“Well, how was it?” Hiccup pushes himself back from the table and licks his mechanical fingers.
A platter of well-gnawed wing bones and empty Horse Piss ale flagons decorate the table in front of him. He closes one eye, squints, and effects a resounding release of borborygmic pressure that blasts a pixie waitress back across the bar, draws disgruntled attention from other patrons, and scatters the odd fragment or two down the front of his armor.
“Jatla blantakh!” Zaina hisses.
“I take being called ‘a filthy goblin’ as a compliment.” Hiccup grins at her. “It’s what my granny used to call me,” he says fondly.
The Stinkerbell-sized waitress staggers back into the air and he waves her over. He flips the flitting DisNike knock-off a golden rupee, and with an expansive sweep of his non-mechanical hand indicates that he’d like another round of the same.
Ryuk turns to FeeTwix. “Turn your feed off.”
The Swede’s eyes flash blue.
“I like your blue eyes better anyway.” Zaena is next to FeeTwix, her hands wrapped around a large cup of tea.
Ryuk begins, “So there’s a lot, a lot going on out there in the real world that we were unaware of.”
“Vague any? What evs. Get to the fickin’ point, Marbles, I’m thinking about food here.”
Damn goblin. Ryuk drums his fingers against the table for a moment. “It’s like this – all the attacks that have happened in our world have originated from Tritania, all of them, no other Proxima World, and the players who have been affected have all been resetters, like Tamana and me.”
“And Tomas,” FeeTwix says under his breath.
“Who?” Zaena asks.
“I’m with her,” says Hiccup, “early onset Goblinheimer’s, remember?”
FeeTwix takes a sip from his mug of Horse Piss ale. “As I told Ryuk yesterday, the reason I decided to come to this world was to investigate the suspicious death of one of my first fans, a guy named Tomas.”
“Was he a resetter?” Ryuk asks. “I can’t remember if you told me that already or not.”
“He was.”
“Whatever is doing this is trying to come to our world through resetters and they haven’t got the mechanics right yet. They tried through Tamana, and they tried through me. I believe they also tried through your friend, Tomas.”
“So they want to take your bodies?” Zaena asks Ryuk.
“I think so, yes, but I also think that for now they are still testing their limitations, seeing what they can do. But that’s not what I’m worried about. From what I can gather, they haven’t successfully taken a real human’s body, only terrorized us or forced us to do something. What I’m worried about is humandroids.”
No larger than an action figure and clad in a leathern off-the-shoulder tunic, the pixie waitress flits in with a platter of lemon pepper dragon wings proportionate to her size.
She snaps her fingers and the debris from Hiccup’s first round disappears; she places the fresh platter on the table and it grows to its normal shape and size. The sizzle-fresh dragon wings are garnished with slices of grilled lemon and a delicate sprinkling of minced puce pepper.
“I really wish you wouldn’t eat those,” Zaena sighs.
“I know Thuleans are related to dragons, and yada yada yada,” Hiccup strips the flesh from the first wing and chews loudly and messily, “but you and I both know that these wings come from sustainable farm-raised miniature dragons that are bred solely for eating. Good fickin’ eating too. I’m telling you, I won’t judge you if you try some. It’d be like Marbles here eating monkey in your world. You guys eat monkeys up there, right? I sure as fick would – especially with this lemon pepper sauce.”
Ryuk ignores the goblin. “Back to humandroids – like fifteen years ago, an American scientist developed a way for NPCs to dive into a humandroid’s body, called R-diving.”
FeeTwix’s eyebrows rise. “You’re kidding.”
Ryuk’s normally serious expression becomes, if anything, even more serious. “The NPC spawned into the humandroid’s body and was able to operate fully within it. In our world, FeeTwix. Think about that for a moment.”
“Humandroids are your world’s version of NPCs, correct?” Zaena asks. “At least that’s how my tutor explained it to me.”
“Um … ”
“That’s one way to look at them.” The Swede takes a hefty swallow from his ale and sighs. “That’s a damn good ale! It’s called Horse Piss, isn’t it? Good stuff. Anyway, back to what you were saying. I’m assuming not many people know about R-diving; otherwise I would have heard of it through some of my channels.”
Ryuk nods. “I think our mission here just got a little more complicated. Not only do we need to get to the bottom of who or what is orchestrating these attacks, we may need to prevent them from ever discovering that there may be a better way to come to our world.”
“Holy shit,” says FeeTwix. “Can you imagine what it would be like if NPCs could take humandroid bodies and actually operate them?”
“Exactly. I know I’m biased here, but I think rescuing Tamana will give us some insight into what the Shinigami are doing and how they relate to all this, if they are related at all. After all, they took her right after she died.” Ryuk lets the word hold weight for a moment. “Plus, she knows people that may be able to get us some answers. She was friendlier than I was, back when we were part of the Knights of Non Compos Mentis.”
“Gee, someone more friendly than you?” Hiccup crams another dragon wing in his mouth, chews the meat off, and spits the bone onto his plate. “A rabid chiup-hog with a tusk-ache, cysts, and hemorrhoids is friendlier than you, kid.”
“We still don’t have a plan in place for rescuing her once we arrive in Aramis,” FeeTwix reminds them.
Hiccup chortles. “What, you guys thought I was picking my nose earlier and not thinking about how we’re going to do this? Consider it an often used excuse for our shared struggle with rhinotillexomania – I’m not the only goblin that thinks digging for boogers is a great way to stimulate the brain.” He wipes his mouth with his brass forearm. “Fick! That was cold. I keep forgetting that. Where was I?”
Ryuk fights to not roll his eyes. “You were discussing the plan, and picking your nose.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say – you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.” He snorts in amusement at his witticism. “So the plan. First, we need to head to Bar Row. Obviously, obviously. We’re going to get the best info from a drunk. It’s payday for some, and I’d bet my chalupas and my marbles that there are drunks, fickboys, maybe even some bards milling about. What time is it?” He glances at a cuckoo clock near the entrance to the restaurant’s kitchen. “Almost the Hour of the Air. We want to get to these guys now, before they’re too sauced up to make any sense. Also, the later in the night it gets, the more violent the drunks become. So we need to get our intel early.”
“From drunks?”
“Listen, Liz,” he snaps at the Thulean, “if anyone’s going to give the Shinigami up, it’ll be a drunk.”
“Okay, fine, let’s do it,” says Ryuk. “What about funds? We’re barely over ten thousand rupees and we need to weapon up.”
“Which ain’t shit. Those damn ninjas gave us jack squat. Treasure my ass. No matter. Like you suggested earlier – you have the best gambler this side of the Goblin Riviera on your team.”
Hiccup dips one of the lemon pepper dragon wings in a small iron bowl of creamy white sauce. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews it as he says, “I’ll be able to triple that money at least, just like you suggested.”
“Bundunoo droga dookh.”
He laughs. “Damn! You sure know how to flatter a goblin. She called me an obese dragon turd, which I’ll be adding to my repertoire thank-you-very-much.”
Hiccup licks his lips and thinks for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do: after we’ve gathered intel in Bar Row, we’ll divide up.
The sneakier of the two – Ryuk and Zaena – can hit the guildhalls and do some reconnaissance. FeeTwix and I, being more seasoned and better-looking, will handle the fund creation arm of our little adventure. Don’t worry about the Shinigami, Ryuk, we are going to hand them their asses. Nobody sporks me in the belly in the middle of a gobnap! I will personally see to it that their graves are pissed upon.” He raises his sauce-daubed mechanical pinkie. “You have my word – pinkie swear.”
(0)__(0)
FeeTwix’s eyes flash as he announces, “Your marble gun is here.”
A sturdy wench enters the dining area of the Viewpoint Café. The sides of her head are shaved and her hair is woven back into one long braid. The well-muscled woman clomps over to the table and gives FeeTwix a bashful grin. She’s in sleeveless button up blouse and a pair of black tights tucked into spiky boots. A leather backpack slung over one shoulder.
“I never thought I’d meet you in person,” she rumbles in a low, masculine voice.
“Dory.” FeeTwix stands and offers her a side hug. “This is Zaena, Hiccup, and Ryuk. The gun is for him.”
She eyes him for a moment. “A Ballistics Mage, huh?”
“Resetter.”
“Chosen as a handicap?”
“Correct.”
“That sucks.” Dory un-shoulders her backpack and places it on the table. A logo of grinning dragon skull over a crossed war hammer and lightning bolt with the motto The Chrono School of Advanced Weaponry is branded into the front flap. “Lucky for you, you have friends – or should I say, you have a friend who has fans.”
FeeTwix’s eyes turn black. “Here for the unveiling of the new weapon, everyone. No longer will Ryuk be forced to use a sissy slingshot!”
Sissy? Ryuk thinks about kicking FeeTwix under the table.
Dory the Weaponsmith slips her hands into a pair of black gloves and takes a parcel wrapped in blue velvet out of the backpack. She unfolds the velvet, causing gasps from all around. “I give to you, the marble gun.”
The weapon is made of color case hardened metal, with Thulean script graven into the barrel. The grip panels are of polished lionwood and nicely counterpoint the weapon’s finish.
Before anyone can ask how it works, Dory places several empty magazines on the table and produces a magazine loaded with test marbles.
“The magazine goes into the back of the gun, where the hammer normally would be.” Dory demonstrates loading the weapon with her magazine of test marbles. She slaps it with her palm, clicks it in place, and sets the gun on the table.
Hiccup nods. “Not bad, Marbles. Finally, finally you won’t be a pussy.”
Zaena ruffles the goblin’s dollop of pink hair and he swats at her ghost limbs.
“The weapon doesn’t have a trigger as to prevent anyone else from shooting it, which also allows it to skirt around the Tritania rules of a firearm. I actually haven’t test fired it yet, as only one person can fire it and that is the person who bonds with it, flesh upon metal.”
She shows Ryuk her black gloves again. “Be advised: The first person to touch it locks their digital neuronal autocorrect system, D-NAS, with the gun’s algorithm. Don’t worry, it won’t whisper sweet nothings in your ear or anything like that, but you will be symbiotically linked to the weapon.”
Ryuk touches the grip and the gun instantly warms. He lifts the weapon, keeping the muzzle aimed at the ground. A feeling of coldness, followed by an intense heat radiates up his arm. It stops as it reaches the back of his skull.
Hiccup bites into another wing and chews loudly as Ryuk turns the weapon over in his hand.
“It’s … amazing,” Ryuk finally says. He instinctively stands and bows his head.
“Don’t say that until you’ve shot it.” Dory the Weaponsmith returns her attention to the empty magazines on the table. “You’ll need to load these yourself. I’ve supplied you with five for now, and each holds eight marbles. I can make more magazines though, and hopefully an extended mag, just give me a day or two.”
“Got it.”
“So what are we waiting for?” she asks with a shrug. “Let’s step outside and see how it shoots.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Hiccup calls after them. He returns to his dragon wings, notices that he’s almost out, and indicates to the hovering waitress he’d like yet another round.
The non-gurgitationally occupied Mitherfickers follow Dory the Weaponsmith out through a large double door. They head away from the café’s rotunda, to a more secluded area around back. FeeTwix points at a stump about ten meters away, near a Krikayan tandoori oven. Split billets of firewood surround the stump and an old, rusted covered ax isn’t too far away. “How’s that for a target?”
Ryuk takes aim at the stump and Zaena stops him.
“Let’s make it a bit more challenging.”
“I haven’t even test-fired it yet,” he reminds her.
“This will only take a second.” The Thulean approaches the stump and uses her ghost limbs to place a wedge of firewood on the stump, narrow end facing Ryuk. “Now show us what you’ve got, ballistics mage,” Zaena grins.
Ryuk lifts the marble gun with one hand and takes aim at the stump. “Um … how do I fire it exactly?”
“Come on, Ryuk, there are literally 650,000 people watching this right now!” FeeTwix announces.
Fire! Ryuk thinks to no effect. Fire! Fire! Fire!
“Maybe it’s jammed or something.”
Dory shakes her head. “You aren’t doing it correctly; the gun uses algomagic which is more felt than it is thought. It should be an extension of your being, if that makes sense. Don’t tense up or anything, and don’t overthink it. Just shoot it.”
“Just shoot it, got it.” Ryuk raises the weapon again. He focuses on the wedge of wood and as he does so, a sense of calm rushes over him. Just shoot it. He takes a deep breath and the wedge of wood flies off the stump.
Dory pumps her fist in the air. “You did it!”
“That’s impressive,” FeeTwix claps the weaponsmith on the back, “seriously, Dory, that’s some damn good work!”
“That was it?” Ryuk glances down at the weapon; the Thulean script graven on its barrel suddenly glows a vibrant green. He can hardly recall shooting the weapon; only that the wedge was knocked off the stump in the blink of an eye, almost as if he had done it with his mind.
“Again.” Zaena uses her ghost limbs to move two wedges onto the stump.
“Wait,” Ryuk says, “using this weapon is considered a skill right? Why didn’t I get a new skill prompt?”
“It’s not a skill,” Dory explains, “not in the sense that the term ‘skill’ is used here in Tritania. Skills are something acquired through a character’s actions, interactions, preferences, and choices. Yes, you can learn to use a new weapon and have this be a skill, but like I said, this particular gun uses algomagic, which is an extension of your being.”
“Algomagic?” FeeTwix asks.
The stout blacksmith explains, “Magic that affects the very algorithm of the game, algo-magic. There are other names for it used in other Proxima worlds.”
Ryuk takes aim at the two wedges of wood. They fly into the air and just like before, the Thulean script on his weapon glows green. “It’s so fast. I don’t even see the marbles coming, or going.”
Dory crosses her arms over her chest and gives them all a satisfactory nod. “This is just a taste of what’s to come, campers. Give me a few more days, and I’ll craft something truly amazing for you.”
Chapter 17: Boaster Toaster
Hiccup awaits them outside, his hands clasped beneath his distended belly, and he runs his tongue over his lips. “Holy shickin’ fit, boys and girl – them were some demonly delicious dragon wings. Are you fickers sure we don’t have time for me to order a to-go dozen? I still want to try the pepper dingleberry ones!”
FeeTwix turns to him. “The what?”
“Dingakburi,” Zaena says, “and no, we don’t have time. How do we get
to Bar Row from here? That’s where we’re starting, isn’t it?”
“Correctemundo, Liz.” Hiccup picks up a stick, cops a squat and starts sketching in the sand. Dory the Weaponsmith is long gone and the four guildmates now stand outside the restaurant by the side of the brick paved road to Aramis. The sky was clear earlier, but ominous dark clouds have started to form, reminiscent of the ones they saw in the Hills of Hillshire the previous night.
“We have maps,” Ryuk reminds him.
“Sometimes you’ve gotta go old school,” says the goblin. “So X marks where we are, and now we’re going to go to Bar Row to do a little prodding. Then we’ll split up. Remember – Marbles and Lizzy will snoop around in the Guild District and get us a hostel; Twixy and I will stay in Bar Row. I hope everyone here is ready to pound a few.” He looks around.
“I am,” FeeTwix says. Zaena shrugs and Ryuk gives him the thumbs up.
“Good. Oops – wait.”
The goblin holds up a finger, vigorously pokes his belly for a moment, and releases a three-octave belch. He tastefully checks to make sure that he didn’t get any on him, and then continues. “I got a bit of a strategy as to how we are going to get the info we need. It’ll cost us, though. And before you ask, Lizzy, yes, the place may look all upscale and squeaky clean on the outside, but trust me … ” He lifts his bulbous nose to the city in the distance. “There are some seriously sick, treacherous, vile, dastardly murderous ficks in Aramis, believe you me. You two need to be careful when snooping around the Guild District. That reminds me! Regarding our place of restitude tonight – look for a hostel known as the Mondegreen. It was built by some immiNPCs.”
“ImmiNPCs?” FeeTwix chuckles.
“What’s so funny about immigrant NPCs?” asks Hiccup. “And no, I don’t particularly like them here but there’s no way to build a wall to keep them out, so what can we do? We tried holding them back at the borders, but there ain’t no borders, technically, so that plan was a big waste of taxpayer rupees. At least Tritania doesn’t have refugee camps or nothing. Although I will say, refugee camps are great places to meet desperate people, which I particularly like because desperate people are gullible as fick. To be fair, one thing I do like about immiNPCs is that they bring neat stuff from other worlds – guns, candy, games, crazy liquors, smokables. Pretty cool sex toys too. Too much rambling?”
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