For a little while he moved along aimlessly, soaking up the sights, but making a steady route towards the city gates. He lingered by a makeshift archery range where a group of archer players were practicing their skills, and watched them for a little while. As he stood there, several more groups moved along the central pathway, more knights, along with priests and archers, sword fighters and a large number of heavily-armed billmen. From the snatches of conversation he heard as he moved about the crowd, he pieced together that this was a festival arranged by the Knights of the Noble Griffin. A priest player who had drunk a bit too much ale and was sat on a hay bale, told him that the Knights were a prominent guild within the Holy Seal faction, who supplied weapons and gear to other players and organized tournaments and pitched battles.
The information that they bought and sold gear caught John’s interest, and he headed over to the banqueting table where the senior members of the guild were seated. There was a flight of steps leading up to the platform, flanked by two level 40 something players. They were clad in gleaming suits of armor and stood to attention like soldiers, each clutching the halberds they wielded tightly in one gauntleted hand.
When John tried to mount the steps, the players brought their halberds together to form a cross blocking his way forward. “Only senior members of the High Council of Knights may ascend to the platform,” one of them said pompously. “Be on your way.”
“I want to talk to one of you guys about doing some kind of business together,” John said, rankled by the player’s tone. “I’m a trader and I might be able to offer you a mutually beneficial arrangement if we can agree terms.”
“The Knights of the Noble Griffin only engage in transactions with approved vendors of good repute, not any old common peddler,” the player replied, coating every word he said in a thick dollop of contempt. “Be on your way, peasant.”
Common peddler? Peasant? Damn, was the whole Seal faction full of asshole cosplayers? He thought the crazy knight with the broadsword from earlier was an over-dramatic jerk-off, but this guy was something else.
“Look, could I just have a word with someone up at the table,” John said, shooting an appealing glance at the other guard. “It’ll be real quick and, like I say, it might be worth their while hearing me out.”
He tried to advance again and pull the halberds apart, but the first guard pushed him hard in the chest. The force of the strike took John by surprise and he lost his footing. He tumbled into the mud at the guards’ feet.
On the platform, a few of the seated lords and ladies noticed the disturbance and laughed as John got to his feet. He shot them a poisonous glare before turning his attention to the guard who had pushed him. Before he could say a single word, both of the players pointed the sharp ends of their halberds at his stomach.
“Fuck off,” snapped the player, all his pretensions and flowery manner of speech disappearing in an instant. “The Noble Griffin don’t mix with low level trash like you.”
John stared him out for a few moments more. The two guards pushed the tips of their weapons closer to his stomach and he backed off. He was under no illusion that these two pricks would run him through without a second thought, and he didn’t relish the prospect of respawning in a random location and having to make his way back to this point. If things had been different, he’d have dropped them both in a heartbeat, but machismo and revenge were not luxuries he could afford right now.
He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and smiled. “Have a good day, fellas.”
The two guards stared at him like statues and he turned away as slowly as he could and walked away. A quick glance to the platform told him that several of the feasters were watching him nastily and sniggering to each other. John ignored them and carried on walking. They weren’t the kind of associates he was looking for anyway. He needed a guy like Xan if he was going to get anywhere.
With nothing else in the camp to hold his attention, he carried on to the city gates. There were two NPC guards dressed in chain mail and two tone surcoats of blue and purple standing either side of the open portcullis, and John wondered if he’d be able to walk straight past them and enter the city. If not, he would have to come up with some other way to get into Heaven’s Shield.
As it happened, when he had just drawn close enough to be seen by the NPCs, a large group of rowdy players emerged on their way to join the battle in the valley. John slipped unobtrusively amongst them before the guards noticed him, and mingled through the crowd until he was inside the city walls.
Once he was safe on the other side, he found himself in a wide cobblestone street flanked by stout half-timbered houses. He spotted a few businesses that it might prove useful to visit such as an alchemist store and a gunsmith, though first he decided to do a bit of exploring before he visited anywhere special.
He headed down the street, passing only a few NPCs and players, and at a whim turned down another street and then another and tried a few side alleys. Everywhere was pretty dead, and it seemed like a large number of the city’s residents and faction members were enjoying the festivities organized by the Knights of the Noble Griffin. He wasn’t really sure where he was going or what he intended to do when he got there, but some impulse made him keep ambling along without any real purpose, trying to get his bearings and finding anything of interest.
He went down another wide thoroughfare that ran back towards the main gate that he had entered, and found himself in an open square where the statue of a King in armor and holding aloft a sword in a heroic gesture stood in its center. There were more shops lining the sides of the square as well as a large timber framed building with black strips and white walls that served as a tavern. John considered visiting some of the shops to sell his wares and raise more funds, but decided instead to go straight to the tavern. Despite being in a virtual reality body, his feet were aching like hell and he was becoming hungry and thirsty. He didn’t want to consume any of his own stores in case he needed them later to restore his health, so decided to shell out a few coins. He figured as well that taverns were also a good place to pick up any gossip and leads on connecting to the criminal underworld of the city, providing there was one.
He opened the heavy oak door and stepped inside. The dimly lit common room was almost as empty as the streets outside, and John gave a scant glance to the few patrons huddled at their tables. He made his way to the bar and nodded to the burly innkeeper.
“Can I have an ale?” John said, “and what food do you have?”
“I can fix you up a fine stew, traveler,” the NPC said cheerfully. “Warm you all the way down to your bones.”
“How much?” asked John.
“Six gold,” the innkeeper replied. “Two gold for the ale.”
“Sounds good. One ale and one stew please.”
“Coming right up,” the innkeeper said, pouring him a frothy tankard of ale from one of the large hogsheads sat behind the bar. “Grab a sit and I’ll bring over the stew to you.”
John took the tankard with a nod and headed over to one of the dark corners, away from the rest of the patrons and in a position where he could watch the common room. He seeped at the ale. It had a sour bitter taste to it, and John didn’t care for it, but it chased away the feeling of fatigue that had seeped through him.
Before long, the innkeeper returned with a steaming bowl of stew and a wooden spoon, and John got to work on it, letting it restore his health. He guessed his stamina was somehow linked to his HP in this game. When he used up all his stamina, he started losing health points…
Food consumed - 10 Health Points Restored!
Feeling a lot better, he sat back in his chair and half closed his eyes. Now that he had got to Heaven’s Shield, he felt like logging out, getting some rest in the real world and returning here tomorrow. But that would mean another day wasted, and he needed to start earning real world money fast—especially with how long it took to complete Xan’s impossible quest. Ye
s, it was time to start selling the wares he salvaged but he needed some kind of business premises. The best place to set up operations was Steamgrad, working alongside the Black Powder Boys, and wait until the Jet Dragon Tong got back in touch with him. In fact, he didn’t even have to bother trying to cultivate links in the Holy Seal faction if he didn’t want to. Judging by the icy reception he’d gotten at the festival outside, it might not be worth all the trouble. With that said, he didn’t want to walk away without at least seeing what this faction had to offer him.
His first task was to ask the innkeeper a few discreet questions to get a feel for what the Holy Seal’s underworld was like, but he was so comfortable now that he didn’t want to move. He must have drifted into a doze because he was suddenly jolted awake by the sound of raised voices.
“You rancid worm! How dare you try and peddle that filth in my establishment! I’ll have the city guard flay you alive!” the innkeeper bellowed.
John looked over to the cause of the disturbance. The innkeeper had grabbed hold of the collar of a small, ratty-looking man dressed in a filthy jester’s outfit. The man’s face was thin and pasty, and his small grey eyes were wide with fear.
“Let me go!” he shrieked. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The innkeeper snatched the small leather pouch the man was holding to his chest and threw it on the floor. “Mandrake Powder!” the NPC spat. “A filthy concoction that rots the mind and drives men into fits of wild lust! Filthy drug peddler! Heretic! I’ll see you beheaded for this!”
“No!” moaned the jester. “’Tis but a harmless tincture to improve the spirits. I was merely bringing it here for a friend. Let me go, sir! I’ve done no harm!”
“It’s the city jail for you!” the innkeeper growled. He gestured to another barman who had emerged from outback. “Jethro, look after the bar while I take him to the garrison.”
“No!” the jester howled. He lunged forward and bit the innkeeper on the hand, making the man loose him. The innkeeper swore and made to grab him again, but the jester was too quick. He spotted John and scampered over to him as fast as a rat.
“Please sir! Protect me from these brutes! I am just a humble entertainer! Scabs the Jester is no Heretic!”
Quest Offered: A Friend with Weed: Help Scabs the Jester avoid being taken into custody?
Accept
Decline
John stared at the screen for a split-second—still not fully awoken—and accepted the quest without really thinking it through. Scabs pawed at his hand like a fawning mongrel. “Oh noble sir, you have come to the rescue of an innocent bringer of joy, may the Angels smile down on you from high. Please, keep these ruffians away from poor gentle Scabs.”
The innkeeper stalked over to them and John got warily to his feet, not sure what he’d let himself in for. Scabs scampered behind him for protection. “Stay away!” the grubby little man squeaked. “My defender will make short work of you.”
“Move aside, sir,” the innkeeper said gravely to John. “I must do my civic duty and apprehend this knave.”
“Maybe there’s been some mistake,” John said. “This guy seems pretty harmless and maybe that stuff in the pouch is what he says it is.”
“I know a Heretic when I see one,” the innkeeper said. “All Heretics are spreaders of filth and corrupting. They concoct and sell foul potions, and grow forbidden plants. The law says all Heretics must be thrown in irons or put to the sword, now stand aside!”
John raised his hands, gesturing for the innkeeper to stay where he was. “The guy ain’t no big time drug baron. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry. Let’s go Scabs.”
“I must see that he is taken to the city guard for justice!” the innkeeper raged. “Why do you take his part, unless you are a Heretic too? Is that it? I’ll have you both arrested!”
The innkeeper, his face flushed with anger, grabbed at John. Despite being in a body that was significantly weaker than the one in the real world, he still knew how to look after himself when faced with a more powerful opponent, and he counted on the anatomy of an NPC to be the same as that of a human being. He dodged the innkeeper’s clumsy grab and grabbed him by the elbow, straightening the joint as he did so and pushing his fingers into the soft nest of nerves that lay at the bottom of the innkeeper’s triceps. The result was to make the innkeeper flail around like a landed fish.
“I said I’ll handle the jester,” John said in a tight voice.
“Jethro get him!” the innkeeper squealed.
Jethro, who was more of a runt than Scabs, didn’t seem to relish the prospect of taking on John and stayed where he was. The other patrons stayed where they were too, watching the spectacle with amusement. John let the innkeeper go and moved toward the door, pulling Scabs behind him.
“We’ll be going now,” he said calmly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us go.”
“Get out!” snapped the innkeeper. He was nursing his elbow, and staring at John warily. “Out both of you! Heretics!”
Scabs looked longingly at his pouch which was still on the floor and made to go over and pick it up. John yanked him back. “Leave it.”
“But my wonderful Mandrake Pow—”
John dragged him out the door before he could finish his incriminating sentence and strode for the cover of a nearby side street. There, he sighed inwardly; no doubt the slightest punch from the innkeeper would have robbed him of most of his lousy 200 HP. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. “Here,” he said, letting Scabs go. “Nobody’s following us. Looks like you’re out of trouble.”
“A thousand thanks kind sir,” Scabs said. “How can I ever repay you?”
“You can start by telling me if you really are a Heretic,” John said.
Scabs gave him a wary look. John smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m on your side. I’m looking to do business with people who are a little more flexible when observing the law of the land. You get my meaning? I have goods to sell and money to buy things like Mandrake Powder if need be.”
The wariness gave way to a sly little smile. “I knew you were a man of intelligence and discernment the moment I saw you, not like those narrow minded fools in there.”
“You could call me that. So are you a Heretic?”
Scabs shrugged. “That is what the Church and the King call us, but we prefer to see ourselves as seekers of divine truth.”
“The way that innkeeper was acting, I’m guessing Heretics are seen as no better than common criminals.”
“That fat fool knows nothing,” Scabs huffed. “We are not common criminals. Heretics deal solely in potions and herbs that help lift the spirits and expand the mind. We sell our wares to like-minded individuals not constricted by outdated dogma and prejudice, like my client who I was to meet at that tavern. He was to pay most generously for the Mandrake Powder I had brought for him, but now the arrangement is ruined. I must get that pouch back or I will be in serious trouble with my superiors.”
“Forget about the pouch,” said John. “I’m not risking going back in there again. Look, I want to meet these superiors of yours. Can you take me to them?”
Scabs shook his head. “No sir. That is quite impossible. The Heretics have a strict code of secrecy. That’s how they survive in the city. I cannot bring outsiders to our headquarters. Scabs would get into trouble. Scabs is already in trouble. Poor little Scabs. I am doomed! Doomed!”
The jester pressed his hand to his forehead in an overly dramatic fashion and began sobbing loudly, loud enough to attract unwanted attention. John suddenly remembered the small vial of white liquid he’d taken from the Seven Paths swordswoman.
“Quieten down,” he said irritably. “I might have something that could interest you. If you take me to your headquarters you can have it.”
Scabs quietened and gave him a furtive look. “What is it?”
John reached into his back and took out the vial. He held it up in front of Sc
abs. “It’s a potent narcotic, called the Milk of the Moon Cat.”
“From the far flung Seven Paths Empire!” Scabs exclaimed. “Let me smell it to be certain!”
John uncorked the stopper and placed it under the jester’s dirt streaked nose. Scabs’ nostrils flared and his scheming eyes lit up. “It is the sacred Milk! I have not experienced its infinite delights in so many years.”
Scabs made a grab for the vial but John pulled it out of his reach. “You get it when you take me to your headquarters.”
Scabs shot him a hateful glance and then shifted his face into an expression of humility. “Please sir, I want only a taste, to touch the sweet nectar to my lips. Have pity on a poor old soul. I need it!”
“Take me to your superiors and you’ll get some,” John repeated. He placed the vial back into his pack. “Not before.”
The jester scowled and turned away. “This way then,” he said grumpily.
John followed the little man through the side streets and alleys until they came to a small chapel on the west side of the city. John looked up puzzled at the building as Scabs went around to the door at the back. He paused on the step and gave John a surly look. “Wait here. I must explain to my superiors the situation.”
“Don’t be long,” John said.
The jester nodded and disappeared inside the building, slamming the door behind him. John got the uneasy feeling that Scabs was going to try and shaft him to get hold of the Moon Cat Milk. Backing away into the alley way behind the chapel, he accessed his Void Storage.
Pay 10% Blood Sacrifice to Retrieve Items from Void Storage?
Pay Blood Sacrifice!
Add Items to Void Storage!
Cancel Transaction!
John paid the price and took out the Silver Blaze rifle. Though he wasn’t of a high enough level to use it, the sight of the weapon might be enough to intimidate whoever was inside and get the results he wanted. He slipped on the gun belt for good measure then downed a Health Potion to restore his lost health. Now armed—or so it appeared— he returned to the door to wait Scabs’ return.
Merchant of Death Page 13
