Fantasy Online_Hyperborea

by Harmon Cooper

  FeeTwix shrugs, makes the don’t ask me face.

  “It’ll have to do,” Ryuk sighs.

  (0)__(x)

  The Thulean stands and adjusts her armor and accoutrements. “This way,” she directs them.

  “Aren’t you going to tell us why you attacked us?” Ryuk asks.

  “This way.” With her head held high she turns towards the string of love hotels gently illuminated by a silver moon.

  Ryuk: Keep some type of weapon equipped. She may be leading us into a trap.

  FeeTwix equips a black Desert Eagle in .50 Action Express and tucks it into the back of his pants. “What?” he whispers as they follow the Thulean. “You said to stay frosty.”

  They temporarily lose sight of her when a cabriolet drawn by a clipped-wing Pegasus passes in front of them. Another set of newlyweds snuggle in the back, the man with his hand up under her wedding gown and a wolfish leer plastered on his face as she radiates waves of unease and uncertainty.

  Yikes, Ryuk thinks.

  The carriage passes and they catch up to the Thulean, who carries herself with the serene self-assurance of the grandest tiger in the jungle.

  It troubles Ryuk that they so easily overcame the woman; even at low levels, Thuleans are notoriously skilled combatants and are usually much stronger than the average player.

  Something wasn’t right; Thuleans are a snooty and exclusionary group. A player can’t select a Thulean avatar; there aren’t any. The Thuleans all either NPCs or Reborn Player Characters, and just being an RPC doesn’t automatically get you in either – there’s an interview and a waiting list of up to year, last time Ryuk checked.

  They think they’re the one per cent; most everybody else thinks they’re an over-rated bunch of scaly assholes. Even so, there are plenty of RPCs who are simply marking time until a new Thulean avatar becomes available. Most of them hang out in Valhalla, but they can be anywhere, really.

  Their erstwhile foe leads them to a rose-red, horseshoe-shaped love hotel. Softly glowing love seats and topiary rose bushes border a decorative path that cuts through its center. An intricately carved, sled-shaped sign proclaims the hotel to be The Rosebud.

  “Why are we here?” FeeTwix inquires.

  “This is where I’m staying.”

  Another message from FeeTwix appears on Ryuk’s vision pane.

  FeeTwix: This is great! A big, strapping Thulean babe brought us to a love hotel! My fans are going insane!

  Ryuk: I guess it does look a little strange …

  She stops at the front door and turns to them. “Well? Are you two going to stand outside and look stupid, or are you going to come in … and look stupid?”

  “You know this is like … um … a love hotel, right?” Ryuk asks.

  She sighs, puts fists on hips and shakes her head. “Yes. Yes, I know this is like … um … a love hotel. This is Sotla; there are no inns here, just love hotels, and at least this one has a fairly decent restaurant.”

  The lobby of the love hotel reeks of ambiance. It’s dimly lit and features dark red furniture and a clerestory of heart-shaped windows.

  The desk clerk doesn’t bat an eye at the thin, seven foot tall Thulean swordswoman with two young, handsome-ish guys in tow. This is probably the second tamest thing he’s seen all day; he merely nods at the trio and returns to his leather bound copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

  “The restaurant is this way.” The Thulean leads the two down a small flight of stairs and into a narrow corridor.

  A hostess in a black and white dress with mouton sleeves and hoop skirt curtsies in greeting and launches into her well-rehearsed spiel: “Welcome young lovers! For your dining and amative enjoyment this evening, we have available La Room de Boom-Boom, La chambre de votre premier amour, La chambre de l'amour sans fin, and La salle d'une liaison!” She gives Ryuk a knowing wink. “May I suggest La Room de Boom-Boom? It is … ” Eyes wide, she places her hands over her mouth and giggles.

  “It’s what?” FeeTwix asks.

  She throws her hands out. “Scandaleux!”

  “Enough,” the Thulean female narrows her eyes on the hostess. “Which room is most comfortable for three?”

  “Pour trois?” She speaks to herself in French for a moment.

  “What’s she saying?” Ryuk asks FeeTwix.

  More importantly, why aren’t things being translated in real-time? Everyone in Tritania shares a common tongue, which is whatever language they speak natively. The only language not translated in real-time is Thulean, and there are apps and magical devices for that. In actuality, when Ryuk speaks to FeeTwix, he speaks in Japanese, which is then translated into Swedish. When FeeTwix replies in Swedish, it’s immediately translated to Japanese.

  “She’s speaking nonsense, otherwise.” FeeTwix smiles briskly at the hostess. “We will take the Amor Sans Fin Chambre.”

  “Magnifique!” Careful of her hoop skirt, the hostess turns to the long corridor. “Madame, Messieurs, follow me if you please.” She chuckles to herself as she leads them down the long corridor. She arrives at a waist-high door and crouches. Her key ring jingles as she searches for the right key, opens the door and duck-walks through, which is no mean feat in a hoop skirt.

  “Why is the door so short?” asks Ryuk.

  FeeTwix shrugs. “I think it may be some sort of architectural commentary on endless love or something. That’s my guess, anyway.” He follows their hostess’ example, as does Ryuk. The Thulean crouches but is still too tall; instead, she drops to her knees and crawls in.

  They’re greeted by the soothing sound of gently tinkling water; the room features an artfully constructed water wall that that feeds into a heated pool. A metal towel rack with big, fluffy pink towels sits within convenient reach.

  The hostess twitches her nose and an ornately carved hearts, flowers, and cigar-smoking cupids with hammer and sickle sashes-themed wooden table and three well-upholstered stools appear.

  “It’s so romantic, is it not?” She flutters her hand over her heart and pretends to swoon. “Oh! Allow me to fetch some complimentary appetizers before I get ahead of myself. Please, be seated and make yourselves comfortable.”

  She curtsies, backs away from them, and unerringly duck-walks backward through the child-sized entrance, hoop skirt and all.

  Their warrior woman associate gives them a thin and humorless smile.

  “We should start with names. You can call me Zaena.”

  “Ryuk.”

  “FeeTwix,” he says as his eyes morph blue.

  “Good, Ryuk the Ballistics Mage and FeeTwix the Berserker Mystic.” Her expression remains carefully neutral as she continues, “You wish to know why I attacked you.”

  “We can start there.” FeeTwix nods, brings his gloved hands onto the table and laces his fingers together.

  “You attacked me first.”

  FeeTwix raises an eyebrow. “I think you have us confused with some other players.”

  She ruffles her hair with one long-fingered hand. “You weren’t there, but he was,” she indicates Ryuk with the DisNike two-finger point. “Earlier today, a powerful Ballistics Mage – who looks just like you – and some sell-sword scum attacked me.”

  “Me? That’s impossible.”

  “Do you know where Jatla is?” she asks.

  “I seriously wish I didn’t. Our guildhall is there.”

  “It was near there, in the piney forest that separates Jatla from the rest of the continent.”

  “Well, it wasn’t us,” FeeTwix assures her.

  “Yes, I know that now, especially after the crap fight you put up.”

  FeeTwix shakes his head in disbelief. “You realize we beat you back there, right?”

  She holds her chin high. “No. I let you win.”

  “Revisionist history,” FeeTwix coughs into his hand.

  “Bonjour!” The hostess returns with a tray of macaroons and tiny squares of opera cake. She giggles as she places them on the table and quickly promises to r
eturn with beverages.

  Zaena uses one of her ghost limbs to reach for a square of cake. To FeeTwix and Ryuk, it looks like the cake is magically floating in the air. Ryuk selects a macaroon and downs it in one bite. A feeling of warmth and euphoria spreads through him.

  What’s in these pastries? He looks at them again and sees that each pastry has the faintest of faint yellow outlines.

  Skill level up!

  Skill: Magic Eye

  Level Two: A colored glow indicates that magical properties are present. Higher levels allow for more detail and access to the Wikipedia of arcane knowledge. A red outline signals that a hidden enemy is near. Higher levels allow for more detail and access to the wiktionary of arcane knowledge. A red outline signals that a hidden enemy is near. A yellow outline signals that an object is enchanted.

  Requirements: Level 4 Mage, LUCK > 5.

  The Thulean takes a dainty nibble from her cake. “As I said, I let you win.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her eyes narrow on Ryuk. She bristles. “Excuse me?”

  “This isn’t my first avatar; I’ve spent a lot of time on Ultima Thule and I know for a fact, that Thuleans don’t back down.”

  “I didn’t back down; I let you win to end it.”

  “That’s backing down.”

  She huffs and rolls her orange eyes. “Once I knew you two weren’t the ones who’d attacked me, I ended the fight.”

  “That’s not how it really played out,” FeeTwix says, “but sure, if that’s how you want to spin it, fine, you didn’t back down. Personally, I’m more interested in your statement about a Ryuk doppelgänger in the forest outside Jatla. How is it that they didn’t kill you?”

  “I got lucky. They had a prisoner, a female White Warrior. She head-butted one and kicked the knee of the Ballistics Mage, which distracted him in a major way. I killed the two sell-swords and the Ballistics Mage fled with his prisoner. It is safe to say that she probably saved me.”

  “A female White Warrior? What did she look like?” Ryuk is suddenly eyes front and attention fully focused. Could it be?

  “Long white hair with thin braids behind her ear, cheap armor typical of a new avatar. She had a sheath for a sword of unusual size, but the sword was missing.”

  “Is it her?” FeeTwix asks him. “Did your friend have the braid?”

  “It was Tamana, it has to be!”

  “Who?” Zaena asks.

  Ryuk takes a deep breath and says, “It was our friend, I mean my friend, who saved you.”

  (x)__(x)

  Ryuk explains it all, from Tamana’s attack and subsequent death in the real world to her kidnapping here by the Shinigami. He is briefly interrupted by the hostess, who brings hot tea for the three in a Drukpa Kunley-themed samovar. She simpers, curtsies, giggles again, and leaves as quickly as she came.

  “Do you know what hour you logged in?” Zaena asks Ryuk soon as the hostess is gone.

  “At the Hour of the Water.”

  “And I was assaulted at half past Water.” Zaena admires another macaroon. “These really are lovely, aren’t they?” She pops it in her mouth. “I told you this place was decent; too bad all their food is spiked with aphrodisiacs. Luckily, most herbs have no effect on Thuleans, at least they are not supposed to.” In goes another macaroon. Zaena’s eyes seem to unsquint a little. They’re still straight little lines, but their edges have softened some. “And what is the name of your guild?”

  “Right now we’re calling ourselves the Mitherfickers. The third member is a goblin named Hiccup.”

  Ryuk kicks FeeTwix under the table. “That’s not our name!” he hisses.

  “The Mitherfickers, huh?” Zaena chuckles. “Most amusing, in a vulgar and guttersnipe sort of way. I believe that Gob-swearing will be all the rage in the not-too-distant future, so you two have got a leg up on the trend. Should I instead say three of you? Where is the goblin you spoke of earlier?”

  “Probably having his chalupa waxed by an orc lap dancer right about now,” FeeTwix snorts.

  “Having what done to his what by a what?”

  Ryuk to the rescue. “Never mind. We’re supposed to meet him tomorrow morning, at the Hour of the Morning Fire.”

  She looks him over for a minute as she nibbles another macaroon. “These are simply wonderful! You know, for a pair of soft, weak, inept, clumsy, bumbling low-level commoner stumble-bums, you suck less than many.”

  “You’re only level 11,” FeeTwix reminds her.

  She ignores him and focuses on Ryuk. “And your armor, that’s dream armor, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” He touches the iridescent epaulet over his right shoulder; it’s warm to the touch.

  “I’ve seen it before, on a higher level and much more skilled warrior of course; it’s really quite powerful. You should really take it to a master armorer or a weapons master to have it matched to your aura, but if you’re willing to spend the rupees it’ll be well worth it.” She turns to FeeTwix. “You, I understand. A new avatar with money to burn on fashion statements and non-conventional weaponry.”

  FeeTwix’s eyes flicker black.

  “And your eyes?” She cocks her head to the right. “It feels like your eyes are the windows into thousands of souls, and all of them are watching me.”

  FeeTwix shrugs her off and she returns her attention to Ryuk. “You shot me with something that froze time, correct?”

  “A time marble.”

  She ghost limbs up a napkin and daintily dabs the macaroon crumbs from her lips. “You aren’t experienced enough to wield time marbles.”

  “I actually used a clear marble, which is a wild card. It can be anything and has been helpful and … not so helpful in the past.”

  “Indeed. Thus it is with those. What other types of marbles do you have?”

  “Knife marbles, exploding black marbles, and clear marbles.”

  “You need something to cast them with more force,” she states in a matter-of-fact voice. “Your slingshot is a toy for children.”

  “I’m aware.”

  FeeTwix claps his hand on Ryuk’s shoulder. “Talk about a convenient segue! A fan just sent me a prototype of something she’s been working on for you. Check out the image.”

  Ryuk raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Do I even need to ask?”

  “Notice the lack of trigger? That helps get around the firearms penalty.” FeeTwix pulls his shooting iron from the back of his pants and places it on the table. “My Desert Eagle, .50 Action Express. Now this – this is a firearm, as described by the Tritanian bylaws, which define ‘firearm’ as any instrument or device that uses an explosive reaction to propel a projectile through a barrel or tube.”

  He gestures to the image. “This – shaped like a firearm, looks like a firearm, but not a firearm. No moving parts – no trigger, no explosive propulsion.”

  Ryuk is singularly unimpressed. “So it’s a club. A short-handled, badly angled club.”

  “Ah, not so, my friend.” FeeTwix grins, “It uses energetic thaumaturgial linear acceleration to boost your magic marbles to über-sonic velocities. And the best part?”

  Ryuk gives him a skeptical look as FeeTwix taps his finger against his temple. “It is triggered with the power of your mind, Young Padawan. That’s all the weaponsmistress said about it; my guess is that it’ll be ready soon.” He swipes the image away.

  “Interesting.”

  The Desert Eagle suddenly floats in the air. In a calm and soothing tone, FeeTwix says “We’ll all be much happier if you point that away from us and put it back on the table.”

  “Hmmmm … ” She transfers the gun between her ghost limb and her hand. The hammer’s cocked, the safety is on, and her finger is all over the trigger. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryuk sees FeeTwix’s finger move behind his back.

  Scrolling behind his back?

  A short-barreled Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum revolver appears in his hand. Without appearing to, he keeps his eyes on Zaena, casually returns his ha
nd to his lap, and aims the hand-howitzer at her from under the table.

  “I really don’t know how to use this thing,” she tells him, “well, aside from pulling the trigger.”

  She flicks the safety off with her thumb, and with finger still on the trigger, doesn’t quite point the weapon at the pair of them.

  The hair on the back of Ryuk’s neck stands to attention, and he hears the distinctive click-click as FeeTwix thumbs back the hammer on the big Smith in his lap. Zaena grins, and with the delicate grace of a careful drunk setting down a Ming vase full of nitroglycerin, she returns the weapon to the table.

  Another macaroon lifts into the air and she takes a bite. With his off hand, FeeTwix grabs the gun and returns it to his inventory list. His revolver, however, remains unreturned and pointed at the Thulean’s heart.

  “So there are only three in your guild, correct?” Zaena asks. “I mean, not counting the kidnapped White Warrior.”

  “That’s right.” Ryuk’s nerves calm, but only slightly.

  “And you’re meeting the goblin at the Hour of the Morning Fire tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where will you go from there?”

  “We will level up some more,” he answers. “We’re supposed to meet the Shinigami in Aramis in two days now.”

  “Do you know where you’re supposed to meet them?” she asks.

  Ryuk looks to FeeTwix.

  He jumps as a hand brushes against his shoulder; the Thulean has left her seat

  “Well, it was interesting speaking with both of you,” she says.

  “You’re leaving?” FeeTwix asks. “Just like that?”

  “Just like this,” she yawns. “It has been a long day, and I’d better get some rest.” She strides to the waist-high door, pauses, and turns back to the two with a half-smile. “What? Did I even mention joining up with you?”

  Before either of them can formulate a reply, she pops open the door and is gone.

  Chapter 11: Back to life, back to reality

  To recharge their avatars, Ryuk and FeeTwix book a room in the love hotel.