I was sure I could scale the inner wall if I needed to—it was half as tall as the outer one. But getting past the fort’s other defenses wouldn’t be as easy.

Good thing, I will have a writ then.

Wordlessly, Cecilia’s party dispersed, with only the two leaders remaining behind. I ran my gaze along the walls encircling the safe zone. They too, were heavily patrolled. The Howlers had gone to a lot of trouble to contain the players in the sector, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. “What’s the purpose of all this?”  I asked, gesturing to the fortifications.

“Control,” Ultack answered grimly.

I frowned at him. “Control of the players entering the sector, you mean? Why would the goblins want that? And why would the players even allow it?”

Cecilia snorted. “It is not the goblins who desire control.”

I stared at her blankly, then took her meaning. “You mean the goblins did all this at the Awakened Dead’s behest?”

She nodded. “More like Ishita gifted them the area and let them do as they wish.”

I scratched my chin. “Again, why? She already owns the portal coming here. What need do the Awakened Dead have for additional control measures?”

The mage smiled. “Perhaps you will find out,” she added cryptically.

I opened my mouth to question her further, but before I could Cecilia spoke over me. “This is where we must part ways. We must report to our superior.”

I closed my mouth with a snap and held out my hand. Without objection, the elven mage placed the writ in my palm.

You have acquired a goblin writ of safe passage.

“Thank you,” I said, breathing out slowly in relief. My instincts had not steered me wrong. The pair had kept their word.

Cecilia inclined her head and turned about. “Let’s go, Ultack. The captain will be waiting to hear from us.”

The half-orc paused to wave farewell. “Good luck, Michael.”

“You too,” I said and watched them go.

After the pair disappeared from view, I stored the writ in my backpack, and looking left and right, scanned the area. There were at least two dozen log cabins in the village. Their sizes varied from single one-bedroom homes to a few multistory buildings. I marked those for further investigation, guessing them to be either shops or public buildings of some other kind.

The streets were empty, leaving the safe zone eerily quiet, but the day was still young. If not for the intruding presence of the goblins, the little village perched on the mountainside would have made for a tranquil scene. Stepping forward, I wandered through the settlement.

While I walked, I reviewed the tasks before me. This was the third day of my non-aggression pact with Erebus, and I didn’t have much time left to accomplish my goals. Before escaping the valley, I needed to fulfill Duggar’s task. I owed the wolves a debt, and I had to do at least that much for them. Not to mention ridding the valley of the Long Fangs would earn me Duggar’s favor and get me the information I sought on my Wolf Mark.

I didn’t have a plan yet, though.

Oh, I had the makings of one, but it was still a long way from being complete, and there were still many unknowns. I had to plug the gaps in my knowledge fast or risk still being in the valley when my Pact with Erebus ran out. Being unprotected from Ishita’s followers was bad enough, I don’t want to add Erebus’ to the mix too.

Where to begin?

Orientating myself towards the largest structure in the village—a three-story building with two chimneys puffing out smoke, I headed its way.

~~~

The building in question was elevated above ground level and had a short stairway leading up to its double doors. Before ascending, I paused to study the sign planted at the foot of the stairs. It read, “The Sleepy Inn.”

The tavern’s doors were closed and its windows shuttered, but from the smoke escaping the chimneys, I was certain it was open for business. Next to the sign was a wooden noticeboard. There were scraps of aged paper pinned all over its surface, but prominently displayed in the center were two recent posters.

The first contained a likeness of me.

I grimaced as I read the notice. It was Ishita’s bounty—one thousand gold coins—and it described the torments the Power demanded I suffer in great detail. Ripping the page free, I shredded it and let the pieces scatter in the wind. Not that it mattered. By now, every player in the sector was likely on the lookout for me.

Interestingly enough, there was another bounty too. This one was for a beast—the wyvern mother. Leaning forward, I scanned the notice. It had been posted by a player called Gelar.

The reward was not named, nor was the reason for the bounty spelled out. It simply directed all inquiries to Gelar’s shop. I pursed my lips as I wondered why any player would be foolish enough to attempt claiming the bounty.

Turning back to the tavern, I climbed the stairs and entered its murky interior. The double doors led into an open dining area with haphazardly scattered tables. On the left was a bar counter, and on the right was a small stage—currently empty.

Even at this early hour, the tavern was occupied. Four shapes sat in the darkest corner of the room. Two were slouched in their chairs, slipping slowly from their mugs, while the other pair rested their heads on the table, passed out by all appearances. I took a moment to examine the group.

The four were players but too drunk to be of much threat. Ignoring them, I strode up to the bar. The man behind it studied me intently, his eyes narrowing as I drew closer. A moment later, he gasped. He had analyzed me, I assumed.

“You!” he hissed. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you see the noticeboard?”

I smiled. “Isn’t this a safe zone?”

“That doesn’t make it safe,” he retorted. “You’ll never make it out alive.” Picking up an empty mug, the barkeep—which is what I guessed him to be—began scrubbing energetically at it.

“Perhaps,” I agreed. “But in the meantime… can I get a drink?”

My request seemed to flummox the bartender for a second, but then he nodded grudgingly and asked, “What will you have?”

I shrugged. “Your best ale.” I sat down on one of the bar stools, only to realize I had no money. “Oh wait, how much is it gonna cost?”

The barkeep eyed me for a moment, then snorted. “Seeing as to how you’re not long for this world, it’s on the house.” He paused. “The first one only. The rest are on you.”

I grinned. “Thanks.”

While he poured, I studied the barkeep. He was a wisp thin man with greying hair and dressed in simple cotton clothes. He wore no armor and carried no weapons. Not at all what I expected of a player, even one in a safe zone. Curiously, I analyzed him.

The target is Benadean, a human player. He bears Marks of Lesser Dark, Shadow, and Light.

Interestingly, the Game revealed no information as to the barkeep’s level. “What level are you?” I asked, deciding to be blunt.

Benadean looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You analyzed me?”

I nodded.

He sighed. “How did a newbie like you ever manage to offend Ishita?”

I blinked, nonplussed by his reply.

Benadean shook his head at my confusion. “Everyone knows civilians don’t have player levels. You must be pretty green to have not caught on to that fact.”

My lips turned down sourly. “Give me a break, will you? Let’s just say I didn’t have the best of mentors when I entered the Game. And I’m still new to this world.”

The barkeep bit the inside of the lip. “And yet you’re already reached rank three,” he murmured, more to himself, than me.

“What’s a civilian?” I asked, ignoring his comment and steering the conversation back on course.

“Not all Classes in the Game are combat ones,” Benadean replied happy enough to educate me. “Some players decide to follow a more peaceful path. Admittedly, there aren’t very many of us.”

He means merchants and barkeeps, I thought, considering his response. “You get to choose three Classes, though,” I pointed out. “Didn’t you want to choose at least one combat class?”

“Civilian Classes are not like combat ones. They fill all three slots.”

“Really?” I said. “That’s interesting, how do civilians progress or grow stronger then?”

“We don’t. Or not in the way you mean.”

I frowned, at a loss then to understand why anyone would pick such a path.

Benadean chuckled. “Being a civilian is not entirely without benefits, you know. We don’t get stronger, but we can still learn skills and abilities, and unlike you combatants, we are not limited by our attributes. Most of the Powers don’t especially care for us. Still, enough of us have become mighty artists and crafters that we are tolerated.”

“I see,” I said, realizing that every merchant I’d met also had to have been a civilian.

“So, your life is what? Traveling from sector to sector, running a tavern?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Isn’t that… boring?”

Benadean shrugged. “Excitement is overrated. And besides, I’ve yet to meet a wealthy adventurer. Now rich merchants… those I’ve met aplenty.” He smiled, not unpleasantly. “You fighters risk death daily and, more often than not, struggle to rub two coins together. I, on the other hand, live comfortably and will likely live to a ripe old age—if not indefinitely.” He plonked down a mug of ale in front of me. “Now tell me, whose path is the better one?”

I didn’t answer, not wanting to concede the point. Bowing my head, I sipped on my drink. “I like it,” I said in what was an obvious change of topic.

The tavernkeeper grunted. “That warms my heart.”

I drank in silence for a bit before plumbing the barkeep for more information. “Is there a bank around here?” I asked.

“A bank?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you know?” Benadean said, sounding surprised. “This sector’s aether coordinates are hidden and known only to the mages who control the portal. There is no bank access here. Or Nexus access, for that matter.”

I looked up to stare at the barkeep in astonishment. No bank? It meant I really was broke, not to mention the lack of access to banks and the Nexus markets had to be a major inconvenience to the players here, yet they were still here… What was it about this sector? Why was it so important?

“I see,” I said at last. “Anywhere I can trade then?”

Benadean looked at me pityingly. “Most of the players hereabouts are either part of the Awakened Dead faction or bound to them somehow. With the bounty Ishita’s placed on you, the village’s merchants will not sell you anything—even if you had coin.”

My lips tightened, but I’d said nothing. I’d known expecting to resupply in the safe zone was a long shot.

“Although,” the tavernkeeper said, reflecting further on his answer, “you might try the dark druid.”

“Who?”

“Mariga. She owns the shop on the southern end of the village.” He paused. “Be careful of her, though. She is a bit… odd.”

Odd, I could manage. “Thank you,” I said gravely. Setting down my empty mug, I stood up.

“Oh,” I said, pausing as something else occurred to me. I didn’t have many good options, leaving me with less wise ones.

Perhaps it was time to be foolish.

“Can you direct me to Gelar’s shop too?”