by Domino Finn
"Varnu..." warned Izzy.
"No matter! What I mean to imply is that you must find an alternative exit from your tower."
"Aye," snapped the pirate. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"Obviously"—Varnu avoided Izzy's steaming gaze—"you must get your dirt pearl fitted for the earth socket so you can unlock the catacombs. Your artisan does engage in some craftwork, no?"
Kyle jumped under everyone's scrutiny. Except for mine. I was staring at Varnu with my jaw glued to the floor.
"What?" asked the resident companion. "Jewelry setting is a simple skill addition."
"He's right," said Kyle, dumbfounded. "With my existing glasswork skill set, it's trivial to pick up a jewelry setting skill." He turned to Varnu. "You're saying that's all we need to socket the pearl?"
Varnu nodded.
"Holy shit, Varnu!" I exclaimed. "You actually helped!"
He straightened his jacket. "I hate to point out the obvious, sir, but that is the stated purpose of my occupation. You should allow me to assist you once in a while instead of constantly asking to speak to the saints. It would be better for my self-esteem."
My apology got caught in my throat.
"And a favorable performance review once in a while would be nice as well."
I blinked. "Of course. I— Sorry."
Varnu snapped his head to the side and jerked into a defensive posture. "Shh. The tiger's back!"
I cocked my head. "You're in the jungle right now?"
"That is offensive, sir. I work in a twenty-two-story office building with central cooling." Varnu pulled out a rifle and scanned his surroundings, which of course were invisible to us. "I must deeply apologize, but I will not be able to complete the rest of my script until—"
A tiger audibly roared and the rifle went off. Not to be outdone, Varnu let out a war cry and rolled to his side, spinning around and firing again. His hologram flickered away, leaving us with so many questions.
Izzy sidled up to me. "That just happened."
Errol picked his nails with a dagger. I wondered if he was programmed to ignore stuff like that.
"Okay," said Kyle, closing his skill menu. "Done. Kyle the Brewmaster is officially a jeweler." He held out his hand and I placed the dirt pearl in it. He did something that required a few minutes of concentration and presented us with a set dirt pearl. He walked to the master panel and applied it to the earth socket.
The screen lit up with a brown glow. A graphical line bled out from the image of the earth socket, pumping like an electrical current, or life's blood. Dragonperch shuddered ever so slightly. A cross-section map showed the brown current running deep to the basement door. A new label popped up.
Catacombs Entry: Locked
"This is so cool," said Kyle. "It's like our own ops center." We all watched as Kyle unlocked the entry.
"So this is our way out," I said. "If there are tunnels under Stronghold, we've gotta be able to sneak almost anywhere in the city." Kyle and Izzy accepted my party invites.
"It's very likely," agreed Izzy, "but we're still constrained by the lockdown."
Errol sauntered up. "Aren't ye forgettin' something, me hearty?"
I arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
"It's gonna be ye and me in those catacombs, boy. We'd make a better team if I was actually invited aboard."
I hesitated a second, but Kyle and Izzy nodded. I sent Errol an invite and for the first time we had a fourth party member. I frowned. I was sympathetic to Errol's cause, but I didn't exactly feel safe going on a solo mission with him.
"We'd better get going 'fore nightfall," said the pirate, hitting the staircase. "They say that's the worst time fer zombies."
"Zom—?" We all paused and turned to Errol.
He shrugged. "What other mobs do ye think wander catacombs? I hope ye can see in the dark, matey."
"Bad plan," I muttered. "Bad plan."
0970 Dead Rising
We didn't waste time. Gathering equipment was easy because it was already in our inventory. Kyle did gift me a couple of explosive vials in case we needed some undead crowd control. I also took the bone pearl on a gut feeling. Then we hurried through the door and they locked it behind us.
I took a slow breath as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Errol stepped lightly down a set of shale stairs. He peeked both ways at the bottom and shook his head. I hastened to join him. The tunnel was mostly rock and damp soil. The river was very near. I compared what I saw with my map to utilize my dungeon skill combo. Given the downward slope of the passage, it was a good bet the catacombs ran clear beneath the water. We walked in the northerly direction.
"This isn't so bad," I hedged.
"Bah," growled the pirate. "It's unnatural bein' underground. Might as well be in a tomb."
I spotted half a skull protruding from a muddy wall. "Watch out what you wish for."
We inspected the bone. It was old. If it was paired with a skeleton then it was mostly buried within the wall formation—not exactly a ceremonial grave.
"You familiar with the finer points of killin' zombies?" he asked.
"Besides a headshot with a double-barreled shotgun?"
He eyed me strangely. "I won't pretend t' know what that be, but there's no real trick t' it. The walkin' dead are enchanted with dogged determination. Hit 'em hard or don't hit at all. A scratch won't bother 'em and will likely open ye up t' attack."
"And if they bite you?"
"Then it fuckin' hurts, swabber. They won't be conscripting ye into undead service, if that's what ye mean. The only thing can do that is dark magic. Don't worry 'bout spells down here. Worry 'bout teeth an' nails an' weapons." The pommel of his rapier slammed into the skull and cracked it in half. He looked at me and shrugged. "Just in case."
We walked in silence a little more. The walls hummed with the river overhead. The tunnels were old, but very stable. At least that was something we didn't have to worry about.
"So," grunted Errol, "am I t' assume we have no real plan?"
I winced. "You noticed that?"
"Aye, it's hard not to. We've got one cunt over here calls himself a bishop an' wears a fancy helm. Comes into power an' all o' a sudden everyone's afraid o' him."
"You have to respect how powerful Cleric Vagram was on the way to Shorehome."
"I'll not be denyin' that. Still a shame, though. I expected nothin' more from the saints. They turned tail an' ran from Shorehome when they had the chance t' stand fer us. But yer city watch has its hands tied. Yer people can't draw their weapons. This feels more like a game o' chess than a battle."
I chuckled bitterly. "Taking on Tannen will definitely require strategy."
"Yet we have none. No allies. No hidden gambits. Just a pirate an' a scout, wanderin' among the dead."
We came upon a thick bramble obstructing our path. Tree roots snaked through cracks in the ceiling and wound into the floor and walls. It must've taken years to grow. Errol sawed at it with his sword.
"We must be beneath the Foot," I concluded, separating the bramble from the floor. "This is a good sign. Doesn't look like anything large is walking around down here after all."
"That," said Errol, "or we're tearin' down the only natural barrier 'tween us an' them."
I suddenly became aware of just how much noise our chopping was making. We tore half the bramble to the side and ducked through the new opening. We were both cautious as we continued, but the catacombs were dead. In the good way.
It surprised me that I hadn't seen any exits yet. With the navigation and cartography skills, I figured I'd have seen something by now.
"What about this Lucifer fella?" asked Errol. "He seems a right rogue. Can he help us?"
"He might if it suited him. Although I'm beginning to think he abandoned Stronghold for Shorehome. He failed here but was successful over there."
Errol walked with a frown. "How so?"
"You must've noticed a difference. Lucifer gave NPCs and mobs free will. He saw to
it that your city was stolen from the saints. He gave the Eye of Orik to the pagans and the Squid's Tooth to Papa Brugo."
The pirate snorted. "That's not the way I see things."
"No?"
Errol sighed as if the mere act of speaking politics was disgraceful. "I be the Papa's man, but only t' an extent. I never pledged my blood t' the Brothers in Black. I don't take orders, only advisement."
"You're a freelancer. A proper pirate."
"You said that right, boy. I'm a captain, on top o' that. But everything aside, Brugo and I go way back, an' if he's had dealings with Lucifer, I'd know about 'em."
"Listen to what you're saying. The devil moves to Shorehome and Brugo just so happens to be handed the keys to city at the same time. That's a huge coincidence."
"Ain't no coincidences, an' ye ain't that daft. The saints abandoned Shorehome. Brugo was in place t' take command. Yer so-called devil likely just figured 'twas a good place t' hide from the saints once they lost eyes on the territory." He turned to me. "Maybe the whole world will be like that soon enough, an' Lucifer will move somewhere that suits him better."
My face darkened. Although I'd never consciously questioned it yet, Errol's affirmation touched on something that had been bothering me. Lucifer was a lot of things, but I believed he had a plan. And I didn't think he wanted me dead. He'd had his chances, and he always preferred words over combat. Back at the Salt Sea, he was appealing to me. He'd wanted to enlist my help, just as he had before.
Which wasn't to say Lucifer was a friend. The words had come straight from his mouth: I was a cog and he was the grease. He had an endgame for us all, something beyond what we could yet see.
So if Papa Brugo had been Lucifer's disciple, or at least owed him a favor for retrieving the Squid's Tooth, then it stood to reason that our capture would've led to a meeting with Lucifer. Brugo would've led us to the devil if they were cohorts. Instead the Papa simply wished to sell us off to the goblin thirstiest for our blood. There was nothing shrewd or provident to it. Brugo was playing politics in Shorehome. Lucifer was playing on a completely different chess board.
"But if Lucifer didn't steal the Squid's Tooth..." I mumbled under my breath.
In my distracted state, my boot caught a stone and I tumbled forward. The damp soil hit my face. I pulled my foot under me, but it was caught.
"Avast!" shouted Errol.
He spun toward me with his rapier high in the air. My fingers scrambled in the dirt to recover my weapon. His slash came down as I threw the dragonspear up and triggered crossblock. Unfortunately, his blow was well under my guard. His blade hit the ground with a sickening crunch.
Suddenly my leg was loose.
I rolled to my feet, ankle aching. Something wiggled on the ground where I'd been. In horror, I turned my attention to my leg. Tightly gripping my ankle was a decomposing hand severed at the wrist.
Walking Dead
50 Health
Errol's rapier came down again and slashed the zombie clawing out from the ground. I clutched the undead hand, ripped it off my leg, and tossed it down the tunnel. It smacked into the face of another advancing zombie.
I flinched, but my instincts took over. I waved the dragonspear in a smooth arc and tore the zombie's head off. His body stuttered in place and fell to the floor.
More figures lurched in the shadows beyond him. It was strange. The zombies should've been easier to see with my darkvision, but it was almost like the algorithm ignored them. They blended right into the darkness and surprised us at point-blank.
"We're surrounded," I called out.
"Chop off their arms and they'll bite. Chop off their head an' it's lights out."
I jabbed forward a few times to keep the advancing mobs at bay. Anything with only 50 hit points wasn't a real concern anymore, but everyone knew zombies were a swarming mob. Kill one and three others follow. And in the narrow catacomb tunnels, my maneuverability was limited.
Bones crunched behind me as Errol swung into action. He had his own group to deal with, and in seconds we were back to back.
"How many have ye got?" he asked with a sideways glance.
"I can't tell. Three? Five?"
"That be better'n my ten. Punch a hole in 'em while I cover yer back. Then we run."
I pressed forward with well-timed horizontal slashes. My spear sliced open grayed flesh and exposed ribs.
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
Aw, great. Errol had warned me about this. Minor cuts and scrapes were all but ignored by these mobs. They closed in and I stabbed forward, impaling a figure of melted flesh in the stomach.
Impaled!
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
Undeterred, the zombie gripped the shaft of my spear with both hands and pulled himself forward. Blood and guts oozed over my weapon as he drew closer. I tried to shake him off, but he had a death grip. To make matters worse, two others came at my flank.
I panicked. Call me a horror nut. I'd seen too much film and TV that had ingrained the raw instinct in me to not get bitten. Instead of taking minor damage, I doubled down and dashed straight ahead.
The two zombies at my sides grabbed each other as I skidded free, deeper into the catacombs. The one stuck to my spear pressed into me, disgusting juices splattering my face. I slugged him in the jaw. His neck snapped to the side but he instantly retargeted me. I pounded him again.
A swipe came from behind him. More zombies. A hand raked at my back.
12 damage
I grunted. That shit hurt, and I desperately hoped Haven devs didn't bother to simulate infection. I wasn't going out like Khal Drogo. But then, the zombies didn't have that in mind either. Their glazed-over eyes flashed as their jaws opened to chomp down on yours truly.
No.
I triggered tornado spin. It may have been nerfed but it was all about creating space. Gripping the spear tightly in both hands, I cut in frenzied circles. The zombie impaled on my spear was ripped in half and fell to the floor. The rest of the mob recoiled from the attack.
You dealt 37 damage to [Walking Dead]
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
You dealt 1 damage to [Walking Dead]
I came to a stop in a low stance, head on a swivel. The zombie on the floor had taken real damage because he'd been separated from his waist. The others had only superficial scrapes. The undead must've had serious damage resistance when it came to normal wounds.
"Let's go!" I yelled, waving Errol through the two-yard radius I'd cleared. I lopped off another head as he danced away from the oncoming horde. His swift blade had downed several of them, and he wasn't done. As he rushed past, he chopped another's leg off at the knee.
I tried to move but the one without legs grabbed me. My boot came down hard and crushed his skull. I leapt, but he'd slowed me down. The mob converged again. I hooked one's shoulder with the dragonspear and swung him into another, knocking them both to the dirt.
"Now yer gettin' it, boy!"
I hopped clear and equipped one of Kyle's arsonist specials. The horde moved like lightning but I slammed the glass down before them. Flames erupted and spilled out across the ground. Catacomb walls lit up with an endless orange glow. The fire coated everything in its path, and the zombies were too dumb to avoid it. Their emotionless faces burned as they stumbled over their dead comrades. They thrashed on the ground but eventually collapsed into heaps of charcoal.
Errol hissed out a curse and wiped his blade. "That was more intense than I thought it'd be."
"It's ironic, but we could really use a priest down here."
He guffawed and turned my warning back on me. "Watch what ye wish for."
We hurried down the passage. Errol wanted to light a torch, and for good reason. The firelight bounced off the shale and lit up our enemies, which was more than I could say for darkvision. Still, I convinced him to stay dark. We
needed an exit and, for that, I prioritized awareness range. I swapped the map on and off until I noticed the depiction of what could've been a door in the ceiling. That knowledge kicked in my navigation display: a handy little pointer right on top of our exit.
"There," I called out, coming upon a pool of shadow on the ceiling. Short beams of wood were fitted into the dirt as a makeshift ladder, so covered with grime they were barely visible. I didn't even see the trapdoor at the top, but it had to be there.
Errol skidded to a stop at the ladder. "Where do ya suppose this leads to?"
A ghostly cry echoed through the tunnel.
"Does it matter?" I asked.
Errol shook his head. To get a grip on the old wood, he brushed away loose debris with his hands and feet. He started up the ladder.
I kept eyes on the tunnel in both directions, but it was hard to say how close the zombies were. Suddenly, a chunk of dirt sprayed into Errol's face. A skull erupted from the wall between ladder rungs. The pirate, without his sword in hand, reared back and nearly lost his grip. A deadshot hammered the brittle bone and crushed it into the wall. Errol took a calming breath.
"I'm getting real sick of things coming back to life," I confided.
He cocked his head thoughtfully. "That's what we all do here one way or another, isn't it?" He pushed up and zoned outside.
"Fucking Dr. Phil over here," I muttered. Then I stuffed my spear into my inventory and climbed the ladder.
0980 Gun
We found ourselves under a heap of straw in a cellar. The room was full of neatly stacked crates and supplies. We'd been lucky the trap door was just hidden, not blocked.
"Arr!" exclaimed Errol, hopping to his feet. "Look at all this booty. We've hit pay dirt, boy."
Boots rapped down a wooden staircase and an arquebus swiveled towards the pirate. "Wrong, rapscallion. No one steals from me and lives to tell about it."
