A Gamer's Guide 242 (Patreon)

It took less than an hour to finish checking up on the patients, and at the end, my desire for breakfast was starting to overpower my diligence to a noticeable degree. So, as we head towards the stables, Moleman promises to get me something tasty for the ride. For my own part, I’m mostly surprised that we’ll be using drakes to get around at all. Since the drake quarantine, the only people allowed to ride drakes in public have been—

…Officials and medical personnel. Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Still, I’ve never actually ridden a drake, so I’m not sure what to expect.

We enter the stable, the smell of manure and straw hitting me with a vengeance. Compared to the hospital, though, it’s an upgrade. There are about fifteen drakes in total, with the majority being of the sprinter variety, the rest being either pulleys or hump-backs. Moleman seems to know what he’s after, so I follow him, trying not to gawk at the massive animals too much. Now that I’m able to compare them to the real deal, I can tell that drakes don’t have the same glint in their eye as dragons. Sure, they’re also feathered reptilians, but they look dimwitted, and their faces aren’t as alive. Honestly, the more I look at them, the more they’re starting to creep me out. Is this the uncanny valley effect?

I don’t have time to ponder it further as the stablemaster meets Moleman, a warm smile crinkling his yellow face. “Well met, doctor! If you’re lookin’ for your human friend, I’m afraid she went out just an hour ago on Fleety.” As he’s talking, his eyes fall on me. “And who’s this?”

Moleman steps aside, letting us see each other properly. He’s tall for a goblin, and appears to be about middle-aged, his mane cut short. The hand he holds out to me is calloused and scarred by what seems to be since-healed drake pox. I shake it. “Kitty,” I say. “Moleman’s assistant.”

“An assistant, eh?” he says. “Not bad! The name’s Lent, stablemaster and only drakekeep at the time. Everybody else got sick or quit once it came out the drakes were the issue. Blasted worm-tails. If you ever have time over and don’t fear manual labor, how’s about working with me?” Lent spots the look on Moleman’s face. “Ah, master’s running you ragged, is he? Was worth a shot, heh!” He barks a laugh, which ends as abruptly as it began. “Well, with the two of you, I assume you’ll need something heavier than a sprinter… How’s about a humpback? Very smooth ride. I’ve got a girl who’s been cooped up here for weeks now without anyone to ride her—starting to go bald, she is.”

Understanding flashes across Moleman’s face and he tries to hide his obvious reluctance. “Ah, I’m sorry, but the last time I tried to ride Charm, she took a bite out of me that needed three days to heal…”

“Nonsense! She’s a wonderful girl. Come along, I’m sure she’ll be no trouble to you.”

We follow him. En route, I’m able to grab Moleman’s attention with a small wave, upon which I ask, quite seriously, “If she chomps on me this time, maybe she won’t want to bite you?”

“I’d rather she didn’t take a bite out of anyone,” Moleman mutters as we follow Lent. “And that includes you.”

I purse my lips in thought. “Oh, yeah, it would be bad if I gave her a stomach ulcer. Wouldn’t want to put our own drake out of commission, right?”

For a while, Moleman doesn’t answer. I’m just about to try a different joke when he says, “These new abilities are getting out of hand. Soon, you’ll start voodooing people into losing their hair and getting a midlife crisis at the ripe old age of twenty.”

I nod in a sagely fashion. “Survival takes its toll. We all have to do what we can to keep death at bay one day longer.”

Moleman mirrors my nod, and we can talk no longer as we arrive to meet our new mode of transportation. Charm, as per her name, is a rather charming creature to look at, her pink-and-purple plume tastefully accentuated by yellow dots here and there, most of them concentrated on her broad chest. Generally speaking, she’s a fairly large beast, her long neck matched by an equally long tail; both girthy enough to suggest a diet of nothing but protein powder, chicken breast and rice, none of which exist in this world. Much like the pullers, she stands on all fours, though she’s markedly slimmer than they are. The most noticeable aspect of her physiology has to be the hump across her back, as squat and elongated as a body pillow.

Lent moves to pat her by instinct, but a single glare from the drake allows him to remember her reputation, and he pulls his hand back, letting it fall to his side casually. “As you can see, she’s a feisty girl, but she’ll get to where you need to go, no problem.”

Moleman isn’t having it. “Do you count ‘grievous mutilation’ within your definition of ‘problem’?”

Lent chuckles nervously. “Ah, well, that is…”

Hm. I wonder…

I step closer to Charm. The drake’s eyes lock onto me. I stare back at her, evenly. I know telepathy isn’t counted among my skills, but if I think hard enough about killing her…

Her eyes widen in fear and she tries to back away, the only thing keeping her in place being the reigns around her neck and body. Moleman and Lent have both fallen silent, looking at Charm as though she’d gone stark raving mad, which she might have. I think back on the numerous drakes I’ve killed, alongside the ones I’ve eaten, all the tasty flesh and the chewy skin and crunchy feathers between my teeth... Mmm. Good stuff. Keeping this in mind, I step closer to her. She tries to draw back from me, but she’s tied down. Her anxious eyes dart between me and everywhere else, trying to find some way to escape and finding none. I reach out my hand towards her head. My proximity petrifies her, and once my palm falls atop the bridge of her nose, she’s no longer moving at all. I pet her.

Smiling, I turn to Lent. “Like a lamb.” I don’t remember if sheep exist in this world, but going by the look on his face, he isn’t about to correct me. Turning to Moleman, I show off a grin. “Well? Shall we take her?”

It takes a moment or so for him to wipe the dumbfounded look off his face, at which point he hesitantly answers, “I… suppose we will?” The questioning part of his line was directed at Lent, who shrugs in return.

With Lent’s confused blessing, Charm is saddled up, brought out into the noon sun, and then mounted by both Moleman and myself. I can’t ride for shit, so even though I’m the one who used mind magic to tame her, Moleman is the one who’s handed the reins to her. She tries to give him a stinker of a glare, but I’m sitting right behind him, so I catch her eye over his shoulder. Magic murder mind powers go!

I’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyouI’mgoingtokillyou—

She turns away from us, like a good, obedient vehicle. I can feel her back trembling beneath us, but a nice pat on the side gets her well and stiff. Moleman mutters something to me about how he doesn’t know if he can condone my way of handling animals, but I kindly inform him that, hey—whatever works, works. Right?

And with that, we head out.

Since Charm is wearing a prominent patch of a phoenix killing a dragon, it’s clear that we’re medical personnel, so nobody will stop us for riding a drake. With noon upon us, the streets are no longer empty. And, you’d never guess this, but people are looking at us. They don’t seem too surprised by Moleman, but me? Yeah, they’re giving me looks. I can’t tell if it’s fear or confusion or surprise, or even if it’s because of my appearance or the simple fact that Moleman suddenly has an assistant. Either way, since a promise is a promise, he gave me a few fruits to eat as we went.

Charm’s back is surprisingly soft, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable in the least. By the time we reach the first house on our list, I still have a few fruits left, which I stick into my inventory as Moleman tethers Charm outside the house.

Going by smell alone, I can tell this place is infected. Much like all the other houses, it stands squashed between numerous others, forming a line of thatch-roof buildings that would rent for ten thousand dollaroos a month in a real city back on Earth. And that’s for the upper floor, alone!

I follow at Moleman’s back as we approach the door. He knocks on it with his staff, which is objectively cool. While waiting for the people inside to answer, Moleman uses a clean spell on both his own and my hands. I don’t like the smell it leaves, but since we don’t want Charm to get cross-infected by the pox, it’s necessary.

After half a minute or so, just as Moleman’s about to knock again, the door finally opens a smidge, a small face peeking out through the crack. As soon as their eyes fall on Moleman and myself, they open the door fully, and there stands a small girl, wearing patchwork clothes and dirty, wooden shoes. Her little face is torn between relief, joy and grief as she looks up at Moleman. “Doctor!” she cries. “Doctor, please—please, come in, my dad, he’s…”

“Is he alright?” Moleman asks as he ducks inside the low doorway. He shoots a quick meaningful look at me as I follow behind him. I sniff the air, but can’t smell any putrefaction, so I shake my head. Moleman turns back to the child. “Ida, where’s your dad now? Is he still in his room?”

“No, he—” She chokes back a sob. “He went out to chop some wood, because it’s been so cold, but he couldn’t, he…” The feelings finally overwhelm her, and heavy tears start falling from her eyes. Moleman pats her on the head and looks to me again, silently urging me to find the guy.

“No problemo,” I mutter, sniffing only a little to catch the right scent. I begin weaving through the rooms of the house, towards the back, with Moleman following behind me. I’m not exactly running, so I quickly mention, “He doesn’t smell too bad, maybe a concussion, but he isn’t dead.”

We find him, as expected, in the small yard behind the house, splayed out beside a stump, axe still in his hand. Moleman hurries up next to him, going down on one knee to check his pulse. And, yep, as expected—he’s alive. The blood around his head is probably only from a minor cut, and the blood on his chest seems to be from the festering wound, nothing new. Without waiting, Moleman lifts the staff, reciting some incantations and whatnot to heal the worst of it. Once he’s no longer actively bleeding, he turns back to me, saying, “Kitty, will you please help me carry him? We need to get him back in—”

I hunch down, grab him by the legs and back, and lift him into a princess carry.

It takes a second or so for Moleman to get out of his shock. “That… works.”

Guided by Moleman, I carry the guy into the house, trying not to be bothered by the pus and blood soaking into my nice clothes. The little girl follows us as we go upstairs, asking if her dad will be alright, which Moleman obviously says he will be. Me? I’m not so sure. A little fall isn’t much, but being knocked out for minutes isn’t good. My nose isn’t quite fine-tuned enough to tell how long he’s been out, but I doubt it happened right as we arrived. But even if it hadn’t been for that, he’s still not exactly in prime shape.

Moleman pulls me up the stairs and into a room I presume to be the master bedroom. And, boy, is this bed in bad shape. I thought the hospital beds were bad, but this guy is basically sleeping in a pest nest. From what I can tell, the mattress is really just a piece of fabric tossed over a bunch of straw. With the straw being basted in a bunch of fleshy juices and whatever else this guy has been sweating out, I’m not surprised it's as alive as it is. Moleman doesn’t seem to notice though, so I just lie him down, making sure his head finds good rest on the one pillow we’ve got at hand.

As soon as he’s no longer in my arms, the little girl runs up to him, uncomfortably close to me, and asks us—not just Moleman, the both of us, “Will he be okay? He’s all I have left—please, don’t let him die.”

She’s looking at me. Why is she looking at me like that? Why does she—oh, right, the innocent adoration skill. Ugh. I should really back off, this is Moleman’s territory, so…

She takes my hand. Ah. Oh, no. I can’t move. I turn to Moleman, pleading for assistance. Shoot. He looks delighted. If he’d been five percent less kindhearted I would assume he’s holding back a mocking laughter, but he just looks happy. Damn it. I don’t know who to be angry at, so I guess I’ll just seethe at myself.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Moleman says again, because apparently, she needs to hear it more than once. “And… we’ll send someone to take care of the firewood. Do you have anyone to make food?”

“Our, um, neighbor sometimes comes with a bit… But I don’t have anything to give in return, so I feel horrible…” the little girl admits, clinging closer to my arm. I don’t understand. My arm is a bony, cold thing. Why would anyone touch it willingly?

“I see,” Moleman says. His voice is the same as before, but I can tell he pities the poor thing, which makes sense, I guess. “I’ll tell whoever we send to bring some blueroots for you. If nothing else, you should be able to trade it with your neighbor.”

She wipes at her face. “Th—thank you, thank you, doctor, you’re too…” She sniffles. “You’re too kind. You’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?”

He pats her on the cheek. “Yeah, we will. Don’t you worry.”

She smiles, hugs me even tighter, and gives me an equally big grin, even though I didn’t do anything.

Moleman clearly wanted to hang around until the father woke up, but since we had a lot of people to visit, we had to cut it short. Before we left, though, Moleman made sure to tell her to explain to her father that he was in no state to cut wood, and that if he didn’t want to get worse, he’d better stay in bed. The little girl hugged us goodbye, we left the house, Moleman used a cleaning spell to sanitize our clothes, and off we went to the next house.