Battle For The Nine Realms

by Ramy Vance

  “Yeah, I guess. Who knows what MERCs say they’re out there doing?”

  In the distance, the two Mundanes could hear people cheering and laughing. They followed the sound past the ornate library floating to their right. The bar wasn’t too far ahead. It was sandwiched between two smaller buildings.

  Sandy pointed at the buildings up ahead. “Those must be the fighters’ and mages’ guilds. You ever think about joining one of those?”

  “Not really. I mean, I did just hear about them. Besides, I don’t know. One of the reasons I was always on Middang3ard VR was ‘cause…you know, I’m not too good with the whole meeting people thing.”

  “Oh, really? You were good at meeting me,” Sandy said.

  “Meeting people in VR was easy. I just pretended I was the kind of person I wanted to be. But it’s harder here.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause you’re actually out here.”

  “Exactly.” Stew kissed her forehead.

  Sandy looked up at Stew, “So you think everything in the Middang3ard VR was just an act?”

  Stew shrugged as they turned the corner and closed in on the bar. “I don’t feel nearly as charismatic,” he admitted. “At least in VR, I could just dump experience points into it. Trying to talk to strangers just doesn’t have the same feel.”

  “I prefer you IRL, even if you are a massive, neurotic nerd. Now come on, let’s get this beer.”

  The Last Ale was decrepit on the outside. Its windows were broken, and the rotted wood front door was barely hanging on by its hinges. As Sandy reached out to open the door, a dwarf sailed through the window and landed in a pile of broken glass beside her.

  The dwarf stood and shook the glass from his beard. He took out a flask and took a large swig from it, then he turned to Sandy and Stew and stumbled forward. “Ah, newbs. Welcome to the Last Ale. Name’s Fyodor. I’m the owner. Come on in.”

  “If you’re the owner, why were you thrown out?” Stew asked.

  “A smart-ass, are you? You misbehave, you get chucked out, owner or not. And I was misbehaving.” Fyodor staggered to the front door before turning to his side and vomiting off the path. “You might not want to wait for me.”

  Sandy and Stew stepped into the Last Ale. The atmosphere was drastically different from the Red Lion. There were fewer MERCs, and many more empty seats.

  Most of the patrons were sitting at the front of the bar, talking quietly with each other. There was a dartboard near the bar with a few axes embedded in it. Some of the MERCs looked up when Stew and Sandy walked in. They stared for a little bit before turning back to their beers.

  Suzuki pulled up his HUD and his armor magically rolled over his body as if it were made out of individual pieces that had a mind of their own. He left his helmet off. Wherever he was, it was too stuffy. He pulled out his sword. Hey, Fred? I can’t really see too well here. Can you help me?

  Fred uncurled in Suzuki’s mind. It felt like there was a muscle in Suzuki’s head that was tightening and untightening. Fire, magic, or night vision?

  Dealer’s choice.

  Very well. Unsheathe your sword.

  Suzuki did as he was told and the blade caught fire. Good choice, Suzuki mused, feeling the heat of the flame.

  The flame illuminated the small space that Suzuki was standing in. The walls were close to him. He held the flame up to the walls to see what they were made of. A mucous-like membrane covered the walls. Suzuki placed his hand on the membrane.

  A trail of mucus stuck to Suzuki’s finger as he raised it to his nose to smell. It was nothing that he recognized. Fred. Do you have any idea what the hell this shit is?

  I am an eldritch creature who has existed for nearly a thousand generations. Unfortunately for you, I have not wasted my entire existence trying to catalog the various kinds of mucus which you can run across.

  Okay, well, do you have any idea where we are?

  Suzuki could feel Fred considering his question before answering. No. I was hit with the same spell as you. Whoever cast it has a high degree of power. It is not an easy feat to stun me.

  Yeah, yeah, Suzuki said drolly. I’ve heard it all before. You’re an all-powerful eldritch demon.

  Imp. And nigh all-powerful, if you’re being specific.

  Hmmm. Well, wherever the hell I am, I guess I should be looking for that pearl.

  Next time, you should invest in a contract, Fred snarled. I’d hate to think what would happen if you were to find this pearl and not be given your proper reward.

  Do MERCs always pull this shit?

  From my experiences, MERCs should only be trusted if there is an obvious thing they can gain from you. But like any other group of mortals, there are some who are trustworthy and others who will take advantage of you. Those tend to be my favorite. A clever MERC is much more useful than a dullard.

  What did you think of her? Suzuki asked.

  It would have been a better idea to ask before you agreed. Now, if you will excuse me, all of this transmogrification has tired me out.

  Wait, what do you mean?

  You really don’t know? Suzuki, we have been shrunk and are roughly the size of a rat at the moment, Fred said. Now leave me alone unless you need me for something other than a commentary.

  Suzuki could feel Fred retreating to the far recesses of his mind.

  Recently, his relationship with the imp had improved. This conversation was evidence of just that. Fred had grown more willing to answer questions and, on occasion, engage in conversation. That wasn’t important at the moment, though. It was good to know that he could rely on Fred if he needed him, but there were more pressing issues at the moment.

  The walls surrounding Suzuki were very close together. If they were any tighter, Suzuki would have had to turn sideways to make his way any further. Luckily, he had lost some weight since he first came to Middang3ard.

  All of the running around to fulfill missions had been good for his body. Before coming to Middang3ard, he had had a very difficult time getting out of the house for anything other than the rare, spur-of-the-moment camping trip. He’d been living his life in a VR simulation. Being in the real-world version of the game had necessitated that he get in shape. The missions helped a lot, though. Constantly cleaning out vermin dens and running from giants was ideal for slimming and building cardio.

  Suzuki thought about casting Find Target to hone in on the pearl but decided against it. It didn’t seem like there were many options of where to go. There was forward or backward.

  Casting would be a waste of valuable magic that he might need later. Also, he still wasn’t certain where he was, nor did he know what he might be coming up against. It would be better to take his time, get familiar with the situation, and go from there.

  This all would have been easier if Sandy and Stew were with him. Even if it was his responsibility to come up with ideas and plans, it was helpful to bounce ideas off of them.

  Fred was pretty much useless in that department. So Suzuki was on his own for the first time in a very long time. He had spent nearly every waking hour with Stew and Sandy since they had come to Middang3ard. He was surprised that he hadn’t gotten annoyed by either of them yet. They were not quite friends, not quite family. Something better. That was how he thought of them. He’d never met anyone like Stew or Sandy. Other than Beth.

  The walls around Suzuki suddenly vibrated. A pink electric current pulsed through the mucus hanging from them. The mucus shivered again as if the electric pulse had jumpstarted some latent life within it. Suzuki felt the heat of the enclosed space go up.

  I better hurry up and get the hell out of here, he thought as he made his way through the long corridor, putting in an extra effort not to get any of the mucus on his skin. He put his helmet back on just to be safe.

  Another electric pulse ran through the mucus, and this time the spark of electricity ran through his armor as well. He instinctively jumped to the side and fell against the wall. When he pulled himself from the sticky mucus, he could
see an imprint of his body. “Gross,” he muttered.

  “Gross,” echoed down the corridor, seemingly gaining more voices as the sound traveled.

  Sandy and Stew sat down at the bar. The MERCs in the room continued to eyeball them with suspicion. Most were women.

  Anytime Stew looked up and met their eyes, they would look away. Sandy didn’t seem to notice. She waved over Fyodor, who had finally made his way back into his bar. His eyes were red and very wet as he climbed a stepstool so he could be eye level with the bar patrons. “What am I gonna get you two?”

  Sandy held up two fingers. “Two, please.”

  “You want the regular ale, or you want your Last Ale?”

  “What’s the difference?” she asked.

  “Regular is the same shit they serve over at that sissy bar, the Red Lion. The Last Ale? That’ll knock your shoes off, give you halflings’ feet, and then burn your hair off.”

  “Sounds pretty intense.”

  Fyodor puffed out his chest before suddenly grabbing his mouth and stifling his gagging. Once the urge to vomit had subsided, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Yep, family recipe going back for nearly ten generations. Got a goddamn lineage in each barrel.”

  “We’ll take two of those.”

  “I’ll be back with ‘em.”

  As Fyodor walked away, Sandy leaned close to whisper in Stew’s ear. “That’s gotta be it. We can get a taste, so we know what we’re looking for in the back.”

  “How are we going to get it out?”

  Sandy considered this. “Well, we can’t just have you carry it out. It’d be too noticeable. And it probably weighs a ton. I could levitate it out.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Distract them.”

  “How am I going to do that?” Stew asked.

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to work on your charisma?”

  Suzuki pushed himself through the tightening corridor. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking. His feet were sticky. Whatever mucus was on the walls was also on the ground. Lifting his feet was becoming increasingly difficult. He sighed and told himself it wouldn’t be for much longer. He could see a light down at the end of the corridor, and it was only a few feet away.

  Another pulse of electricity went through the mucus on the walls and floor. This time it jolted Suzuki with enough energy to cause him to bounce back and forth against the walls. He felt like a pinball stuck on a broken bumper.

  Once the shock left Suzuki’s body, he started toward the light again. Finally, he pushed out of the corridor. He fell forward, right into a pile of mucus covering a pink, fleshy mound. His helmet instantly clogged with mucus and he rolled to the side and hit his HUD so his helmet would disappear and restore his ability to breathe.

  The air was thick and humid. Suzuki tried to flick off the mucus covering his arms and hands, but it was caked on too thick. He accepted that he just had to feel like a walking booger.

  The room that Suzuki was in was drenched in the mucus discharge. There were fleshy mounds sporadically throughout the room, and they rose to about Suzuki’s waist. They were not only on the floor, but they also covered the walls and the ceiling.

  Approaching one of the mounds, he poked it with his sword. The fleshy mound jiggled and swelled.

  Suzuki quietly willed his sword to lose its flames before sheathing it. Then he wandered around through the room until he heard a very quiet squeaking. Now that he was in the dark again, he decided it was a good time to use some of that magic he’d been hesitant to cast. “Find Target,” Suzuki muttered, and a bright gold light shot out of his chest and zipped around the room until it found its way to the corner of the room where the pearl should be.

  Suzuki followed the light, but in the corner, instead of a pearl, there was a rat stuck to the wall of the room, encased in the pink mucus.

  When the rat saw Suzuki, it thrashed wildly, its nose twitching excitedly. All that kept the rat in place was the thick layer of mucus covering its body.

  Suzuki pulled up his HUD and scrolled through the menus until he came across his scent modifier. It was the upgrade Beth had sent him when he first got accepted into the MERC program. His scent was currently set to “fifteen-year-old scotch.” Suzuki focused, and the scent modifier flickered and changed to “rat.”

  The rat encased in the mucus stopped freaking out. It sniffed the air twice and then looked at Suzuki, who was walking toward it. Using his dagger, Suzuki cut the rat out of the mucus. The rat fell to the floor and scurried around in a circle, sniffing Suzuki three or four times before finally settling down, watching him.

  After sheathing his dagger, Suzuki tried to wipe some of the mucus off his body. “You’re getting off lucky today. I’ve killed enough rats for a lifetime.”

  With the rat free, the find spell light continued into a hole that had been blocked by the captured rat. Suzuki sheathed his sword and squeezed through it. The rat followed him closely. “Great. Gone from killing rats to babysitting them.”

  Chapter Four

  The Last Ale was served in a tankard that Fyodor took great care in filling in front of the two Mundanes. Once the ale had been poured, Fyodor went to the back and came out with a torch that had a bright blue flame. Sparks circled it.

  Fyodor climbed back on top of his stepstool, showing the Mundanes the blue flame. “This fire has been part of my family tradition for longer than any of my tribe care to remember. The fire is added to every time that one of the tribe members die. When we leave our tribe, we take a little bit of the fire with us and promise that we will never let it go out. When I brought the fire here, I started adding a little bit of fuel to it every time a MERC was lost to the Dark One. When you drink your Last Ale, you’re part of my tribe, part of my family, just like every other MERC who takes a sip.”

  Fyodor touched the torch to the tankards, and the liquid’s surface went up in blue flames. “Drink up!”

  Stew and Sandy looked at each other apprehensively. Then Stew grabbed his drink and downed it. Sandy did the same. They sat there for a moment, and then blue flames erupted all over their bodies. The flames extinguished themselves within a few seconds.

  Stew slammed his empty tankard on the table and jumped to his feet. He was possessed by an unknown energy. “Goddamn. Let’s drink another one.”

  “That’s what I like to hear! How about you, lass?” There’s more whenever you’re ready for round two.”

  Sandy leaned over and kissed Stew on the cheek. “A little too strong for me. I’m going to hit the little lasses’ room.” Then she leaned over and whispered to Stew, “You know what to do. Use that manly charm you’re always talking about.”

  As Sandy walked off, Stew looked down the length of the bar. The patrons were almost exclusively female halflings and gnomes. Stew swallowed and tried to figure out just what his manly charm was. He’d been saying he had it for years, but this was the first time that he’d ever been called out on it before. There must be something there. It got Sandy to pay attention to him. Now all he had to figure out was how to get everyone else in the bar to do the same.

  Stew cleared his throat theatrically and put his hands on his hips. Then he stuffed them into his pockets. “Do you guys have karaoke out here?”

  “You gotta drink before you speak.”

  Stew grabbed the flaming drink in front of him. He downed it in one gulp again.

  “You were saying?” the dwarf asked.

  “Karaoke. You ever heard of it?”

  “Can you kill it?”

  “No, it’s more like—”

  “Can you eat it?”

  “No, it’s not—”

  “Not sure I’m interested. What good is something in a bar that can’t be killed, drunk, eaten, or fucked? I’m right, aren’t I, MERCs?”

  There was a lazy cheer from across the bar as the MERCs raised their glasses and chuckled.

  “You might want to check into it,” Stew said. “Especially with all the halflings you g
ot in here. Might liven the place up a bit. Maybe get some more business.”

  “Help improve business, you say? Maybe even give that hoity-toity Red Lion a run for their money? Show this town where the real party is at? All right, boyo, I’m all ears.”

  “It’s real simple. It’s kind of like a sing-along.”

  “Like for children?”

  “No, not for kids.”

  “But children do sing-a-longs.”

  “Not just kids. Halflings. Halflings do sing-a-longs all the time.”

  The halfling next to Stew perked up her ears. She leaned over and slammed her beer on the table. “What are you saying about halflings looking like kids?”

  “No, no, I was just saying that halflings sing.”

  “You saying halflings sing like kids?”

  “No! Nothing like that.” Stew shook his head. This conversation wasn’t going to plan. Not that he had a plan to follow. “I was just saying that halflings like to sing.”

  “Aye, everyone knows that. Why you making a news bulletin about it?”

  Stew threw his hands up, visibly annoyed. Then he figured out what he had to do. He turned to Fyodor. “I’ll take another.”

  Fyodor poured another Last Ale. “Good man.”

  Stew sipped his ale, narrowing his eyes like he thought an old-school bard would have done. Stoke the flames of intrigue. “It’s an old human tradition. Older than most. We gather in bars all around the world. After we have a couple of drinks, someone pulls out a guitar, and—”

  “Guitar?”

  “Or lute. Anything, really. We pull it out and start singing. Everyone joins in, the entire bar. And they keep drinking. People love to sing and drink.”

  Fyodor eyed the MERCs sitting at the bar. “Yes, yes, everyone likes to sing and drink. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  Fyodor stumbled into the back room of the bar. He came back within a few moments carrying a lute. He thrust the lute in front of Stew. “So you gonna show us how this whole karaoke thing works?”