The Gamer Chapter 1645 – Bachelor’s Night 4 – Scum (Patreon)

The entirety of the clientele turned to the trio when they entered.

There were a great many people around. Exclusively men, John noted, all of them covered in grime. It was like stepping into the company store saloon of a coal mine. Even the furniture fit the bill, being a ramshackle assortment hammered together from whatever parts the people got their hands on.

The bartender, a woman that looked like she used swords to chop logs, took the needle off the old-timey gramophone. The charmingly distorted jazz music stopped. Everyone stared at the trio. Magnus shuffled to the back of the group.

“Well, well, well, looks like we got royalty in the house.” The woman placed three glasses on  the table, one after the other. “Heard you were in the town. Didn’t think you’d visit our little corner.”

“How is this going to go?” Maximillian whispered to John.

Having already scanned everyone’s emotions and Relationship Score, the Gamer had a simple answer, “Poorly.”

“What would a night be without a barfight?” Maximillian mumbled and stepped forwards.

The trio made their way to the counter. The bartender smirked. “Hope you’ll excuse the cheap swirl,” she said and poured them each a black liquid of inconsistent viscosity. “Slime beer.”

“That sounds… novel,” John tried to be positive and picked up the glass after the groom did so. All around, chairs scratched over floorboards. The clientele formed a ring of a dozen able-bodied men around the trio. The Gamer gave it a sniff test. It smelled like dark ale, so that wasn’t too bad.

“Bottom’s up,” Maximillian urged.

The king led by example and the attendants followed. It was a vile experience. Most of the drink was just a tad too liquid and the rest was thick. It was like swallowing a snail by using gasoline. Tasted like it too.

John did not care to hide his distaste, slamming the glass down on the counter, disgust plain on his face. “At least it’s not poison,” he wheezed.

“I can’t believe it’s not poison,” Magnus added.

“I can’t believe you think what you’re about to do is a good idea,” Maximillian warned and put the last glass back on the counter.

“…GET’EM BOYS!” the woman shouted.

Immediately, the bar descended into chaos. There were four brutish mine workers for each of the three and they had the trio surrounded. Optimal conditions for them to land at least a single hit. Maximillian had other plans, catching the fists of two men and making a third sink to the ground from the suddenly increased gravity.

Magnus could potentially have struggled against more able opponents. Between his time at the Training Hall and Maximillian slowing down the enemies the Fateweaver had to face, he had an easy time.

King and friend engaged in a bout of hand to hand combat. There was very little grace in it all. Fists were slung on both sides with all the eloquence of drunken men. Several of the assailants went down only to get up again.

John, during all of that, put the needle back on the record. “Just doesn’t look right without background music,” he said to the barkeeper.

“When did you-“

“You really ought to do your homework before you try to beat up people.” John chuckled and looked at the assortment of bottles for a moment. He found a bottle of gin and a bottle of tonic and combined the two in a glass. He needed to wash the gasoline taste out of his throat.

A right hook by Magnus tossed a man against the bar. Several stools went to the ground with him. John considered that he may have started with too much gin. Three metres removed, Maximillian gave a man a resounding slap to the face. Tonic was poured on top. Four men dragged themselves over to Magnus to hold onto his legs while a fifth tried to land a hit. Deftly, the Fateweaver twisted out of the way. John gave the gin a taste test.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what did you put in the gin bottle, pure ethanol?” he wheezed and poured the drink down the drain.

Maximillian gave the last of the men a tap on the forehead, causing them to slowly fall over. “You alright there, Magnus?” he asked.

The Fateweaver had shaken off the assailants holding his leg. Hands on his knees, partly bent over, he tried to get his breathing under control. A rude gesture was all he could create in response.

“Age is getting to him,” John joked and gave the various bottles behind the bar a sniff test. Everything smelled like moonshine. “I don’t want to sound like a snobby middle-class guy, but do you have anything here that is actually drinkable?”

“You do sound like a snobby middle-class guy,” the bartender growled.

Magus Step brought John out from the bar as quickly as it had gotten him behind it. Looking at the people on the ground now, John realized that they had curved fingertips and sharp nails. What he had initially regarded as grime on their faces had expanded into some kind of body marking. These men weren’t human.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Maximillian decided and turned around. They clearly weren’t welcome to order more drinks. Groaning and gasping, the men picked themselves up as the trio left.

“What was that about?” Magnus asked.

“Just what Scum does. Did not expect to run into a bar full of them.”

“Something about the way you say ‘Scum’ doesn’t make it feel like we are just talking about bad people.”

Maximillian looked first at John, then at Magnus. “For two men so learned, you have odd gaps in your historical recollection,” he told them. “Let me regale you of the tale of the Scum, then. Around 1200 AD, a Kingdom portal opened somewhere. The people that we nowadays call ‘the Scum’ began to create a base of operations. Eventually, they began to raid the surrounding areas, bringing riches and women back to the portal. Such could not stand, of course, but war was complicated back then. It took years to locate the Illusion Barrier.”

“Ah, I have actually heard of this,” John chimed in. “Did not know you called them ‘Scum’. Lydia said they were descendants of a Czech clan called the Antaraxas.”

“A crude name, but you’ll have to forgive the ancestors for being rather mad at this foreign force that ravaged the countryside,” Maximillian said. “The base of operations was found, the fortress they had built torn down, and their vanguards scattered to the winds.”

“And these people are the survivors of the raiding parties that were out and about while the assault on the fortress happened?”

“More or less. There’s doubtlessly some among them that are the descendants of sexual slavery though. The warriors that took the fort had very little qualms about returning the favour, especially since the women that had been abducted lay somewhere beyond the portal, never to be retrieved.”

“No expedition was launched?” Magnus asked.

“The Kingdom portal itself was never found. The survivors of the Scum told everyone that it had closed. If legend is to be believed, it’ll open again about 200 years from now.”

“Ah.”

“I find it fascinating that things like that happen and yet Kingdoms managed to largely drift out of the public consciousness,” John said. He hadn’t heard about these permanent, extraterrestrial Illusion Barriers until he had been in the Abyss for well over a year. Rave had never heard of them and she had grown up in it.

“It was a great annoyance for the nobility at the time, but most of the common folk outside the area were unaffected. Kingdom incidents are generally too small to really reach anyone – or everyone involved disappears mysteriously.”

“Your stunt the other month put them in the public eye,” Magnus added. “And now that there was a public event on the internet, they will remember for a long while. For most people, it will be useless trivia knowledge, though.”

“Or inspiration to contact their monarchs for some very lucrative business opportunities,” Maximillian hummed. A victorious chuckle followed quickly thereafter. “You think you are the only person who can open up Kingdom gateways?”

“No, but I can still be surprised.” John rolled his shoulder. The sip of ethanol he had taken had renewed his buzz. Magnus spontaneously retched. “Still got the slime in your throat?”

“It’s like I put a straw into a gas station,” Magnus answered. “Why did we have to drink that?”

“Assert dominance,” Maximillian answered. “The Scum respect strength. It’s how we keep them in line.”

“Why weren’t they wiped out if everyone felt so resentful?”

“Queen Katalona, who was the wife of the king of Czechia, which was an independent realm within Rex Germaniae at the time, convinced her husband to give them a chance to integrate. Rumour had it her man was a cuck who enjoyed watching her get railed by one of the men taken as a slave.”

“Is there anything to that or is that one of those lies that the opposition put together?”

“Well, half of her children had suspiciously black spots on their skin. She attributed that to the dragon blood she supposedly had in her heritage.”

“…Right,” John drawled. “So, there was a failed period of rapprochement, after which wiping them out felt too awkward, but they did not integrate either.”

“And now they are one of these minorities in the Abyss that don’t really interact with the society around them,” Maximillian confirmed. “Interestingly, they are still human, despite their rather obvious differences. Really makes one wonder what the Ataraxans were and are up to in that Kingdom they ended up in.”

“…I could find out,” John hummed. “I could spin my phrase in a way that would let me find them no doubt. ‘Where Ataraxans are’ or something like that.”

“If you want to, don’t let me stop you.” Maximillian shrugged. “It has been 800 years. Maybe they mellowed out. Maybe they’re preparing for the next war. Who knows.”

“What I want to know is where we are going,” Magnus said.

They had just been moving their feet. Back up the only staircase at first, then, following Maximillian, down a tunnel. It had connected to a different, half-open part of the superstructure. They were in an alleyway three stories down from the main street, but there was no roof above their head. The houses towered above them. The sky, tinting orange, shone through the uneven gap.

“I wonder if Beatrice is having an aneurysm right now,” John mumbled.

“Knowing her, probably,” Magnus said.

“Is it too early to check in on what the girls are doing?” Maximillian wondered. “I know we’re not supposed to, but the chances are that Eliana is making them sing some bizarre porn version of a popular song again.”

“If she does, you’ll get a recording of it either way.”

“It’s not the same if I don’t see it first when I’m as drunk as they are.”

“We aren’t drunk at all.” Magnus sounded equal parts relieved and annoyed by that fact. The oldest of the group usually measured himself, but none of them were more than buzzed. They had been walking too much with too little alcohol in their hands. They were now more sober than they had been when leaving the first bar.

“Alright then, fine.” Maximillian suddenly jumped. Gravity took him upwards, until he hovered far above the houses. After half a minute, he hovered back down. “I have decided where to go.”

“Now how do we get there?” John asked, gesturing at the labyrinth around them.

The answer was as layered as the city but ultimately involved no surprises. About five minutes later, they stood in front of a club. The throbbing of heavy beats vibrated through the air and pavement, hinting that more of the establishment was below the ground than the medium-sized entrance indicated.

As they approached, the sole gatekeeper already opened up the VIP entrance for them, beckoning them inside before the trio had even gotten the opportunity to ask if they could be let in. “Now this is proper service,” the king said and led the way.

They were kept separate from the rest of the people trying to get inside by an opaque wall. It was a Monday, but it was also getting late and the Abyss was not quite as stringent when it came to the observance of week-weekend separation anyway. “We’ve been hoping you would visit us,” a finely dressed man greeted them by a flight of stairs. “The VIP lounge has been kept clear and clean for you. Anything you would like to start with?”

“Can I smoke there?” Magnus asked.

“…Yes,” the man answered hesitantly. John got the feeling the actual answer was no, but that there was an exception made because of the importance of the trio.

“Three pints of your recommended beer to start with,” Maximillian announced and walked up the stairs. “Take your time, we’ll get comfortable.”

The VIP lounge turned out to be an alcove above the dancefloor. With its flashing lights and the heavy techno beat in the air, the club was right out of Rave’s fantasy. Personally, John found the music too loud, the lights obnoxious, and the density of people down below nauseating.

“I can see the light dying in your eyes,” Maximillian joked.

“Just because I’m more comfortable in social settings than I used to be doesn’t mean I’m not an introvert.” John grimaced at the dancefloor down below. “I can stand it for a bit when I’m with my haremettes, but I really don’t want to mingle with the disgusting peasants if I don’t have to.”

He played the joke straight and it worked to get a laugh out of the two men with him. “Weren’t you going to smoke?” Maximillian asked.

“It’s clearly not allowed in here,” the Fateweaver answered with a grumble. “I won’t add tobacco to a closer establishment not meant for it.” It was at that moment that the beers arrived. “One glass of water.”

“Coming your way,” the waitress, an attractive young thing in a miniskirt, said and strutted away.

“Alright, let’s try to get drunk!” Maximillian said and raised his glass.

Three young men toasted.