Village of Noobtown: A LitRPG Adventure (Mayor of Noobtown Book 2)

by Ryan Rimmel

  You have purchased: Shortsword, Damage 15-20 (1-6 Base + 6 Strength + 6 Skill +2 Perk), Durability 35/35, Sharp

  You have purchased: Dagger, Damage 8-11 (1-4 Base + 3 Dexterity + 4 Skill), Durability 30/30, Fast

  I also saw several partial metal bars near his forge. I had considered briefly the cost of the metal, which was around 1 gold, 60 silver per bar. I’d salvaged a dagger once and gotten an ingot of iron out of it. Looking at the bars, I realized that they were much larger. I activated my new Appraisal skill.

  Iron Bar, 2/10 ingots remain. Quality, Above Average. Value 32 silver (80 silver base, 20% remaining, X2 due to scarcity.

  So, an iron bar was 10 ingots of iron. Building smaller items, like swords, seemed to use ingots rather than bars.

  During the terrible ordeal in Fecking Puma Forest, I’d had to make some choices that I’d rather not have. When I was down to my last weapon, I’d leveled up in Duelist. It turns out that after level 5, you only got a perk every OTHER level. The even levels improved your subclass but gave no perks. At level 6, my Duelist strikes did extra damage and I’d picked up a new maneuver, Hack and Slash.

  When I’d gotten the perk at level 7, I’d had to search for anything that would help me survive in that Godforsaken hellhole. What I’d found was Sword Master. It reduced the penalty for fighting with damaged weapons to zero, further reduced Durability Damage 50%, and gave me a nice + 2 Damage with all swords. Under normal circumstances, I’d have ignored the Sword Master perk. At that desperate moment, however, it had been entirely necessary.

  My shopping at the smith was done, so, our group of four left. My sword would be repaired tomorrow, and that was good enough, for now.

  “I’m bored,” called out Badgelor, who was thoroughly done with shopping by this point. I tried to ignore him, but his complaints were growing louder by the minute. He was looking around in all directions, a habit he had picked up being hunted by fecking pumas. Not that I blamed him. Those evil cats could be anywhere.

  After looking around and, more importantly, behind me, I turned back to Blots. He had been happy enough to be in the nicer part of town where he wasn’t harassed by guards. Apparently, if you didn’t have business here in the center, they sent you back to the squares with the other refugees. If the man you were escorting was spending gold, you could stay.

  It had gotten pretty late into the afternoon, and, I will admit, exhaustion was starting to play with my mind. Twice, I thought I’d seen pumas stalking me, which was, of course, absurd. You never saw a puma until it was too late.

  “Let's find an inn, Blots,” I stated. “We’ll get something to eat and I’ll get a room.”

  “For both of you? Jim, you freak. You just met him,” Shart chuckled.

  I punched Shart off my shoulder. Blots grinned. The promise of a good meal was enough to buy his continued loyalty. He seemed much happier than when I’d originally met him. It was probably the full belly. I asked him about it while I was storing my new purchases in my pack.

  “Blots,” I asked, “how are the refugees doing here?”

  “Not good,” he replied. “There’s too many mouths to feed, and not enough to go around.”

  “Well, if there was a way to snap my fingers and solve your problems, I would,” I offered.

  “I’m sure you would, sir!” he replied. “I very much doubt that there is anywhere in the kingdom that can accept all the refugees, though.”

  Of course, that got me thinking.

  Chapter 27: A Visit with a Spellmonger

  As we walked towards the inn from the Craftsman’s District, we passed by the fancier shops. I spotted a gemstone cutter, with a sign like a cut gem. Then, I spotted a pastry chef, with fancy cupcake signage. Finally, just as we were about to pass out of the district, I spotted a store with several arcane symbols over the door.

  “A magic shop?” I asked Blots.

  “Um, no. That’s the other way,” he stated, gesturing down the road behind us.

  Badgelor hissed. “No, you said food. We are going to the inn to get food.”

  Blots knelt and scratched Badgelor’s neck. “That’s a good badger.” He’d taken to doing that whenever Badgelor talked, because he had no idea what the badger was saying. Badgelor didn’t eat him, because he liked getting his neck scratched. The badger also liked attention.

  “That’s a spellmonger’s shop,” my guide informed me.

  “A spellmonger?” I replied. “Like a fishmonger, but for spells?”

  “Um...yes?” answered Blots, not quite sure if I was pulling his leg or not. To him a spellmonger, which was a silly name by the way, was probably common. I did need some non-flatulence related spells, though. I decided to pop in, much to the chagrin of both Blots and Badgelor. They opted to stay outside the shop, so, I was on my own for a minute with Shart.

  “Bye, you big pussy,” Shart called, as he waved to the badger. Badgelor said nothing; he simply watched, as I stepped over the shop’s threshold. A little bell rang as I did so. Looking around, however, I didn’t see any bells.

  The shop was pretty much what I expected of a shop of the arcane. The outside was unassuming enough. It was constructed of the same wood and tiles that made up the exterior of all the other shops I had visited. The inside was a different story. My attention was immediately drawn to a glowing rune on the wall. It was made of several skulls, each with glowing gems in their eye sockets

  “What are we doing here?” asked Shart.

  “We are buying me some spells, if I can afford them,” I replied. I still had a decent amount of gold in my pocket. Maybe I’d get lucky.

  The spellmonger walked into the waiting area, his robes glowing red with runic power and his beard suitably wizened with age and experience. I’d describe him as looking like Kevin Smith, pre-diet, but older. He smelled faintly of swiss cheese. The spellmonger did. I am unsure what Kevin Smith would smell like. Probably not swiss cheese, if I had to guess.

  The spellmonger began speaking like he was an orator in a hall and I was his captive audience. “Who graces the shop of JohnTerry the Great.”

  Back to the two first names, I see.

  “I am Jim,” I stated.

  “Wow, that is unfortunate,” he said, breaking character, instantly. “You don’t really look like a caster. What do you want?”

  “I can cast spells,” I stated, to the sound of Shart snickering again. “I know one. I would like to procure a few more.”

  “Well, I have a few spells to sell,” he stated. “If you’ll pardon me, you really don’t look like the type to cast spells. If you are trying to get parchment for toilet paper, I do sell that, too. You don’t need to make boasts.”

  I hadn’t even considered that. Enchanted parchment was nearly indestructible. I’d been using leaves this whole time. If the leaves were too dry, they had a tendency to cause chafing. I always healed fairly quickly, but you know what they say. Any amount of fanny chafing is too much fanny chafing.

  JohnTerry was still looking at me skeptically. I didn’t really want to cast a spell on him just to prove I could, though. I figured that it would be considered bad manners. Instead, I held up my hand and generated my smoky green barrier out to the side. His eyes widened.

  “I’ve never seen a barrier that color before,” stated JohnTerry. “I prefer fire based, as I’ve got an aptitude with fire. Yours is smoky when it comes out. It must be based on air.

  “Yes. So, you see, I can cast spells. I just need a few more,” I replied. JohnTerry was still pondering, and I really wished he would stop.

  “Green would have to be Biological,” he stated. “What would that even do when combined with Aeromancy.” Then, his eyes got wide, and he bellowed in laughter. “You learned fart magic?”

  Shart laughed so hard he accidentally flung himself from my shoulder.

  “Yes, I am a Mage, who specializes in Biological Aeromancy. I would like to learn some more spells. Do you have any?” I said all this in a rush, through gritted te
eth.

  “I don’t have any Biological Aeromancy spells,” he said, through peals of laughter. He had just figured out that I was a learned expert in the most useless kind of magic. I hadn’t used the spell more than once in our great escape from Fecking Puma Forest, as I had to say the activation word. Doing so would, of course, reveal you to the pumas. The merciless felines could attack just fine while passing gas. It would probably have acted like an afterburner.

  After a quick puma check, I continued, “Look, I don’t want to know any more Biological Aeromancy spells. Do you have any other spells that I can learn?”

  JohnTerry was just getting control over himself. One look at me was all it took for the shopkeeper to break into another fit. “You must be just starting out,” he finally gasped. “You can’t learn other schools of magic, yet. You won’t be able to until you’ve taken the Second School perk Mage Lord!

  “I’m special. I think I can,” I said, once more through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll bet you a gold coin that you can’t,” said JohnTerry, producing a scroll.

  I slapped a gold coin down on his merchant’s counter and he handed me the scroll. I could read it, but not keep it. I unfurled the scroll and started examining it.

  The scroll itself was very similar to the other scroll I’d read. The spell symbols were written in much the same way, though the words were in Common rather than in Goblin. It was much like a complicated word problem in math, with lots of numbers in it. Even if you couldn’t read the words, you still had the same style of numbers. They were constant everywhere.

  In this case, I spoke Common and breezed through the spell. It was Fire Bolt, which shot a fist sized blob of fire at your target. You pulled fire magic from your loins. That meant that there was a slight variation in the instructions, depending on the sex of the caster. I asked about these variations later and learned that they only showed up in starter spells. More advanced spells just told you to draw power. They didn’t tell you how to draw power.

  JohnTerry walked me a few paces towards a small hallway that seemed to have ceramic tiles across all the walls and ceiling. With a gesture, he caused a straw dummy to be pushed towards the end, down a track on the floor. It thwacked against the end of the track, very much looking like a prisoner ready for his execution.

  It was just about then that everything went wrong. I tried to draw the magic from my loins, which felt shockingly like getting kicked in the balls. Nevertheless, I persevered, assisted greatly by my Iron Will. When I attempted to shape the Mana into Magic, it puttered out. I tried again, and immediately felt like I’d poured searing hot liquid on my junk. Again, I couldn’t shape the Mana. Despite the pain, I realized that I was drawing an insignificant amount of the fire type Mana from my body.

  “Jim, you might want to stop,” Shart muttered, quietly.

  I grunted and tried one last time. This time, the pain was akin to the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life. It felt like a puma had bitten down on my bait and tackle and was attempting to crush or tear it off. I almost screamed, but, even through my fierce attempt, I couldn’t cast. As I started to gather myself for a fourth attempt, JohnTerry put his hand on my shoulder. His face was etched with concern, and he spoke quietly.

  “Don't keep trying. You’ll kill yourself,” he stated. “Keep your gold. Just don’t do that again.”

  “Do you have any wind or Biology spells?” I pressed.

  “It won’t matter. You are a Mage,” he replied. “Your Mana Cores are all tied to your element now. You are going to have to grind until you can learn the perk Second Spell. You are a determined fellow, though. I can clearly see that. I’m sure you will earn the perk in no time.”

  Maybe it was just concern that I’d drop dead in his shop, but the concern in JohnTerry’s eyes was genuine. I bowed my shoulders, accepting defeat. For once, Shart was quiet. I just wished I could enjoy his silence.

  “Look,” JohnTerry said, “I’ve got a whole bunch of these Fire Bolt scrolls that I just sell for toilet paper. I’m just going to give you one. When you are a super powerful Mage Lord, armed with a Magical Staff with a Sphere of Power, you can just think a few kind thoughts about old JohnTerry.”

  I barely had time to utter a “Thank you” before I was hustled out of his shop.

  Chapter 28: The Inn

  Blots and I walked over to where the inns were, Badgelor whining all the way. The badger’s patience had frayed hours ago, and even Blots looked like he might soon rebel if he wasn’t fed. I was getting hungry, as well, and needed to rest after my failed spell ordeal.

  I had a choice of several inns. Blots highly recommended the Golden Duck. You could tell immediately which one it was, because there was a big brass duck on the sign. It was a larger inn, compared to the others nearby. The sign boasted of its 8 luxurious rooms.

  The delicious smells coming from it led me to believe that Blots had chosen it for the kitchen. We walked toward the door, prompting a large man sitting next to it to stand. He was an impressive specimen, and, given his menacing look, I assumed he was a bouncer.

  He glared at me, “Your kind has to stay in the square.”

  “I’m a trader,” I replied, and felt a twinge. It passed almost instantly, and I nearly chalked it up to a muscle spasm. Then, I saw the prompt.

  You have resisted an Intimidate check. You are Novice at Resist Fear.

  Well, it made sense that I’d learn that, now. Being afraid of pumas was only sensible. Being afraid of this jerk was not.

  “You don’t look like a trader,” he replied. I realized that I probably didn’t. My pack was mostly empty, now, and I was wearing common, but nice enough, clothes.

  Thankfully, I remembered my Intimidate skill. Screwing up my face in a glare, I responded, “I am a trader. I have gold. You should let me in.”

  I didn’t even have to check my menu to see that he’d failed his save. He stepped back a half pace, before sitting back down. “I’m sorry, Mister Trader, sir. Please go right in.”

  We stepped into the inn and found an open table. There were a number of local people here. Many of them looked up as we entered, some out of curiosity, but a few with open hostility. One of the men was huge, at least a head larger than me, and deep into his cups. The innkeeper, on the other hand, smiled broadly and walked over to us.

  “Hello, I am Clat, and this is my fine establishment. Can I get you a meal?” he asked, ushering us to a nearby table. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Clat giving a more critical look toward Blots. Clat totally ignored my badger, who had once more shrunk down to travel size.

  I gestured for Blots to order.

  “We’ll each have stew, bread, and ale. Can you also bring a bowl of scraps for the badger?”

  With a nod of his head, Clat headed to the kitchen.

  “Ha ha. You get scraps,” grinned Shart.

  “I know. This place is great,” replied Badgelor, not understanding Shart’s insult.

  While Blots couldn’t understand the badger, he was smart enough to pick up on happy noises. He smiled at my animal companion and again scratched Badgelor behind the ears.

  After a few minutes, our food and drinks were produced, and I paid for them. The innkeeper’s daughter had been the one to bring us our food. She was young, perhaps 18, and fit. Her long brown hair was tied up in a bun. She smiled warmly, and dutifully put the coin into her waist pouch, before returning to the kitchen. She reminded me of one of my daughter’s friends, and that reminded me I was in a much younger body.

  There was an interesting mental battle there. I had been nearly forty when I died, but now I was in a body that couldn’t be much older than 25. My original body had slowly morphed into a dad bod over the years, whereas my current body was comparable to an Olympic athlete. Of course, I was also married. Then again, I had also died. That whole ‘Till death do you part’ thing had been fulfilled.

  I put the thought out of my head. First off, she wasn’t offering. Second off, I wasn’t sure what I
wanted in that perspective, myself. Part of me still imagined returning to my wife someday. Turning back to the much less attractive Blots, I chewed for a moment in silence.

  “So, do you know why this war started?” I asked.

  “Um, not entirely, I guess,” he replied. He swallowed and continued. “I mean, It's obviously about land. What war between kings isn’t, though?”

  I nodded, continuing to chew, “Was that the only reason?”

  Blots took a drink while he pondered. “Well, King HarCharles and King TimSimons were childhood friends. I don’t know what happened to come between the two. Maybe no one does. This area isn’t really valuable compared to other parts of HarCharles’ border. Attacking in and around Narwal doesn’t seem to make sense.”

  “Maybe he needs timber,” I suggested.

  Blots shook his head. “He has other forests, better forests, for ships or buildings. The Riverlands has decent enough timber, I suppose, but it's not like timber is all that hard to come by.”

  “What’s been happening to the refugees?” I questioned.

  “For the most part, they were being sent West, toward the rest of the Riverlands. Lord Dookie put a stop to that weeks ago, though.”

  “Any idea why?” I asked.

  “No. If I had to guess, I’d say it was an order from King TimSimons, but I don’t really know,” replied Blots. I watched as he used his bread to dab up the remains of his stew. “Part of the problem is that some of the refugees were outlanders, living on the border between the two kingdoms. They aren’t sworn to TimSimons, so, they can’t go forward. There would be a riot if some of them got let through and others that are sworn to our king didn’t. Narwal never had that big of a guard and would be totally unprepared for that kind of trouble.”

  “How many refugees do you think are here?” I asked.

  “A few hundred, I guess,” stated Blots. Narwal isn’t small, but it lacks supplies and housing for that many new people. More people were coming in every day, and some of the citizens grew concerned about being outnumbered. Then, suddenly, the refugees just stopped coming.”