Outpost: A LitRPG Adventure (Monsters, Maces and Magic Book 1)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “It’s like a Friday night and everyone wants to get out,” Stephi said. “Do they have Friday nights?”

  Kirby shrugged. “I never played in, you know, that weird GM’s world. But in most other games I played in, they had a Friday night, end of the workweek thing. They didn’t always call it Friday, though.” Kirby squinted one eye in thought. “They always had seven days in a week and twelve months, and twenty-four hour days.”

  “Well, this is our Friday nights now,” Stephi said. Bitterness hung in her words.

  “There’s Kalgore,” Kirby said, perking up. “Lysine’s just ahead of him.”

  As expected, they made their way over to the gambling tables.

  The party had pooled their coins, giving the lion’s share to Ron, but leaving enough that everyone could order some drinks and possibly food, and have enough to get at least one night at the Ox Wagon’s inn. Unless Ron hit it big, and Kirby scored some decent cutting of purses, or whatever he intended, they’d be nearly broke.

  Broke didn’t look like a good thing to be. Glenn had seen beggars on the streets, and it didn’t look like they did very well. It was unlikely the duke had food stamps and rent-controlled housing. The Temple of Apollo didn’t look like it ran a soup line or food pantry for the poor on the side. Neither did the only other religious institution in the city, a shrine to Dionysus.

  Come to think of that, Glenn remembered spotting the symbol carved into a marble slab at the shrine, and also painted on the walls on both sides of the entry doors. A thyrsus—a rod with ivy around it and topped with a pine cone—in the background and a vine filled with grapes in the foreground.

  Ron didn’t allow them to stop when they marched past the shrine while memorizing routes from the Bugle to the Magistrate’s Court.

  The lighting appeared to be a combination of magical, with small globes hanging from the ceiling, supplemented by an occasional lantern hanging from a hook attached to a support beam. Along the right-hand wall there appeared to be no magical lighting. Instead, strategically placed lanterns illuminated the area set up for gambling. Glenn thought back to the discussion about how a place like the Bugle would try to stop magic from affecting the outcome of gambling. Maybe whatever muted magic around the games also prevented any magical light from working?

  “Kind of a happening place,” Kirby said. “Didn’t see anything like this in the Holy Grail.”

  Both Glenn and Stephi turned toward him.

  “You know, Monty Python?” Kirby shook his head and grinned, still keeping an eye on Ron and Derek across the room. “Man, I thought you two were cool. My mistake.”

  About that time a waitress made her way to their table. She wore a low-cut white blouse with her ample chest pushed up by a corset under her blue vest. It gave Glenn an interesting eye-level view, but she ignored him and Kirby after seeing the line of red paint on their hands.

  “What would you like to start your evening with us, my lady?”

  Stephi turned to Kirby and nodded.

  It took him a second to stop checking out the waitress. “Umm, my lady would like a red wine, sweet, with a mild cheese.” Kirby glanced up at Stephi and she nodded. “She would like for me and the gnome to have a tankard of your lowest grade beer and bread.”

  Glenn offered a friendly smile. “How much will that be?”

  The waitress pushed an auburn curl that had fallen over her left eye. “Three coppers for your lady’s wine, unless she wants finer, and cheese. Two bronze and six iron for your and the half-gob—” She mostly stifled a sneer and continued. “You fellow servant’s beer and bread. However, your lady may run a tab, if she desires.”

  “Tab,” Stephi said. “Thank you.”

  “It will be a few moments, my lady.” She cut through the tables and crowds like she was skiing a slalom race.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Glenn said. “With five silver, we should do okay.”

  “Wait until you taste their worst beer,” Kirby said, frowning. “You may have a different idea with ‘doing okay.’”

  Glenn’s eyes widened while Stephi giggled beneath her drawn hood.

  The beer was bad, but no worse than the cheapest brands Glenn had picked up at the local Wal-mart. The bread was filling and obviously not fresh. Kirby didn’t seem to care, and Stephi enjoyed her red wine and ordered a second goblet.

  A minstrel was on the stage, with a magical light focused on him. He plucked at a ukulele and sang some rather racy, or raunchy, tunes, depending on one’s tastes, and imagination.

  “Lysine’s not doing very well,” Kirby said.

  “How can you tell?” Stephi asked, after sipping her wine.

  “He keeps shaking his head,” Glenn said. “His lower intel score might be hurting him.”

  “Or the house might be cheating, or using magic to cheat.” Kirby hopped down off his stool. “I’m going to go see, and…maybe, you know.”

  Stephi’s hand froze midway through setting her goblet down on the table, causing it to slosh a little, but it didn’t spill.

  “Be careful out there,” Glenn said, covering by saying, “it’s crowded out there.”

  After the half-goblin thief cut into the crowd, Stephi said, “He’s gonna be difficult to keep track of.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.”

  “And those men in blue watching.”

  Her head probably moved under her cloak’s hood. Glenn couldn’t tell for sure. Amazingly, there were a couple other people attired similarly to the tall elf, so she didn’t completely stand out. Two with a gorget and hood, and one with a cloak that completely cast his face in shadow.

  Glenn knew what she meant with respect to the men in blue, watching.

  Everyone who worked for the Bugle wore bright blue. Not only did the waitresses pay close attention to what was going on, but there were the ‘bouncers’ and the men managing the gambling area, and even a few men on elevated stools, almost like life guards, watching the crowd. Then, there might be people working for the Bugle, not wearing blue so they could blend in. The latter would be the greatest risk to Kirby, should he attempt to ply his trade.

  Which it seemed likely he would need to. Ron shook his head again and Derek placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  The minstrel finished and people sitting in the benches, and some from the tables further back, tossed coins onto the stage. Most appeared to be bronze, a few iron and a few copper.

  After the minstrel had gathered what he was able to find, he departed the stage and several men in blue began erecting some sort of curtains supported by poles. Musicians playing a violin, flute and drum entertained from the side of the stage while the other men worked to prepare for the next act.

  “Wonder what’s next?” Glenn asked, seeing the waitress returning.

  “Jax, do you think there’s a requirement to keep drinking to keep a table?”

  Glenn leaned close to Stephi. “Three goblets of wine, are you feeling it?”

  “No,” she said, “but we’ve only been here a couple hours.” Stephi nodded. “Here she comes.”

  “I’ll order for me as well, and some bread that we can share.”

  Stephi nodded as Glenn turned. He was nose to chest level with the waitress, inches away. He innocently looked up to her eyes, which she rolled playfully.

  The marionette performance was difficult to follow, mostly because Stephi and Glenn split their attention, trying to keep track of Kirby. He’d returned to the table once, and handed off a half dozen bronze and six copper to Glenn.

  The ‘good guy’ in the story was a worshipper of Apollo, who was working to catch the antagonist, a worshipper of Hades attempting to whisk away a baron’s daughter. A noble but naïve knight and forgetful squire added humor.

  Kirby returned when the third act began. “Tough crowd,” he said just above a whisper. “And the primary visitors’ assistants, like you and me are for Marigold, make it even harder. I think that’s what they’re mainly here for. The Bugle’s w
atchers are good, especially those volleyball judge guys up in the seats.” He finished off Glenn’s tankard of lousy beer. “They haven’t pegged me, but I’ll have to take some chances. Have you figured out a way to make a distraction?”

  “Me tumbling off my chair,” Glenn said, also keeping his voice low. “Making a big scene.” He was probably being overly cautious. It was pretty loud, all the conversation, laughter, the marionette performers having to practically shout out the lines so they could be heard.

  “Dine and dash,” suggested Stephi, “but that might land us in jail. I bet they’re like dungeons.”

  Kirby nodded in agreement. “The falling might help, but save it for later.” He glanced up at the second tier. “If I could make it up there, that’s where the big coins are.”

  “And also where the big eyes watching are,” Glenn said.

  “Well, Lysine ain’t winning. He’s only ahead maybe two gold.” Kirby rubbed his hands in anticipation. “It’s me or nothing.”

  Being a half-goblin wasn’t helping Kirby’s efforts at cutting a purse or lifting coins from a table here or there. Many humans seemed to naturally get an uneasy feeling when he was around, naturally distrusting him. Glenn felt it too, something that seemed instinctive, at least in this world, maybe because he was a gnome. But his growing friendship and open nature quashed such feelings.

  Glenn didn’t think his friend was aware, but many eyes of folks in blue were following him. And they appeared to be watching his table, watching Glenn as he kept track of Kirby.

  Ron and Derek had given up at the gambling table and moved to a tall table near Glenn and Stephi. The frowns they both wore said they hadn’t met with success. They’d failed. Ron ordered an ale for each of them and alternately kept track of Kirby as best they could while the thief wove among the crowd.

  The marionette troupe finished their show, and again, viewers tossed coins onto the stage. There were more silver among the mainly copper and bronze. Most of the silver appeared to be coming from the upper level.

  Glenn wondered how many coins were lost back stage or under something. Maybe that was the Blue Bugle’s take? Did they pay the entertainers, and the thrown coins were a tip? Or did the entertainers pay for the opportunity, and hope to at least break even from the thrown coins? Might Kirby have done better to sneak behind the stage and gather coins?

  Deep inside, Glenn knew that wouldn’t have made a difference. It took twenty silver to make a gold, and they needed at least forty gold coins. That was eight hundred silver. No way could Kirby steal that, and the lower level customers seemed more accustomed to spending copper and bronze than silver, let alone gold. That is what they were most likely to be carrying. The party was going to fail, and Kim would remain dead.

  He was afraid he might tear up and he couldn’t afford that. He had to think of something—but what? He was a short little gnome, he could heal injuries, fight with a cudgel and defend himself, sort of, and pretty much nothing else. He had a sling with a few round stones. If they started to go after Kirby, he could use that, give his friend a chance.

  Stephi must’ve been thinking on the failed situation and consequence for Kim as well. She stood and grabbed Glenn by the shoulder. “Come on. You’re going to be my stage manager.”

  She nearly dragged Glenn off the stool and toward the stage. Looking over her shoulder, she said to Ron and Derek, “You two, if things start going crazy, keep the major creeps and weirdos back.”

  Chapter 13

  Stephi mounted the stage with Glenn in tow, raising some jeers and ruckus in the benches and tables near the stage.

  She told the nearest blue-clad stagehand taking down the curtains, “Leave that pole.” Then she said to Glenn standing next to him, staring out at the crowd, “I took dance as a skill, plus I took Exotic Dance for a phys ed credit my freshman year.”

  “Okay,” Glenn said, staring up at her.

  The uncertain stage hands retreated with the curtains from the marionette show in hand.

  Stephi looked off stage to her left and shouted at the three musicians. “Play something fast with a good rhythm.

  “Jax, introduce me and then collect the coins.”

  Glenn stood for a second. He walked to center stage, uncertain. The magical spotlight fell upon him and the crowd’s noise abated. Not completely but enough that Glenn knew he was on. It was Stephi’s plan, whatever it was. Dancing, he thought. Exotic phys ed?

  He mustered his best showman’s voice and pointed to his right, up at Stephi. “I give you Deandra, the Undomesticated Diva.” Thinking of the Apollo worshipers who’d cheered the marionette show, he quickly added, “Dancer of the Dawn!”

  Stephi had just removed her rapier and set it aside. She stood, took off her cloak and gave Glenn a WTF look before throwing it at him. As he prepared to catch it, the garment billowed open like a parachute. Wide as his short arms reached, he couldn’t gather it all in and stumbled backwards onto the stage as it covered him.

  A brief stint of laughter erupted, then changed to cheering, whistles and claps as the flute, violin and drum began to play a repetitive, rhythmic piece.

  Getting on his feet and wadding Stephi’s cloak into a ball, Glenn turned to his right, where the magical spotlight was trained. Stephi, all six-foot six plus inches of her, was swinging and prancing, followed by hanging and spinning on the pole. All to the beat of the music.

  Glenn decided he needed to at least observe some of the phys ed dance classes when he got back.

  Stephi had some skill working the pole and the crowd, smiling and gesturing as she went through her routine—was this something she’d practiced for a grade? What she lacked in preparation, she made up for with her character’s coordination stat and even more with her stunning beauty.

  The high kicks and gyrations mesmerized Glenn, and it must have most of the audience. The raucousness had fallen under her spell. It wasn’t exactly a spell, Glenn knew. She didn’t have anything but a Slumber Spell, and the men in the audience were anything but sleeping. They clapped and cheered every time she made a new move. Maybe a few watched dreamily.

  So interested in watching the tall elven maiden do her thing, he was slow to react when whatever held the top of the pole in place snapped. Stephi had been in mid swing around the pole and brought it with her as she fell his direction. He tried to belatedly catch her and brace himself. She knocked him flat and once again, he was splayed out on the stage.

  This time the wadded cloak broke his fall and kept his head from connecting with the hardwood stage. Still, Stephi’s size dwarfed him and he felt like he was being smothered, so he pressed up with his hands, realizing they were on her ribcage, meaning her epic chest was mashed into his face, but only for a second. The dexterous elf rolled off of him to the crowds’ laugher and approval, apparently thinking that the maneuver was a planned part of the show.

  The same instant Glenn discovered he’d been fully aroused, Stephi did too. Her surprise, rather than turn to disgust went for humor. She rolled her eyes so that the crowd reacted, also seeing what she’d discovered.

  Before Glenn could respond, Stephi got to her feet and pulled him up by the arm with her. Coins began clattering on the stage, some hitting Stephi, but seemingly by accident. A few pelted Glenn, which he knew was intentional.

  “Here,” Derek said, standing at the foot of the stage in front of Kirby. He shoved an empty tankard toward him. Glenn took it and began rushing around the stage, picking up coins and dropping them into the tankard.

  That drew even more laughter and a few more coins. But they were mostly bronze with an occasional copper and iron. The iron ones, he noted, were the type that had pelted him.

  Quickly the tankard filled, but Glenn knew it wasn’t going to be nearly enough to help Kim.

  Stephi guessed it too, as she signaled the musicians to start again. “Something a little slower, boys!”

  The crowd clapped and cheering began anew.

  Glenn hurried around the stage
, collecting what he could find. It wasn’t exactly dignified, but he didn’t care. Near the back of the stage, boards about three inches high formed a barrier to catch the over-tossed coins. He removed his shield from his back and began to toss what he found onto it, scooting it along the back of the stage as he went. More coins, a few copper, but again, mostly bronze.

  He made his way back to the front of the stage in time to see Stephi somehow yank her bra from beneath the front of her blouse in one fluid move. Apparently he’d missed something but the audience hadn’t. If the cheers and whistles had been loud before, enthusiasm drove it all decibels higher.

  Stephi twirled the undergarment around her head and flung it at Glenn.

  He’d unwadded the cloak and dumped the coins from his shield into it. The next thing he knew something big was flying at him from the side. He raised his shield to block, but a fraction of a second too late. One of the bra’s massive cups landed on his head.

  The crowd roared laughter, again assuming it was part of the act.

  This time coins rained down from the level above, many of them silver and two gold, which Glenn nearly dove on to collect. This time he dropped them into one of the bra’s cups and held it up. Each half could hold a small water melon—a lot of coins. Maybe he could encourage the crowd to fill it up!

  When he looked back at Stephi, she was doing some sort of new dance, prancing and gyrating, and signaling off stage to one of the young stagehands. Shocked, the teenager didn’t move so she danced over and grabbed him by the arm and dragged the stunned youth onto the stage with her. He probably worried about getting battered by her bouncing breasts.