by Cid Banks
That was it.
But there were obstacles in the way. A huge puddle reflected the bluish glow of the mushrooms. In its center was a pile of long bleached objects—bones. Three ghouls stood in the water, their jaws grinding. A horrifying, monstrous sight loomed over them.
Ghoul Lord
Level 7 Necrophage
HP: 128/128
Traits: Undead
Relationship: Hostile Monster
Fucknuggets. Level 7?
I couldn’t kill that thing, even it didn’t have guards. It was twice the size of the others. Blood dripped from jagged teeth. Two child-sized skulls sat in its eye sockets, and a massive barbed cage lay on its back. Chains strapping the cage to its body wrapped around its arms and through its ribcage. Rotting corpses filled the enclosure. Bloody limbs dangled from the bars, drenching the ghoul. It studied the bones as if deciding which to add to its collection.
Screw this.
My pounding heart urged me to run, but I was so close. The falcon was there. It was my ticket home. Defeating the ghouls in combat would never happen. I needed a plan. I had to seize the silver falcon without being detected.
I lurked in the shadows, studying everything. The more distance between me and that nightmare, the better. The edge of the walls and columns had room for me to sneak. I could stealth my way to the falcon heirloom. The floor slanted down to the right, accumulating in a puddle against the far wall. Stepping in it would give away my position. That left one path to the heirloom.
I sidestepped to the first pillar. The glowing, blue light was strongest in the middle. If I hugged the walls, I’d stay in darkness. The ghouls didn’t have eyes, though. Maybe this was a mistake. I held my breath.
The monsters gnawed on bones, the sound gutting me. A trickle of water fed the pools. Other than the slow drip and the ghouls’ dog-like growls, all was silent. A chill-spider zipped down my spine. I waited until the ghouls weren’t facing me and slunk to the next pillar. I kept going, stepping over shattered coffins and bone. Suddenly, there were no columns between me and the heirloom. I leaned on the stone, scoping out the rubble near the sarcophagus. It could provide me with cover.
A faint crack split slightly under my hand.
Shit.
I yanked my arm back, staring at the hairline fracture. Had they heard? I strained my ears, hearing nothing but their chewing.
They hadn’t noticed. Thank God.
I lowered myself to my hands and knees. The floor was covered in dust. I crept, staying as low as possible to remain hidden. The falcon was ahead. So damn close. I glanced at the ghouls. They had moved. A pair circled the master ghoul but didn’t seem to sense me.
With one eye on them, I grabbed the heirloom. The rotting arm still held the falcon. Prying it off might make noise, so I added everything to my inventory.
Yes, I did it! Take that, game. I’m a regular Indiana Jones.
I hurried to the pillar, releasing the smallest sigh. All I had to do was retrace my steps. Easy peasy.
I faced where I came and swallowed a scream.
A monster was mere feet away, blocking my escape route. My guts churned as I froze on the ground. I could’ve shat myself.
What now?
Forward was the only way out of here. I’d have to cross open space before finding cover. The water would make it impossible to stay silent.
I was trapped. Worse than trapped—doomed. Any second, that thing would see me here and tear into me—
Wait. There was a way. An incredibly dangerous, possibly foolhardy plan popped into my head. It seemed hopeless, but I had to try.
I shoved my weight against the pillar. My boots slipped as I strained. It crumbled, barely giving. The massive column fell. It collapsed onto the ghoul, flattening it. Its meat and bones were pulverized, followed by a 118.
Dust billowed around me as experience points popped into view. I leaped over the felled pillar and bolted for the door. One ghoul was down, but the others were laser-focused on me. They might’ve been blind, but they had perfectly good ears. And I’d just made a huge racket.
The loud crash drew them forward. They staggered, darting with inhuman speed. Sickly, gray skin covered their starved bodies. Their heads raised and they sniffed the air like hounds scenting a rabbit. Their hollowed gazes turned toward me.
A ghoul slashed. Its claws blasted a chunk of a column, stone spraying the floor. I bit back a terrified moan as it wailed with disappointment. The ghouls circled me, drawing ever closer.
Shit, shit, shit.
Trembling, I backed away. A ghoul shrieked at my feet, crunching stone, and lunged at me. I stabbed wildly. The blade caught between its eye sockets. It crashed into the coffins piled against the wall. They tumbled, burying the monster.
The ghoul lord examined the broken column. It tugged the dead ghoul’s crushed legs, yanking them off with a sickening squelch. Its eyeless gaze found me. The monster’s jaw unhinged as it released a bloodcurdling roar.
Run, you dipshit.
The ghoul that missed its attack split the lids, shrieking, my dagger still protruding from its forehead. I dashed up the stairs, my lungs screaming as I bolted from the crypt. A massive crash exploded behind me. The ghoul lord burst into the cemetery with a screech of metal tearing against the rock. Its cage wouldn’t fit through the doorway, but it forced through anyway. The cage of corpses disconnected and tumbled to the ground. Rotting flesh rained from the sky like macabre confetti.
My throat tore with a scream. I ran. The monster thundered after me. It smashed headstones aside as it gave chase. I splashed through mud, discarded limbs, and gnarled mushrooms. I jumped over the railing and hoofed it past the crumbling church. Metallic shrieks joined the monster’s roars as he ripped the fence. He slowly fell behind.
I sprinted on the road to Marshtown. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I ran until my legs stopped working.
Seven
The dagger was gone, but I had the heirloom. I survived.
My pulse slowed as I doubled over, heaving. The danger was past, but a swell of vomit surged up my throat. I swallowed it down, grimacing from the bitterness.
“Ugh.” I gnashed my teeth, shaking. “This game is either too realistic or not realistic enough.”
The ghouls’ claws would’ve ripped through my flesh like butter. I didn’t want to find out what that felt like. I banished thoughts of the necrophages from my mind.
I’d escaped with my life. That was all that mattered.
The sun dipped below the horizon as I returned to Marshtown. Windows glowed like orange lanterns against the gloomy purple sky. It was very Halloween-y. I half-expected cardboard cutouts of black cats as I strolled to The Dark Horse.
It was a full house. Men queued to enter, passing a hulking giant of a man who blocked the entry like a small boulder. Light washed the street as the door opened. Music and laughter poured out as the bouncer nodded, allowing people inside. Shadows drifted behind the fogged glass.
I moved into line, waiting for my turn. The guard was the guy sweeping the floor from this morning. I smiled. “Hey!”
For a character in this world, he was pretty bland. Bald head. Deep-set eyes. Like Uncle Fester from Addams Family, except way less friendly.
“Er—can I go in?”
He didn’t move. “Who are you?”
“James. I have business with Galuf.” I watched him cross his trunk-like arms. “Oh, come on. I was here earlier, remember?”
He blinked, unmoving. “I don’t recognize you.”
“Seriously? What kind of bouncer are you?”
A heavy frown wrinkled his forehead. “Step aside.”
“I can’t.” This game was pissing me off. “Come the fuck on.”
The guard slid off the stool, flexing his muscles.
[unknown]
Level 8 Brute
HP: 52/52
Strength: 12 Reflex: 6 Willpower: 7 Charisma: 2
Traits: Self-Controlled, Grumpy, Greedy
I couldn’t complete the quest if he didn’t let me through. Considering his size, it wasn’t surprising that his strength was in the double digits. We were almost matched in reflex, but his HP, willpower, and strength surpassed mine. My only protection was my charisma.
“Hey man, I know your job is to keep out the riff-raff, but I’m just trying to make a living. I won’t cause trouble. Scout’s honor.”
His eyes raked my clothes. “You are the riff-raff.”
“Are you kidding me?” The guard’s nostrils flared, and I lowered my voice. “Okay, I’m not the best dressed, but that doesn’t mean I’m up to no good.”
“Move,” he boomed.
What the hell? I flipped to my character page and focused on the charisma score.
Charisma
The Charisma attribute is an indicator of a character’s ability to engage in social situations and be resistant to a variety of non-combat effects. A high Charisma score will make a character appear more likable, and give them an advantage in conversation and personality challenges. High Charisma also grants defense against status effects such as Charmed, Seduced, and Deceived. A character with low Charisma will make a poor first impression and have difficulty improving relationships with other characters.
Between two characters, the one with higher Charisma is more likely to see the Traits and Attribute Scores of the other character.
So charisma didn’t make everyone like me. Each conversation was a challenge. I had the edge but still needed to win them over. The bouncer was grumpy, so being polite wouldn’t work. He was also self-controlled. No idea how to use that to my advantage. There was one option—appealing to his greed.
“You’ve been working too hard.” I produced a coin. “Take a break.”
He inspected the gold as though searching for a forgery and finally pocketed it after deciding it was legitimate. The bouncer stepped aside, and I entered the bar.
It was packed and bursting with activity. Sloppy drunks everywhere.
Seedy figures spoke in hushed tones in darkened booths. Men with thick golden rings rapped their mugs. They caught barmaids by the waist and demanded more mead. Hooded gangsters rolled liar’s dice. Others played cards. A toothless woman launched across a chessboard screaming, “Give it up, you lousy cheat!”
“Don’t be a sore loser.” A wily man gleefully took his winnings. He didn’t notice the sultry woman emptying his bag as quickly as he filled it.
Rogue Con seemed like suitable branding.
I kept a hand on my coin purse as I weaved through the crowd, sliding on the uneven flooring. Galuf was in the same booth where I’d met him, surrounded by people.
“What a pleasant surprise.” Galuf smiled, gesturing me to join the ragtag group. “Come. Sit.”
They must be members of his guild. His business associates eyed me warily as I approached.
Use your charisma. Make a good impression.
A lanky rogue moved aside, allowing me space. His studded leather clothes gripped him as tight as a gimp suit. He squeaked as he sat.
Galuf tapped his fingers. “So, is it done?”
I laid the silver falcon on the table. A woman shifted her ivory mask, spun her dagger, and wedged it into the wood. She appraised the heirloom with wide eyes.
Quest Completed: The Falcon Heirloom
You have returned to Galuf with the heirloom!
Reward: 60 experience, 25 gold, Improved relationship with the Guild of Thieves
Very nice.
A green, smiling icon popped over their heads.
“Well done, I suppose.” Galuf’s praise walked the line between genuine and condescending. His wide grin stopped short of his eyes.
The masked woman whispered something unintelligible to a bearded rogue with rings woven through his mustache.
“It was easy enough,” I lied. “I’m a professional.”
“Sure.” Galuf’s smile flattened.
The quest reward was great, but I wanted my ticket to the island. Galuf promised I’d have one. “What about that favor we discussed?”
“Favor?” His brows flew into his hair. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He was playing dumb. That promise must’ve been a con. Should I call him out? No. They were seasoned liars who didn’t care if Galuf screwed over a non-member.
Time to be aggressive.
The rogues talked among themselves, shooting me curious looks. Galuf didn’t seem like a leader. He was more like a representative. Perhaps I could make him lose face with everyone. His traits were unknown, so I’d wing it.
I caught the gimp’s eye. “How much is that heirloom worth?”
“Around 80,” he mused. “Maybe 100 coins. What did he give you?”
“Nothing. He invited me into your group.”
They stared at Galuf. The masked woman’s frown peeked under the ivory. Galuf wasn’t in a position to offer membership.
“Sorry.” Galuf pursed his lips in mock sympathy. “You must have misunderstood me. Our guild has a cap on enrollment, I’m afraid, and right now we have no openings. Sadly, I don’t make the rules.”
A small UI indicator appeared over the rogue’s head.
Deception
Obviously. But it was cool to see my charisma powers benefiting me.
I smiled nonchalantly. “Shouldn’t be any trouble. A spot will open eventually. Tragedy often befalls those who steal for a living.” Hopefully, I wasn’t overplaying my hand. Galuf’s charisma was higher than mine. “Scared I’ll take your place, old man?”
Galuf pocketed the heirloom before clearing his throat. “You did well, but I’d never overstep the guild’s sacred decrees. My colleagues and I are impressed with you, lad.”
Deception
“I have an idea.” He raised a crooked finger, pointing across the room. “See him? The scoundrel with the fancy jacket? That’s Conrad. The competition. He’s made our dealings here rather difficult. Want to prove yourself worthy? Steal from him.”
Conrad was designed more like Al Capone than Danny Ocean. His belly swelled under a scarlet coat with garish buttons. Oversized rings covered his fingers. Unlike the other patrons, he wasn’t hiding his business. This guy wasn’t afraid to be seen. His power came from being noticed.
“Steal what?”
Galuf smirked at my hesitation. “He’s carrying lots of gold, but it can be anything. You have a chance to prove yourself. Do it here. Tonight. If you succeed, we might consider letting you join. Right, lads?”
They grumbled assent.
Quest Available: The Competition
Steal something from Conrad the Cutthroat, head of the dangerous local gang. The more impressive the theft, the higher the reward.
Variable Reward: 10–50 experience, Improved relationship with Guild of Thieves, Passage to the Ancient Isle.
I weighed my options. I had nowhere near enough money for the voyage. I could stay here and accept low-level quests, slowly building my cash reserves, or I could jump through one more hoop to get my ticket.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” I rose, sighing.
“Black blessings,” Galuf rasped.
His snicker followed my back as I passed the stairway to the second level. Conrad sat at a table halfway between levels. A wall-sized tapestry hung behind the party. Thick red curtains draped across the private area. It was clearly a place of prestige. Conrad presided over the dive like a lord.
A girl draped in a violet dress and cloak sat next to him. Glittering pins and combs swept her long hair into a bun. A slender man dressed in suede sat across from her. He attempted to engage her in conversation, but she stared at her plate, her lips not moving. My eyes roved over the other dinner guests, finding nothing remarkable about them. There was a bodyguard: an eyepatch-wearing meathead in studded, leather armor. He stood at attention, turning his head to search the crowd.
A woman with thunder thighs blocked the stairs. She was tall, brawny
, and wielded a club. A smaller man with spiked gloves rubbed his chin beside her.
Great. More thugs.
Focusing on them revealed a common trait: Diligent.
Damn. I’d hoped to be able to get through with my charisma. Perhaps my rogue skillset would do the trick.
I flicked a coin into the middle of the bar. It was too loud to hear the ping as it landed, but everyone noticed it flashing through the air. A scuffle broke out among the half-dozen gamblers. They lunged at the gold. Patrons brawled, causing 2s and 3s to pop everywhere. A greasy-haired man tossed a patron into the leggy, female guard. His mug spilled over her chest. Scowling, she cracked her fist across his face, 11 jumping into view.
Perfect.
My plan was relatively simple: sneak to the table, snatch something, and disappear. Distracting the guards with a riot was the first step, but I couldn’t vault the stairs without attracting their attention. Their gazes were fixed on the crowd, giving me enough time to climb the scaffolding behind them. Grabbing a support beam, I hauled myself under the balcony. Thank god I shoved a point into reflex.
I had to stay hidden. The meathead guarded the top. Muscles straining, I held on. Eventually, a barmaid holding a platter of food walked to the stairs. She approached the guards, who allowed her to pass.
This was my chance.
As the barmaid ascended, I climbed. I followed her, careful to match her pace. Conrad’s back was ahead. Bulging purses dangled on his belt. While the barmaid served them, I’d snag a purse and run downstairs.
I stepped from the curtain. Three seconds. That’s all it’d take.
I put my foot forward and stumbled over fabric, slamming into the floor. Shocked gasps erupted from the resounding crash.
“Who is that?” A suede-wearing man’s lip curled in disgust.
