I point at the seaweed wrap in her hand. “Drachma seaweed is like duct tape, and we can pick some up in the market.”
“I see.”
“I used the seaweed all the time in Ducat; it’s sticky as hell. The Canal District is actually built on stilts to adjust for high tide. The homes and streets in the district have little stairs that go down to the main thoroughfares, where the gondolas are. I know; I’ve been there a few times as mayor of Ducat. There’s plenty of space for me to swim up under the district and attach IEDs to the structure holding up the Killers’ guild.”
Deathdale’s eyebrows rise.
“You will need to charge all day. No levitating. We will book a hotel near the canal, I’ll set the bombs, you’ll fry the place until it explodes.”
“How many are there?”
“How many Killers?” Wolf approaches me and licks his lips. I pet him behind the ear and smile down at him. “That’s a good question. We’ll have to poke around a little bit, but that should be fairly easy. Everyone in town knows who the Drachma Killers are.”
“Explosives are for cowards.” Deathdale’s face hardens.
“Shit, I want to make them pay as much as you do, but at our levels, they’ll fillet us alive.”
She turns away from me and looks back at the cave. I cautiously approach her and place a hand on her shoulder. “There will likely be a few who make it out. They’ll be on fire. I’ll be sure to handle them.”
“No rage,” she says without looking at me.
“Yeah, I won’t if you’re down from energy exhaustion. If you’re still up after blowing the place … I can’t guarantee anything. All of this is a risk.”
She turns to me, a light burning behind her eye.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Let’s destroy the entire Canal District.”
I take a step back from her. “But ... ” I think about what she’s said for a moment, envisioning the entire district on fire. “There are dozens of homes and guilds there, innocent lives, PCs, RPCs, NPCs.”
“We are Player Killers,” she says firmly. “The attribute bonus.”
I run my hand through my long hair as I consider this. “That could be like … a thousand people or more.”
Deathdale nods.
That’s not why you took this avatar, I remind myself.
“Destroy it all,” she says bitterly.
I finally shake my head at her. “No, we can’t do that; we can’t torch the place. Just the Drachma Killers’ guild. That’s not who I am. I don’t care if we could net a ton of attribute points. That’s not why I’m going to Drachma. I’m going for one reason, and one reason only.”
Deathdale huffs and takes a few steps away from me. I circle around so I’m in front of her again. She stops, and I place both hands on her shoulders.
“I’m not that kind of bad guy,” I say, wincing at the simplicity of my terms. “What I mean to say is, it is not my desire to become as cruel as the Drachma Killers. If we destroy the entire district, we are no different than them.”
“They torture.”
“Yeah, but if we kill everyone, we’ll be hunted.”
“Our levels.”
“You’re right, they will be higher – much higher – if we wreck the whole place. But no. I can’t. Please understand that.”
The hard look on her face softens.
“Please understand that we are here, we’ve been joined together for a much bigger purpose. Hell, the fact that you and I are riding to Drachma goes against our bigger purpose of saving Unigaea, but I promised you we’d take the Killers out and it is a promise I’ve made for myself.”
“Okay,” she finally says.
I pull her in tight and give her a hug. “Thanks.”
She laughs. “For what?”
“For seeing things my way.”
“You’re right,” she says after a deep breath. “It’s not why we came here.”
(^_^)
Riding with Deathdale pressed into my body in front of me is a much better way to get to Drachma than watching her levitate to my left or right. At least for me. And if Wolf is uncomfortable or anything, he doesn’t show it.
The hint of blue melon radiates off the Solar Mage. I can smell it even with the wind hitting my face.
Deathdale wasn’t wrong to suggest we destroy the entire district. The rewards for doing so, in some respects, would outweigh the rewards for not doing it. I’m aware of that, but I can’t, I won’t, have that many deaths on my conscience.
It’s not why you took this avatar, I remind myself for the hundredth time as we ride east.
The snow from last night begins to melt as soon as the sun reaches its apex in the sky. The main path to Drachma remains semi-dry, mostly due to the clay that has been packed onto the path to prevent freezing. There’s still a chill in the air, but soon it will be warmer, the temperature moving up a few degrees every hour.
As we ride, I feel a sense of guilt for leaving Sam and Lothar, for impulsively heading east rather than north. I swallow it down. A vision of the Obelisk comes to me and I swallow this down too.
I can still save the place. I will still save the place. I need this.
“It’s a detour,” I whisper to myself as the city of Drachma emerges from the fog in the distance.
A detour will still get you there.
I smile at the voice in my head. “Hear that, Obelisk?”
In and out, I remind myself. Blow up the place, sort out anyone still alive, and get out.
Drachma is completely protected by the Killers’ reputation.
Every warlord, warlock, Player Killer, rogue, and drow in Unigaea knows better than to attack the city lest they face the wrath of the Killers – and by wrath I mean cruel and unnecessary torture. This has also made Drachma a place well-suited for anyone on the run from something, be it the law, a close relative, or an army.
There are no guards at the city gates and the only insignia is a single red flag, whipping its rope against the flagpole as a zephyr rolls by. Most of the ice from the previous night has melted, but it is still a bit nippy.
We dismount from Wolf after we’ve passed through the gates. Tagvornins are allowed here, as are giants, who have their own district to the northwest with larger buildings, taverns, and streets. It’s a mind trip to go from the normal-sized section of the city to the giant-sized, but today isn’t the day to explore.
The Canal District is easy enough to find, as is a hotel called Canal View, which features several rooms with balconies with grand views of the district. I stayed at the place once, when I was mayor of Ducat. I know exactly which guildhall belongs to the Drachma Killers, as it is the tallest in the district and not very far from the hotel.
“Let’s get a room here,” I tell Deathdale. “You can rest after, while I go to the market and get supplies.”
She nods as I open the door for her. We’re greeted by a female concierge in a suit, who welcomes us to Canal View Hotel with a bow.
Shit.
I turn to Deathdale and give her a cheek-to-cheek grin. “Um, I’m pretty low on lira. Have anything?”
She rolls her eyes – well, eye – and I shrug.
“I’m a broke-ass Player Killer, what can I say?”
“Yes, I have some.”
“Good. We will take the best room you have,” I tell the concierge. “Whatever faces the canal district. That’s why we came.” I force a yawn. “We need a vacation.”
Could you look any more conspicuous? I ask myself.
“Our executive suite it is. You’ll love the views, the high ceilings, the complimentary breakfast in the morning, the hot stone bath and the fact that your floor is semi-exclusive. There’s only one other room, the executive suite across from yours, which features views of the rest of Drachma.”
“We’ll take the one with the canal views.”
Deathdale keeps quiet as the concierge lays out a list of hotel rules. I sign them, Deathdale signs them, and after we
negotiate the animal cost – I can’t understand why the concierge assumes Wolf will take a shit in the room; he’s house trained! – we head up to our room.
Our room is a lush affair, and I truly wish we had time to enjoy it. The space is expansive, with a king-sized bed filled with enough pillows to outfit an orphanage. The drapes are golden, there is a white couch facing a fireplace, and a picture of a dead pheasant on a silver platter is tacked above the fireplace.
Wolf, not one to pass up a good place to nap, skips the bear-fur rug before the fireplace and hops on the bed.
Deathdale laughs at this.
“Um, sorry about him. He’s a bed dog.”
“It’s fine,” she says as she sits on the bed.
“He snores too. Um, farts too. If he eats bad food.”
Deathdale gives me a funny look.
“It’s just a warning. Okay, like I said, you rest, I’ll hit the market and come back with seaweed and pine cones.”
“Do you have enough money?” she asks.
“I have like … ” I check my dashboard. “Eight hundred lira. No idea where I got that. Really haven’t been focused on funds as of late. Money comes and money goes. I remain.”
She rolls her … well, eye. “And that’s enough?”
“You’re not my sugar mama, you know.”
“You sure about that?”
I blow her a kiss. “To answer your question, yes, eight hundred should be enough to buy pine cones and seaweed. If not, god save us all.”
(^_^)
The market is to the north, and as I make my way through the streets, I’m glad there isn’t much discrimination against Player Killers in Drachma. No one calls out to me, and no one flings boogers or threatens to piss on my mother’s grave.
A quest update appears on my pane of vision, but I ignore it, swiping it away before I can fully read what it says.
There are other PKers about, merchants pushing carts and NPC randoms, a staple of most cities in Unigaea. The interesting thing about these “NPC randoms,” as I like to call them, is they each have a backstory, a series of endless quests associated with them if I were to probe a little, and they each have connections across Unigaea – an aunt here, a brother there.
It would be nice to take an avatar one day that just randomly goes around meeting people, forming friendships, and seeing where digital life takes him. I’ve thought about doing this before, but it never really works out that way. Besides, going around performing random quests gets old.
I see the entrance to the market, patrolled by two city guards in leather armor, which is another sign the place doesn’t have much crime.
Not a lot of crime but a lot of atrocities, I think. Which leads me down a philosophical query about aggression and war-mongering states, and the safety inherent.
Talk about a can of worms I’m not keen to open. I drop the thought and focus on finding the herb section of the market, which isn’t hard, as the stink of wild-onion tree bark always signals an herb section. I follow my nose and take a quick glance around.
Tons of seaweed sellers. That’ll be easy to find since it is a product of Drachma. Pine cones, not so much.
“Excuse me,” I ask an old woman with glasses and a hump on her back à la Quasimodo, “I’m looking for pine cones.”
“Three stalls down,” she says in a slurred voice.
I move three stalls down, where I find a man with a head covered in welts. He’s bald, heavy-set, with a pair of calm eyes that seem to shrink into his face.
“Pine cones?” I ask him. “Preferably magnolia pine cones.”
“I got ’em,” he grumbles, “but they ain’t fresh, not like your faggotity lavender cloak.”
“Lavender is in season – at least, um, fashion-wise. Someone told me that.” I smile briskly at the bald seller. “Anyway, pine cones, don’t need them fresh, but I do need twenty of them.”
“That’ll be eight hundred lira.”
I narrow my eyes at the fucker. “Are you being serious here? We’re talking pine cones.”
He offers me a toothless grin. “That’s my price, for a Player Killer.”
This shit again? I shake my head at the man. “Anyone else in the market sell pine cones?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll pay your fucking ridiculous price if you throw in a couple of healing potions and five bundles of Drachma seaweed.”
He mulls this over for a moment, his Vienna-sausage fingers flashing some numbers in front of his ugly bald mug. “I dunno, seems like I’m getting the short end of the stick.”
“Eight hundred is all I have, so unless you want me to find another vendor … I’m sure someone has pine cones here. I’m not an idiot. I’ve lived in Karuna and … ” I gulp. “Ducat. Pine cones there are twenty-five lira a piece, and that was only a day and a half south of here.”
“The Red Plague is driving up prices.” He looks to the sky, as if to confirm his statement. “But I believe we can work out some type of deal, Mr. Lavender, especially since you are so stylish.”
He whistles for a teenager at the back of his little booth. After a few instructions, the teen runs out of the booth, aimed at the areas with seaweed sellers.
“Twenty pine cones, two potions, three bundles of seaweed,” he tells me once his helper has run off.
“Seaweed is cheap and plentiful.”
“Not the seaweed my lad is getting for you,” he says with a huckster’s grin. “It’s the best in Drachma.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“So do we have a deal?”
“Fine,” I tell the slimy bastard. “We have a deal.” A thought comes to me as I stare through his shit-eating grin. “Hey, so I’m new in town … ”
He snorts. “Clearly.”
I ignore his retort and continue. “And like any other Player Killer, I’ve heard of the Drachma Killers.”
“You’re in Drachma, what other ‘killers’ did you expect? What are you hinting at?”
“Not hinting at anything yet. Can I finish?”
He glances left and right, suddenly suspicious of me. “Go on.”
“So I was thinking about meeting them, and possibly joining up.”
“You?” The bald man looks me over, top to bottom, twice. He snorts, and hawks a loogie into a tin cup he keeps on his table.
“I have a wolf too.”
“Yeah, and I got a hamster that shits gold named Florin Talonas. What’s your point?” He places both hands on his waist, his patience wearing thin.
“My point? My point is I want to join them.”
“What’s your damn wolf have to do with it?”
“Well, he’d join too.”
“Hold the fuck on. Are you telling me that you, some lowly Player Killer with a few scars, dirty hair, and a wolf, not to mention a broken sword, are going to just waltz in and join the Drachma Killers?”
“I wasn’t trying to waltz anywhere,” I tell him. “I wanted to know about the protocol.”
“To join?”
“Yeah. To join. How do they recruit?”
“Well, first … ”
“Wait, how many Drachma Killers are there?” I ask, interrupting him. “I mean, let’s start there.”
“There are fifteen.”
Bingo.
“Okay, fifteen. Please continue.”
“Well first, you need to be a lot stronger. You’ll need to stop slurping on your wolf’s little red rocket and kick that fucker out of your two-person poofter squad. You’ll also need to figure out a way to kill one of them. The Drachma Killers, that is. The Killers are always fifteen – no more, no less. And they ain’t easy to kill, like roaches; roaches aren’t easy to kill either, especially the ones from Scudo.”
“I’m aware.”
His errand boy returns with the seaweed.
“You think they’re there now?” I ask the seller. “The Killers, I mean.
“Of course they’re there,” he says, his voice even lower
this time. “You see that flagpole there?” He points with his nose and I turn to see a flagpole with a red flag flying in an open area about a hundred feet away, the same one I saw at the city gates earlier.
“Ah, so that’s what that means.”
“Correct, Mr. Lavender. When they’re here, that flag is up. Look for the flags all over town. Now then, eight hundred lira and we have a deal.”
I hand the money over and he hands me the pine cones, the seaweed, and the healing potions.
“And good luck joining their guild.” He laughs as soon as I turn my back to him. “You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Twenty: Afternoon Swim
“And that, young lady, is how you make a magnolia-pine-cone IED.” I show Deathdale the hollowed-out pine cone with some burn bush wrapped around it. For good measure, I’ve wrapped a strip of Drachma seaweed to keep everything nice and together, plus I’ve stuffed some toy soldiers inside to act as shrapnel.
We’re in our hotel room with our balcony door open, a cool breeze blowing in. Outside, somewhere in the Canal District, I can see the striking red flag that means the Drachma Killers are in town.
“Young lady?” Deathdale shakes her head as she takes the pine cone. I see her hand start to turn red and I whip the pine cone away from her.
“Seriously,” I tell her, “these things are explosive as fuck.”
She sighs and lies back down. Wolf stirs, licks her arm, and gets comfortable again.
“You two look mighty cozy,” I say as I return to my work.
It takes me a good thirty minutes to get all the pine cones stuffed with toy soldiers and Aramis weed. Once I’m finished, I go down two floors, give the concierge a quick wave, and hit the streets. To the Canal District I go, minding my own business and trying to be as casual as possible.
I pass directly in front of the Drachma Killers’ guild and notice a man in all black standing at the front door, his arms crossed behind his back. His armor is spiky, from his shoulders to his kneepads, yet it is also light. He is clearly able to wield the double-bladed sword sheathed at his waist.
He locks eyes with me and spits the toothpick out of his mouth. His features are dark, his beard unkempt, his nose crooked after having been broken several times.
The Drachma Killers (The Last Warrior of Unigaea Book 2) Page 17
