Rogue Online_The Devil's Gate

by E K Baxter

  “The market of course,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes as though Max had asked something extremely stupid. “It’s the place to go if you want to buy anything: both goods and information.”

  “Sounds like the kind of place we need. To the market it is then. And remember: we’re meant to be fitting in. No picking fights.”

  Sam spread his hands wide. “What do you think I am? Stupid or something?”

  Max didn’t answer that. His new friend was definitely handy in a scrap but a little too keen sometimes. He reminded Max of Mianna. Things hadn’t turned out too well for her and he didn’t want the same to happen to Sam.

  They walked along the street until they came to an intersection where four streets met. Here they encountered a crowd of townsfolk gathered to hear a woman speak. She was standing on a barrel, shouting and waving her hands.

  “Lord Mespar wants only the best for this province! Too long have we toiled under the cruel yoke of the high king! But no longer! Lord Mespar will lead us all to glory! All he asks for in return is your obedience and your loyalty!”

  Sam frowned and made to stride over to the group but Max grabbed his arm. “That’s not why we’re here, remember? The market. Now.”

  Sam stared at the woman for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “But she’s spreading lies! How are we supposed to free the city if we don’t challenge Lord Mespar’s propaganda?”

  “We’ll free Myrlind by fulfilling our quest. We need to find the resistance, remember? And we can’t do that whilst our health is so low and our weapons damaged. One thing at a time.”

  Max could hardly believe he was counseling patience. How things had changed. It wasn’t too long ago that he would have marched over there, sword swinging, and be damned with the consequences. In the many tournaments he’d entered since then he’d learned to bide his time and choose his battles. Challenging the woman would not help them in their quest.

  Sam frowned but then reluctantly nodded. “Fine. You’re probably right. Come on.”

  They left the intersection and wove their way through the city streets, moving ever closer to the center. Everywhere they went they encountered more glassy-eyed townsfolk and more of Lord Mespar’s minions, sporting the long beards plaited with copper rings. Max and Sam gave them a wide berth. They didn’t have the health to take them on right now.

  As they walked posters started to appear, plastered to the walls of buildings. The posters extolled Lord Mespar’s virtues and encouraged the townsfolk to follow his rules. Each time they saw one of these Sam’s expression darkened although he said not a word, for which Max was eternally grateful. It seemed his new friend was listening to him after all.

  Finally they turned into a huge square lined with shops and stalls. Unlike the rest of the near-silent city, here the air was filled with noise. People were haggling in strident voices, catching up with gossip, laughing at jokes. Max stared, his mouth dropping open.

  “What is it?” Sam asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s so...so alive,” he said at last.

  Sam snorted. “Myrlind as it should be. How it used to be before Lord Mespar turned rotten.”

  It was as though the pall that permeated the rest of the city didn’t extend to the market. It was a safe zone, Max realized, a place in a game where players could congregate to swap news, buy goods, get weapons repaired and generally hang out before venturing out into the rest of the game.

  He grinned. Now this was more like it. One of his favorite games had a place like this and he’d spent many hours hanging out in a tavern called The Green Man. It was how he’d met his raid squad. Perhaps he’d meet some more players here and get their take on what the hell The Rogue Lands was really all about. But he had something to take care of first.

  “Come on,” he said to Sam. “Let’s go spend some of this loot.”

  Sam grinned. “Now that is the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

  It turned out that having a local as a companion had many advantages. Sam led Max to an apothecary first. It was run by a female ogre. She was twice Max’s height, about four times as wide, and had arms that looked like they could snap tree-trunks.

  “Greetings! How can I help you?” she bellowed from behind the counter. Shelves lined the walls crammed with pots and bottles and jars, each bearing a tiny label. The scent of spices filled the air. “I have the best love potions in all Theloria! One taste and your beloved will fall instantly in love with you!”

  “Um..no...thanks—” Max began.

  “Perhaps a revenge potion then?” she said, leaning on the counter which creaked alarmingly under her considerable weight. “Something to use on your rivals? I have potions that will turn their hair green or make them vomit snakes—the choices are endless!”

  “We just need some health potions,” Max said. “What would you recommend?”

  The ogre peered at him, pulling together black eyebrows that looked like caterpillars. “That would depend on your particular attributes wouldn’t it? Are you after potions to restore your general health? Ones that will restore your mana more quickly? Ones that will restore your strength? Your stamina? Your agility?”

  Max thought about this. He would love to have potions to restore his mana more quickly—these had proven particularly useful whilst he’d been an assassin mage with a whole host of taxing spells at his disposal. But since the only spell he had at the moment was Stealth, and he hadn’t even yet earned enough Wisdom to use this, a potion to restore mana seemed a waste of gold. The same went for any buffs that would add to his strength or stamina. He tapped his chin, thinking.

  “How much for ten potions for general health?”

  “Five hundred gold,” the ogre answered promptly.

  Max’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I beg your pardon? You’ve got to be kidding me! That’s extortion!”

  The shopkeeper sniffed. “Quality costs money.”

  Sam grabbed Max’s arm. “Really? I’m sure we can find cheaper elsewhere. Good day.” He pulled Max towards the door.

  “What are you doing?” Max whispered urgently. “We need those potions.”

  “And we’ll get them,” Sam whispered back. “You’ll see.”

  As Sam laid his hand on the door handle the ogre suddenly cried. “There’s no need to be hasty now is there? Perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”

  Sam grinned at Max. “See.”

  They returned to the counter. A furious round of haggling ensued where Max and Sam pretended to leave twice more before they finally agreed a price with the ogre. The potions ended up costing 200 gold—less than half what the ogre had originally asked. As she put their purchases into a sack for them a message popped up on Max’s UI.

  Congratulations! You have learned the skill: bartering. 250 XP into Charisma. This is now level 3.

  He also got a message that he’d leveled up two levels to 7 and allocated his stats points into Wisdom [Level 6] accordingly.

  He grinned at Sam. “You, my friend, are a useful man to have around.”

  Sam barked a laugh. “You can repay me with a couple of tankards of ale.”

  Once outside the apothecary they ducked into an alley and took a potion to return them to full strength. As he felt vitality begin to flow through his limbs, Max realized how crap he’d been feeling ever since his health bar took a hit. It seemed it wasn’t just sensations of fear or exhilaration that were built into this game but ones of general ill health as well.

  This place is crazy, Max thought. Sometimes I find it hard to remember that this isn’t real. I have to remember this is a game. A game I have to win if I want to go home.

  He pulled in a deep breath and checked his inventory. He had 100 gold left. He paused, wondering what to do with it. He could save it and hope to gain more, or he could spend it now on something that might help them with their quest. He bit his lip, undecided. If he saved it, there was no guarantee he’d have the chance to spend it later bu
t if he did spend it, he was unlikely to have enough to purchase any of the magical weapons he liked to use.

  Ah, hell, he thought. Things were simpler when I was level 100. Oh, stuff it. What’s money good for anyway?

  “Let’s see if we can get some weapons.”

  Sam nodded. “I know just the place. Artemy is the best blacksmith in Myrlind. I’m sure—”

  “No, I mean magical weapons.”

  “But we don’t have any magic. Wouldn’t it be better to buy some actual physical weapons? You know, pointy-stabby things we can stick in our enemies?”

  “Maybe,” Max said. “Maybe not. From what you’ve told me I doubt pointy-stabby things will do much good against Lord Mespar. I think we’ll need something a little more powerful.”

  Sam pouted. “But Artemy has this amazing new shield which he reckons could stop even a charging ox. I’ve had my eye on it for ages!”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just go the whole hog and stamp your feet while you throw a tantrum? Look, a new shield might buy us a bit more time in battle but defensive play will only get us so far. We need something with a little kick if we’re gonna take this guy on. Besides, with all the enemies you’re gonna kill you’re bound to pick up a better shield eventually.”

  Sam brightened a little at this. “Do you reckon? You know what—I think you’re right. Come on then, this way.”

  Sam turned around and started walking down the alley. Max shrugged and followed.

  The alley was narrow and twisting. Damp walls reared up on either side, so close Max could have touched them both if he reached out his arms. Piles of rotting refuse lay in piles, rats scurrying out from beneath their feet. Max’s stomach churned. He had a bad feeling about this. The alley was a perfect place for an ambush so he kept his eyes peeled and his hand on his sword hilt.

  To his relief they reached the end of the alley without incident and stepped out into a small courtyard. A washing line hung across it filled with threadbare clothes. Four doors ringed the courtyard, all of them closed. Sam licked his lips, glancing around and then quickly crossed to a door that had a strange symbol scrawled on it in blue paint.

  Max hurried after him. “Where are we?” he hissed. “I don’t like this. It smells like a trouble place to me.”

  “It’s not a trouble place,” Sam replied. “If we go to a stall on the market you’ll pay double what you’d pay here. Osric has the finest collection of magical artefacts in the city. Be warned though: he’s a bit...odd.”

  Sam pushed the door open and led the way inside. A door chime rattled as they entered, sounding to Max uncomfortably like laughter.

  They entered a small, dusty room. Tall cases filled almost all the available space and a pile of dirty rags sat in one corner. A thin layer of dust covered everything. Max put his hand over his nose and mouth, fighting the urge to sneeze, and peered into one of the cases. Some kind of jawbone sat on a small velvet cushion. It looked like a human jawbone except for two massive incisors. Max shivered. It was a vampire’s jawbone. In another case he saw a set of black stones spilling out of a small bag. The stones looked innocuous enough but even as he watched, the stones melted into a black puddle and then melded into an image of Max’s face, an evil grin twisting its mouth. Max hurried away.

  “Hello?” Sam cried. “Shop!”

  Silence.

  “What now?” Max asked. “There’s nobody here.”

  Suddenly the pile of rags in the corner moved. There came the sound of coughing and the pile of rags shook itself, sending up a huge cloud of dust. A head emerged and then arms and legs. With a start, Max realized he was looking at a dwarf dressed in a tattered robe sewn with lots of squares of fabric. He had a large nose and a black beard that was knotted into dreadlocks. He peered at Max and Sam with small black eyes.

  “What the bloody hell do you want?”

  Not the welcome Max was expecting. “We’d like to purchase some magical weapons.”

  “Well, I’m busy. Bugger off.”

  The dwarf pulled his hood down and tucked in his hands, once again becoming a pile of rags.

  Max looked at Sam who shrugged as if to say, I told you he was odd.

  Max took a step forward, holding out his bag of gold. “I was told you have the best magical weapons in Myrlind. I was hoping I could find something to help me on my quest.”

  No answer.

  Frowning, he took another step. “I have money. I can pay.”

  A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Max’s wrist. Slowly the dwarf’s head emerged from the pile of rags.

  “Let’s see then.”

  “See what?”

  “The color of your money.”

  Max opened the bag and tipped its contents onto his palm. The gold glinted in the dim light. The dwarf’s eyes lit up and he reached out but Max snatched his hand back before the dwarf could touch the gold.

  The dwarf’s mouth pressed into a tight, flat line. “Not very bloody trusting, are you? What did you think I was gonna do? Nick it? I don’t know what this world is coming to, I really don’t, when honest old Osric gets accused of being a thief!”

  “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” Max pointed out.

  “You didn’t’ need to,” Osric sniffed. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Okay, I think we’ve started off on the wrong foot here,” Max said, holding out a placating hand. “You’ve seen that I have gold, what magical weapons could you offer me for that amount?”

  The dwarf peered at him for a long moment, his face screwed up as though thinking hard. Then all of a sudden the pile of rags began to move as Osric hobbled towards him. A finger poked Max in the stomach.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Checking if you’re real is all.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The dwarf looked from Max to Sam and back again. A sly look came over his face. “Now that’s the question isn’t it? Which of us is real? The Rogue Landers or the True Worlder? And how can you tell the difference?”

  Max blinked. “What did you call me?”

  Osric spread his hands. “The True Worlder. That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

  Max glanced at Sam but Sam merely shrugged. “Look, I’m just here for weapons. Have you got anything or not? I can always take my business elsewhere.”

  “All right, all right, keep your hair on!” the dwarf grumbled. “Honestly, people have so little patience these days. Give me a minute and I’ll find you the perfect weapon.”

  He screwed his face up in concentration then grinned and stuck his finger in the air.

  “Ah! I have it! This way!”

  He shuffled to the back of the room and rummaged around in a pile of old leather jerkins and bits of moldy armor. The smell of damp and mothballs filled the room.

  Osric straightened. “Ah! Here it is!”

  He held an object out to Max. It appeared to be a gauntlet made of black leather and plates of metal. It was a big bulky thing that would dwarf the hand that held it. Each of the fingers was segmented and each of the segments had a silver rune etched into it. It looked old and battered, as if it had seen better days.

  “What’s this?” Max asked gingerly. He was beginning to regret coming here. Perhaps he should have taken Sam’s advice and spent the gold on pointy-stabby things instead. There certainly didn’t seem to be anything that would help their quest in this musty old place.

  The dwarf rolled his eyes. “Call yourself a warrior? Amateurs, the pair of you! Don’t you know quality workmanship when you see it? And I’ll let you have it at cost, what I paid for it, only one hundred gold.”

  Sam snorted. “One hundred gold for that mangy old thing? You’re out of your mind! Come on, Max, this guy’s wasting our time.”

  Max was inclined to agree. With a sigh he began to turn away but Osric suddenly grabbed his wrist in a grip like steel pincers.

  “Wait,” the dwarf said. “You shouldn’t be so hasty. Don’t you know that pati
ence is one of the skills of a true champion? Look closer. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Despite himself Max felt his eyes drawn to the gauntlet. There was something about it... Suddenly a flash of purple light flared along the fingers, each of the runes carved there lighting briefly before the illumination faded.

  Slowly Max reached out and took the gauntlet from the dwarf. A strange tingling shot up his arm and a message appeared in his UI.

  Item: Elemental Gauntlet: Alignment: Unknown. Ability: Unknown.

  It was stupid to buy an item when he didn’t even know what it did. He ought to hand it back to the eccentric old dwarf and bid him good day but there was something about the gauntlet, something Max couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt drawn to it, as though he was supposed to have it. Max had learned to follow his instincts and his instincts were telling him to buy this thing even if his intellect was screaming that he must be crazy.

  “I’ll take it,” he announced.

  Sam rolled his eyes. Osric grinned.

  “Excellent choice, True Worlder,” the dwarf said. He held out his hand and Max dropped the coins into his palm. He bit them once and then they disappeared into the mound of rags that passed for his clothing. “Wonderful doing business with you. Now get out of my shop. I’m a busy man.”

  With that the dwarf’s head disappeared into the mound of rags. After a moment came the sound of snoring.

  “I think that’s our cue to leave,” Sam said.

  Max nodded and hefted the gauntlet. It was heavy, as though it was made of something other than leather.

  “Right. Well, thanks,” he said to Osric.

  There was no reply.

  With a shrug Max followed Sam out of the shop and they began retracing their steps back to the market. Sam eyed the battered old gauntlet.

  “Well, I’m no expert but that looks like a worthless piece of old junk. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  So do I, Max thought, looking at the gauntlet which did indeed look like a worthless piece of old junk. So do I.

  Chapter 6

  Stepping out from the alley’s dark confines, Max shaded his eyes against the sudden brightness. Ahead of them the market was still in full swing and the hubbub of commerce filled the air. Max liked it. He concentrated on some of the people passing by in the street, hoping to see their stats. Normally in safe zones like this he would come across a few other players and if he concentrated he could usually figure out who they were—a name tag floating in the air above their heads and sometimes their stats.