by Ryan Rimmel
The platform was between two massive, potted trees. Apparently, the tradition was to use two evergreen trees to hold up the VIP platform, because Grebthar had been a fan of those kinds of trees. It made as much sense as any other tradition I’d ever experienced on Earth or Ordinal. It also radically reduced my line of sight. I could only see the first float in the long procession.
Ordinal did not save the best for last, I guessed. The first float that appeared before me was Badgelor’s. His vehicle must have been provided by the Golden Badger, because it was covered in all of Badgelor’s favorite food. Badgelor was sitting on an elegant throne, which still looked like a high chair, wearing a dark blue cape and eating as much as possible. I looked at my companion and realized that he was really gaining his holiday fifteen.
After he was pushed past us, the overstuffed badger and his feast were placed opposite the VIP platform. It was then that the badger started going to town on his feast, really digging into the vast cornucopia of food. He’d eat, then stop to point and laugh as a new float went past. Then, he went back to eating.
I began to grow suspicious, watching Badgelor’s mocking. Realizing he had a much greater field of vision than I did, I grew more suspicious. SueLeeta giggled, actually giggled, when OttoSherman’s float moved past the tree and came into view. I knew what I had been expecting from the perpetually horny Lumberjack, but I was wrong. His float was covered from top to bottom in a series of vicious looking traps.
“I helped with the leg crushers,” said SueLeeta proudly. “Let’s see Badgelor get through those.”
I had horribly misjudged this holiday. As OttoSherman’s float departed and HankAlvin’s rolled into its place, I gaped in astonishment. Multiple steel traps with vicious looking teeth were scattered liberally all over a float that looked like HankAlvin’s shop floor. There was at least one spring loaded harpoon in that mess.
“Are those saw blades?” I asked, looking at a particularly vicious trap.
“Yes, he’s been trying to get his skills high enough to work on the Wind’s Saw. They are super sharp,” replied SueLeeta.
“Wait, what am I seeing here?” I asked Shart.
“Traps,” replied the demon, rolling his eyes.
“Traps. Why?”
“Inspiration,” Shart responded.
“Inspiration for what, exactly?,” I asked hotly.
“To get everyone in a trappin’ mood,” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“A trapping mood?”
“My pretty, precious Dum Dum,” Shart said, patting me on the head. “When everyone leaves here, they are going home to plant their traps.”
“So, everyone traps their houses for when Badgelor shows up?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah. Otherwise, that ‘wily badger’ is going to steal your food,” stated Shart. “Now, hush. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“You are actually interested in this?” I asked.
“Oh, sure. I mean, I could think of a hundred more gruesome ways to off the badger than this, but it is still interesting to see. A rare glimpse into the minds of morons. How limited in creativity you all are,” Shart sighed sadly.
The float currently in front of us was covered in pitch sap and nails. SueLeeta laughed as she glanced at Badgelor. He had just placed an entire pie in his mouth, causing his furry cheeks to appear distorted. “The great Badgelor is sure to be appeased,” she said. “We are fattening up your badger to an insane degree.”
“Oh, that looks. . .nice,” I said, as another float came past. This one was covered in dozens of sharp blades and feathers glued to the base. “These are all great ideas for trapping a house.”
“They are,” agreed SueLeeta, “And we aren’t in the podunks. Call it McCallisterizing your home, like a normal person.”
In total, there were over forty floats in the procession. The Best Trap award went to HankAlvin’s patented foot binding, severing saw trap. The Testicle Tickler, a spinning chain that came up at crotch level, was a close second. The Dashing Dandies won Best Float for their active defense build, which featured no fewer than twenty armed men guarding an icebox.
By the time the parade ended, I was positive that Badgelor was doomed. That is, if he actually tried to enter anyone’s home this evening. I was just glad that I wouldn’t be involved in this mess.
I flashed him a double thumbs up. Badgelor kept on eating and waving.
The parade ended after the last float went by, and the crowd started to disperse. The time following the parade was a time for family. Specifically, it was a time for every family to get their traps ready. Then, they could party, knowing that their homes were protected from bumbling, burglarizing badgers.
Once the traps were all set up, the adults would come back to town. While they were getting good and drunk, the kids would get dressed up and go out to steal candy from peoples’ porches. It was the perfect combination of Christmas, Halloween, and felony breaking and entering.
Badgelor had passed out on his little platform. His stomach bulged from overindulgence. As I scooped him up and threw him over my shoulder, he let out a deafening belch. The air smelled like goblin piss and tomato soup.
“Poor little guy ate until he passed out,” I chuckled, as Fenris walked up. He sniffed the foul air and backed up several paces.
“He did an excellent job as a stand-in,” stated the Warden.
I nodded to Glorious Robert and SueLeeta, and we headed off toward my home for the fateful meeting.
Chapter 17: Fateful Meeting
I held all the important meetings in my house for some reason. That just came with the territory of being the mayor, I supposed. I didn’t even want to think about what my hosting budget was anymore.
Ashe had laid out several plates with a variety of foodstuffs before vanishing back to front door duties. I was told the various dishes were all seasonal and topical. Apparently, pumpkin pie was big for Grebthar Day, as well as hams and cheeses. There was a cabbage dish that tasted an awful lot like sauerkraut and cheese. It also smelled an awful lot like cat turds. Amongst the sweets, there were piles of fudge and donuts shaped like badgers and little gingerbread Grebthars.
All in all, it was a good holiday spread. I was satisfied with Ashe’s choices after my third piece of fudge.
Of course, the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Everyone present had taken a small plate and gathered around the table. My table had plenty of seating, and everyone had chosen to sit away from me. From their positions, I was forced to look all of them directly in the face.
SueLeeta was sitting next to Dalton, who was sitting at the foot of the table. She was watching me cautiously. Bashara was sitting on a nearby chair, unwilling to sit with the rest of us at the table. She was trying, and failing, to look unconcerned about the whole affair.
That left Fenris and Glorious Robert. Both were watching me carefully but trying to not show it. Both were doing a wee better job than Sir Dalton. The Knight obviously wanted to go into the dungeon; he was nearly chomping at the bit, fidgeting in his chair in a most un-Sir Dalton-like fashion. Fenris and Glorious Robert were only doing slightly better by comparison. I could see each man evaluating the arguments they would make before we headed off to the dungeon tomorrow.
Zorlando slunk in, looking apprehensive, even though Ashe had just exited the room. She did have a skill that allowed her to appear out of nowhere, but he didn't seem concerned about running into his girlfriend. He wandered behind Sir Dalton, who looked up at him for a moment. The Knight seemed to shrug, accepting the unspoken self-invitation. Watching Glorious Robert and Fenris, I wouldn’t say they were quite glaring at Zorlando, but then again, I’m a gentleman.
Finally, Jarra the Healer entered. I hadn’t seen her much in the last few days, but I’d been busy. I hadn’t made it a point to go seek her out. Her long hair was tied back in a braid that appeared similar to SueLeeta’s, though I suspected a braid was about all one could do wi
th that much hair. What I didn’t expect was how cute she looked. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt that clearly was there to show off her guns. She’d chosen to sit at the table only a few seats down from me, daring anyone to tell her to move.
“Happy Badger’s Night,” I said, trying to break the tension. I failed spectacularly.
“Mister Mayor, you will need a firm shield to protect everyone, and I’m well aware of Warden tactics,” started Fenris.
“Yar’ soft! I’m a great defender and a good striker. I can protect with a shield or beat the shit of a skeezer using a variety of weapons,” stated Glorious Robert.
“That may be true, but a shield can be used offensively as well as defensively,” countered Fenris. “It seems to me that I could be useful, if we had to defend the party. A partial striker might be useless at that point.”
“Oh, that’s where yar going?” asked Glorious Robert. “Yar’ gonna go there? Just because I’m good at a variety of roles doesn’t mean I’m bad at any of them. Plus, I can use whatever goodies we find down there. We might find a sword or shield that offends your delicate Woodsman sensibilities.”
Both men were glaring at each other. Sir Dalton, in a rare show of wisdom, kept his mouth shut. That didn’t last, as Fenris rounded on him.
“It seems to me that you’d want someone in control over his emotions. Someone you could trust, who wouldn’t go rushing off for glory,” stated Fenris. I doubted he was catching the irony of controlled emotions in his never-before-seen outburst.
“Ha, the dogs yap at the lion,” chuckled the massive Knight. “I’m worth both of you together in that dungeon, and you know it.”
“Well, maybe Jim doesn’t want to go into a dungeon with a ninja looter,” stated Glorious Robert.
The chair Sir Dalton was sitting in flew back as he leapt to his feet. The only thing stopping it from turning over was Zorlando. The Mercenary’s quick instincts were on display as he sidestepped while he stuck his hand out to catch it.
“You dare question my honor, you fishmonger?” growled the Knight. He went to reach for his sword, but it was, thankfully, in his room.
“Maybe I do. Maybe we go outside and settle this,” stated Glorious Robert. “I’ve heard no one is as great as Dalton. Maybe I disagree with that.”
“Why is she here?” asked Bashara. She was using that special tone a woman has that cuts through a whole room.
“You’ll need a healer,” Jarra the Healer answered simply.
“We might need your potions. I doubt we’ll need a healer, honey,” said Bashara. “Especially just a lowly little commoner one.” She used the word commoner like an insult, and I saw Jarra and Zorlando both bristle at the term.
“Language,” stated Fenris, with less than his usual snap.
“I was going to bring her,” stated SueLeeta, causing several of the adventurers to look at her. “She’d be my cohort in the dungeon.”
“That’s going to cost you experience points,” said Bashara with a sneer.
“I’m willing to pay them,” replied SueLeeta. “After all, I’m really in this for the treasure, far more than for the experience points. Having a healer will be useful.”
“That’s adorable,” chuckled Bashara, “but not very useful. There is a health cap to get into the door.”
“I’ve been training with the Militia,” stated Jarra the Healer. “I’ve hit the Hit Point cap for Militia members.”
I glanced at her and saw that it was true. She was also listed as a lieutenant in the town Militia, which gave her access to several of the buildings I’d had constructed in the Barracks. However, even with all the bonuses, she was only up to 150 Hit Points.
“Tough luck, Toots,” grinned Bashara. “Minimum is 200 Hit Points, and those have to be natural Hit Points. No using potions to sauce yourself over the line.”
Jarra looked at me pleadingly. I was at a loss as to what to say. The thought of Jarra being in danger caused me to freeze up.
“It's probably for the best,” stated Fenris, adopting the manner of someone delivering bad news. “The dungeon is going to be very dangerous. Two hundred Hit Points is the minimum you can enter by, not the recommended.”
Jarra stood up. “Well then, I suppose there is no reason for me to be here. I’ll leave some potions here in the morning.” With that, she walked out. Bashara waved at her as she left. However, the Wizard’s triumphant grin died as she caught my furious eyes. Instantly, she smoothed her features into more of a neutral poker face.
While that interplay had been ongoing, Fenris, Glorious Robert, and Sir Dalton were in the middle of a lively discussion about which of the two of them paired up best. I was assuming it would come to blows shortly and was trying to figure out how to save my table. I realized my best option and dropped into menu time.
As the world slowed, I wondered how it got to this. Mentally jerking myself away from my character sheet, I stepped back in my mindscape and looked around. Most of what was in front of me was clear, except for the character sheet. I could see a storm raging in the distance and knew it was part of my anger manifesting in my mindscape.
It was because I’d let Jarra go, and I hadn’t even stood up for her. She could die in the dungeon, but wasn’t that her choice? Yet, somehow, I couldn't bear the thought of her being injured. I crushed that feeling. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to put herself at risk, that was her decision and her responsibility.
As my thoughts piled onto very uncomfortable places, I looked for an escape. Turning around, I walked over to the edge and looked down. I quickly spotted my house on Earth. It looked just like I remembered it, obviously. Nearby was a bar I used to visit, looking just as run down on the outside as it always had. Shart was waddling into it.
“The hell?” I thought, causing more lightning in the distance. I leapt off the raised platform that my active consciousness sat upon and landed down below. In the soft, green grass, a vaguely familiar burned husk of a tree sat. I could not remember why it was important, so I kicked it. The husk faded away into nothingness.
Probably shouldn’t do that.
I walked over to the bar and looked inside. The windows were actually transparent, unlike in my home, where they were quite opaque. Shart was sitting at the bar on the stool I liked to sit on. He held something in his hand and appeared to be reading from it.
None of the doors in my mindscape ever worked, but I kind of figured this one would. It was an unexplained hunch. I pushed the door open, causing my familiar to spin around and look at me, eyes widening as he realized he’d been caught.
“So, this is where you hide?” I yelled.
Shart groaned. He was forced to be truthful, due to the nature of our bond. Simple questions were the hardest for him to maneuver around.
“Well that depends on. . .” he sighed. “Yes, alright? I hide in your mind,” he grumbled.
“I thought you teleported away and hid somewhere,” I growled.
“No, I’m a demon. I don’t have the same limitations you have. Think about it. Have you ever seen me on the outside when I’m in here talking with you in your mindscape?” asked Shart.
I inhaled sharply. I’d seen Shart in my mind more times than I could count, but I never saw him outside when we were talking in here. I hadn’t been talking to a mental projection of Shart. I was talking to the actual demon.
“How does that even work?” I groaned, sitting on a stool.
“You think you really delve into your head when you switch into your mindscape?” asked Shart. He shook his head slightly. “Wait, don’t answer that. You probably do, and you are wrong. Not ‘would be’ wrong. You are wrong. You are a multidimensional being, like me. Well, not just like me, because I’m in way more dimensions than you. However, you are in a few.”
“And one of those dimensions is my mind?” I asked.
“Yes, praise be to Grebthar, the light has dawned,” said Shart with a contented sigh. He peaked out a window and saw that it was still dark ou
tside. “No it hasn’t, damn it.” The demon pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back to me. “Yes, you have a dimension that is just your mind. You and I can both access it. Technically, a skilled enough Mentalist could make a go for it, if they wanted to. They wouldn’t have nearly the access I do, though. Shit, I can go through every nook and cranny of your soul. You should see what I’m doing to your Dimensional Sheath.”
“So my mindscape is like an extradimensional pocket where my thoughts and character sheet go?” I asked.
“Yes, Dum Dum. Did you think it was stored in your brain or something?” responded Shart.
“You do your thinking in your brain,” I replied.
“Yes, and some blood cooling, but mainly the thinking. However, you don’t store there. You store it with your character sheet. Otherwise, if you ReMorted, you’d have to start from scratch every single time,” explained Shart.
“So it's like my soul?” I asked.
“No, it's the spiritual or immaterial part of you. Your particular version of the soul seems like some Earth rubbish,” stated Shart.
“But the mind space carries over between versions of myself?” I asked. I was aware that Ordinal was big on reincarnation. Having your memories separated from your body seemed to be the mechanic for it.
“Yes, now you are getting it,” stated Shart.
“And your plan is to erase my character sheet in my mind space, freeing it up for you to put in your own memories?” I asked.
Shart sat for a moment before sighing. “Well, yeah, when you say it like that it sounds utterly terrible, but it's not like I want to do it. I just don’t have any good options.”
I nodded. It was a moot point. I had no intention of going through a Demon Door, so I wasn’t really worried about my soul.
“Everyone is complaining about who is going into the dungeon,” I said, changing the subject.
“So? They whine a lot. That’s one of the main reasons I leave when more than a few of you mortals get together. Everyone just starts prattling on about nonsense,” replied Shart. “What are the dumb one, the big dumb one, the short one, and the mustached one complaining about now?”
