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

by Ryan Rimmel

  “When?” I asked, thinking about Voan’s mother.

  “A few days ago.”

  I was about to continue speaking, when I heard one of Sir Dalton’s companions begin to sing. I could immediately tell the subject of the song was Sir Dalton. In an inn like this, that was bound to gather everyone’s attention. Someone started playing a concertina, the tiny, annoying cousin of an accordion. I blinked several times before looking down at Badgelor, who shrugged his furry badger shoulders.

  I looked up, only to be greeted to the sight of Sir Dalton, tossing his companion across the room onto his table of friends.

  Sir Dalton then proceeded to grab a waitress for some comical dancing steps, before releasing her next to the bar. She was a triplet, I realized, as she and her two sisters all swooned at Sir Dalton’s rugged physique. More disturbing was Badgelor’s longing expression, as he watched Sir Dalton intently.

  Of course, I used Lore.

  Sir Dalton: Knight 12

  HP: 160/160

  Stamina: 200/200

  Mana: 20/20

  Perks: Sword and Board, Mitigate

  Skills: One Handed Swords, Journeyman

  Skills: Singing, Journeyman

  Skills: Dancing, Initiate

  Dalton had more perks than that, but they were all focused on leading men or riding horses. Lore was like that, only showing you the most relevant bits. I was intrigued by Dalton’s performance skills. He knew quite a bit more singing and dancing than one would expect from a country Knight.

  His companions were all standing next to the table, as one of them began singing about Dalton’s legendary exploits. It was minorly annoying, but I was still enjoying my stew. When the waitress and her sisters became too enamored by Dalton to keep up service, that was when I was going to take issue with this nonsense.

  “Shart, is this rehearsed?” I asked.

  “Why would it need to be rehearsed? It's just a bunch of strangers singing together,” replied the demon.

  At times, I seriously hate this place.

  “Wait, where is Blots?” I asked, glancing around. He was in the chorus, singing along with everyone else.

  “How does he know the words? How does everybody know the words?” I questioned. This was truly befuddling.

  “I like it,” stated Badgelor. “He just broke that belt with his neck!”

  “So, his friends are named Tom, Dick, and Harry?” I asked.

  “Of course not, that’s just an expression. Those would be stupid names, like Jim,” replied Shart. “Their names are TomHarry and DickTom.

  “I’m surprised one isn’t named HarryDick,” I stated.

  “Don’t be vulgar, Dum Dum,” admonished the demon.

  “How did he get that swell cleft in his chin?” I asked.

  “It's a trait, I think,” replied Badgelor, his little head now propped up on his paws. He was nodding along to the beat. Traitor.

  At that moment, Dalton and his gentlemen started fighting. I wasn’t quite sure why, but the group of men were knocking over tables and wrestling on the floor. I’m pretty sure I saw Dalton biting one of them.

  “How is the innkeeper not throwing them out?” I asked Shart.

  “Dalton is probably rich,” replied the demon, as the Knight lifted all three waitresses with one arm. Credit where credit is due, that looked pretty impressive.

  “There goes his shirt,” growled Badgelor happily.

  “What the actual hell is going on?” I asked. I started running scans on myself, checking for a concussion or blood loss. I was looking for anything that could explain this as a simple hallucination.

  “Hey, dummy, isn’t that the most impressive chest hair display you have ever seen?” asked Shart. “I bet you could braid it.”

  I stared, mouth agape and head shaking, at the demon. Turning back to the badger, I gently stated, “Badgelor, he’s not even the right species.”

  “That’s species-ist,” said the badger dreamily.

  “First off, that’s not a word. Second off, that is a new bit of horrifying and unnecessary knowledge I have about you,” I said.

  “He looks delicious,” replied the badger.

  Wait, what? That’s when things took a turn for the preposterous. I could stand the singing; the tune was catchy, after all. However, it was at this point that Dalton knocked over a game set. The errant pieces flew everywhere, with several landing in my stew. The wooden elves bobbed to the surface. I could see flaking paint coming off, after being handled by everyone in the bar for years.

  This means war.

  Dalton, the jerk, had ruined my dinner without a care. He was now standing in front of everyone explaining his largeness. The man apparently had a poultry fetish and ate enough eggs to feed a good portion of the refugees outside. He jumped on top of the bar, grabbed a half dozen eggs, and began juggling them. No one was paying any attention to me, so I used the opportunity to put a stop to the spectacle.

  “Hoopie,” I stated, casting my Break Wind spell.

  The invisible spell raced across the rambunctious room, striking the unwary Dalton. With the full attention of the bar on him, he proceeded to fart the most impressive fart I’d ever seen a grown man achieve. It filled the room, causing several of the shutters to rattle in the windows. It also distracted him, causing many of the eggs to land on his face. The song ceased for one glorious moment.

  Oh, thank god!

  Then, everyone cheered. Someone broke in with a line about big Dalton, and they kept right on going.

  “He really is glorious,” said Badgelor, licking his lips again.

  “He is something, all right,” replied Shart.

  As a man, there are times when you need to acknowledge defeat. That time came for me when Dalton drew his bow and shot three arrows into a nearby keg of ale. Through it all, the innkeeper stood by, doing nothing. I dropped one more coin on the table and started walking up toward my room. The waitresses didn’t even notice my departure.

  I got a room and told Blots to be back here tomorrow at dawn. I stayed overnight. There were plenty of openings, as most of the refugees couldn’t afford the rent.

  The room was small but cozy. Nearly half of the area was taken up by the large bed, loaded down with plenty of soft blankets. Badgelor snuggled up against the doorframe, blocking it from being opened. Shart perched on top of the dresser, looking like a demented owl. I blew out the candle after one last puma check and laid down on the bed.

  I reached my left hand over, caressing the stubs of my missing fingers on the right. I tried not to do that in public, especially when other people were around. I could still feel the hot, bloody form of the puma going for my throat.

  I shuttered again. I was not alone. I could not weep. Shart was already asleep, his pudgy body emitting a wheezing snore. I heard a rustling and tensed, but soon relaxed again. It was only Badgelor.

  The badger had shrunk down to his smaller size and crawled up into the bed, laying on the blanket by my feet. He pulled the blanket over himself and shuttered. “We don’t talk about this,” was all he said.

  I cuddled the badger until I could sleep.

  Chapter 29: The Well Protected Castle

  I awoke to the delicate voice of one of the innkeeper's daughters, smashing her fist gently onto my door several times. “Wake up, ya wankers.”

  I believe I paid extra for the wakeup call. Yawning, I stood up and got ready. With a knife at my belt, and with skin as hard as metal, I poured some room temperature water from my pitcher into a basin and shaved. Next, I did my business in the chamber pot and thought wistfully about plumbing. I swore that if Windfall ever got the capacity for running water, I would make it an absolute priority.

  Slapping the lid down on the chamber pot, I gathered up Badgelor and Shart and walked downstairs. Badgelor immediately walked outside to do his business, because a badger can shit wherever he wants to. Shart never woke up very quickly, and he just sat quietly while the rest of us ate our breakfast porridge.
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  Blots had returned, by then, to lead me to the castle. We first doubled back to collect my purchases from the tailor and my repaired weapons from the blacksmith. Finally, we were on our way.

  The castle was not what I was expecting. I was expecting some large, multistory structure with towers and turrets This particular castle was a single story. While it was walled off and surrounded by a moat, it was certainly no impregnable fortress. It looked more like an administrative center than a defensive works, in all honesty.

  “Shart, what’s up with this castle?” I asked.

  Shart tilted his head as if studying it. Finally, he answered. “Nothing.”

  “How can anyone be expected to protect this castle?” I asked.

  “The town has walls, Dum Dum. Why would they need further protection?” he replied. The demon was once more using THAT tone of voice. The tone that informed me when something was off between Ordinal and Earth.

  “Is a castle built for defense?” I asked, realizing how stupid the question was before I had even finished saying the words. Shart had just said the walls were the protection for the towns. Not to mention the fact that Windfall didn’t even have a castle. All my town maps even indicated that walls, along with the barrier, were our defenses. That meant that castles were used differently on Ordinal than on Earth.

  Shart gave the longest suffering sigh I have ever heard. “That's what fortresses are for. Castles are where a province is administered.”

  “So, the Western Gate Fortress isn’t a castle, then,” I checked.

  “It's got fortress right in the freakin title,” replied Shart. “It is way too early in the day for you to have already been this stupid.”

  We got to the castle and proceeded over the moat via the eastern drawbridge. It was the one marked for visitors, as opposed to the western drawbridge for deliveries, or the northern drawbridge for VIP guests. I doubted this drawbridge had been raised in years. This further proved the fact that this castle was not built for defense.

  I actually expected it to be more of a challenge to get an audience with Lord Dookie. I explained to the first official I met who I was and what I was here for. He just looked at me for a moment, before waving me forward.

  “He seems trusting,” I said to Shart.

  “Why, because he let you in?” replied the demon. “You know your title is listed with your name above your head.”

  That was both true, and something I was still adjusting to. On Earth, claiming you were the mayor of a long lost town would get a few raised eyebrows and a bunch of questions. Here, your title was always displayed. Everyone saw my name as “Mayor Jim, of Windfall.”

  “What is the name of TimSimons’ Kingdom?” I asked Shart, as we walked. That was a question that had generally confused me. England wasn’t called the Kingdom of Queen Elizabeth, or Queen Elizabeth’s Kingdom. Here, I had only heard it referred to by the name of the king. That couldn’t be right, though. It would be hell on maps whenever there was a change of rulers, if nothing else.

  “TimSimons’ Kingdom,” stated the Demon. “What else would it be?”

  “I thought this was part of the Riverlands,” I stated. “Blots mentioned them yesterday.” Shart nodded, so I continued, “Are you saying that the whole kingdom is called TimSimons’ Kingdom on all the maps and in all the books?”

  “Oh,” stated Shart, dropping his head into his palm. “NO, of course not. Don’t be silly. It's called the Kingdom of TimSimons.”

  I facepalmed. “You are telling me that the whole kingdom is just named after the king?”

  “Well, he is level 50,” stated Shart, like he was explaining the most basic concept in the world to the slowest child in the world.

  “So, what happens when he dies?” I asked.

  “They rename the kingdom, of course,” replied Badgelor, finally chiming in. “How else would they do it?”

  “He’s level 50,” repeated Shart. “That’s an absurdly high level for anyone.”

  I thought for a moment before asking, “Someone has to be level 60 to open a Demon Door?”

  Shart grumbled, “Nice to know you haven’t completely forgotten.” Then, he perked up. “Yes, you do. Good job listening, for once. Also, yes, you can go all the way to the lofty heights of level 60. Heck, Grebthar the Destroyer was level 60. “

  “He went through the door many times,” stated Badgelor.

  “That’s rare,” continued Shart. “The amount of experience required to go up past level 50 is enormous, and it gets more difficult every level after that.”

  “Okay, but back to the topic at hand. If the king dies, then the whole kingdom collapses?” I asked again.

  Shart looked at me for a moment, as if considering his answer. Finally, he began, “Yes, more or less. There is always a fight for the throne from the higher level nobles. Usually, two to three major provinces splinter off, forming a loose alliance. As those nobles level up, they all eventually play the game of thrones, until one of their number is a high enough level to put down his rivals. That forms the basis of the new kingdom. New kingdoms seldom look much like the ones they replace. TimSimons used to be one of three high nobles in this area, until about 30 years ago. That’s when he finally managed to off the other two.”

  “Do you always get the person who’s most qualified?” I asked.

  “Well, you always get someone,” stated Shart, cryptically.

  I knew this place was crazy, but that was about all I could take for the day. Imagine if the US changed names after every president left office. Also imagine that the president was rated by his level. Although. that wouldn’t be a much worse system than the one we … they currently had, I supposed. Imagine, just looking at the president’s character sheet. It might keep a lot of oafs from both sides out of office.

  I had been escorted down a long hallway, into a large common room. There was an ornate fireplace set in one wall and there were marble tables throughout. The smaller tables were currently occupied by various residents of the castle, eating or discussing events in hushed tones. Blots broke away and stood in the back of the room with a few dozen other people. I guessed it was the waiting area for the people important enough to get in, but not important enough to meet with Lord Dookie.

  The focus of the room was a large conference table. It stood in the center, festooned with maps. Important looking men, in important looking clothing, surrounded it. Lord Dookie was obvious, not only from his title, but also from the large golden circlet he was wearing. He was busy talking with several other men, in none too hushed tones.

  “The refugees are overflowing the cities. We must continue moving some of them to the other Riverland estates,” stated one man. His floating name tag conveniently informed me that he was called Chamberlain Porle, of Narwal Castle.

  “How, exactly, do you expect to do that,” stated Sir Dalton. He strode into the room, very much like the pompous ass I already knew he was and walked towards the table.

  The two men continued arguing, while Lord Dookie sat, watching. He looked almost bored, as he twiddled his pencil mustache. While his shoulders were broad, the rest of him was thin. He looked pretty much like every other military officer I had ever seen. After several moments, and one loud exchange, he had had enough.

  “Sir Dalton, you have repeatedly been very vocal about your fears of spies among the refugees. You have also made clear your desire to keep them here, so they are contained and can be watched by our guards. While I appreciate your concerns, I remain unsure as to what a peasant family of spies could possibly learn at one of our farming estates. Surely, they would not discover anything that would be worthwhile for HarCharles.” Lord Dookie took a breath before continuing. “However, Porle, you know too well that many of the estates are at capacity. With no additional supplies, it will be difficult to get them to agree to take any more refugees, even temporarily.”

  As they were talking, I had a moment. I used Lore on Lord Dookie and Porle.

  Lord Dookie: Knight
10

  HP: 120/120

  Stamina: 160/160

  Mana: 20/20

  Perks: Knightly War Leader, Captain

  A Knight is a Warrior subclass that focuses in being a leader of men trained to fight while heavily armored on the back of a powerful war mount.

  Porle: Chamberlain

  HP: 30/30

  Stamina: 20/20

  Mana: 20/20

  Skills: Administration Journeyman

  Skills: Bureaucracy Journeyman

  Skills: Scribing Journeyman

  A Chamberlain is an administrator who is in charge of maintaining a castle and keeping it running efficiently. He commands town clerks in the name of his liege.

  Both men grumbled, looking back to the maps. The air of a long unsettled argument filled the hall. Lord Dookie sighed, before going back to his plate and grabbing a pastry. He devoured it in one bite and exhaled. He smiled slightly as he chewed, looking around until he caught my eye.

  “Another mayor,” he said as he sighed, again. “Please, come forward and tell me how your village cannot accept any more refugees.”

  Sir Dalton turned my way and sneered, while Porle looked hopeful. I stepped forward to the table. Stopping, I bowed my head at the lord, unsure of what else to do. He didn’t seem upset, so I continued.

  “I am here to establish a trade route with Narwal,” I said, sticking to the facts. “We have iron to trade.”

  Lord Dookie blinked once, “Excuse me, which village are you from?”

  I was confused by the question. If he saw my floating mayor title, he surely must have seen the town listed with it.