PA-01. Den Of Thieves, page 18
part #1 of Pantheon Online Series
Em remained expressionless.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”
“Weigh—your—words—Gunnar—Ashwood.”
As she spoke, Leilani drew up her sleeves, revealing long, slender arms. For a moment, Gunnar had no idea what she was doing. But then, something flickered and came into focus on her pale skin. An intricate tattoo of a black hawk diving for invisible prey.
Gunnar shook his head. She was such a powerful noble, he could hardly believe it.
“You’re a Nighthawk?”
30
PARTY INVITATION
The carriage rattled softly as it winded its way through the streets of Thailen. The noblewoman grinned slyly.
Em just nodded. “I told you, you needed more intel.”
Gunnar sat still, not entirely sure what this meant. A noble is part of a thieves guild?
Whatever he had expected coming into this carriage, he had not expected that the mistress from the temple square was a leader of the Nighthawks.
“Em tells me you show promise,” Mistress Leilani said. “It is my understanding that you helped her when she got into a bind. She tells me you are not a typical scoundrel. Is that true?”
Something about the woman’s question seemed to hint at something beyond. As though she wanted to delve into the heart of his character in a way that went beyond his actions in the game.
Gunnar shrugged. “Depends on the incentives.”
“You don’t know what type of person you want to be. That’s all well and cute. But you will need to choose soon.”
“That’s why I’m here, I assume.”
Leilani leaned forward in her seat. “This city is ruled by manipulative bastards. And the scoundrels of this city, and their little guilds, have long played right into their hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your friend Sykes is a prototypical example,” Leilani said. “He’s very comfortable in his position, isn’t he?”
“Sure,” Gunnar said. “Are you saying he’s one of these manipulative bastards?”
Leilani let out a soft chuckle. “More like a manipulated bastard. He helps thieves find their guilds, takes their coin, and he gets more and more comfortable in his little mermaid strip club. The Red Cloaks don’t bother him, the guilds don’t bother him. He’s just another cog in this despicable machine.”
“And the guilds? More cogs?”
“Guilds are allowed to rule their corners of this city, but only because it is just so. They have no true sway, much as they might like to think they do.”
“And the Nighthawks?” Gunnar asked.
“The Nighthawks are not a typical guild. You may have heard murmurings about us in the underbelly of this city. Your quest at the Dravingdel estate interests me.”
“Got a lot of love for the dwarves, do you?”
“Your sarcasm will not get you far,” Leilani said coldly. “Let me guess, you have been instructed by some scoundrel in this city to leave the nobles and the Red Cloaks alone.”
“And the priests,” Gunnar added. “Don’t forget about them.”
“Yes, and why do you think they are to be left alone?”
“Well, we’re a bunch of thieves. Makes sense not to rock the boat too much if you don’t want to get caught.”
“A convenient system, isn’t it?” Leilani asked. “For the nobles and the priests.”
“Doesn’t seem too bad for the guilds either, or for Sykes.”
“You are right about one thing,” Leilani said. “It is all about incentives. You understand this, hence your hesitance to accept you are different.”
“I’m a damn criminal.”
Leilani paused for a moment, and Gunnar worried he had acknowledged something he shouldn’t have.
“You have made specific actions, Gunnar Ashwood. You might say, your choices have the power to echo into eternity in this world. This city is built for self-serving bastards. But you have shown yourself to be cut from a different cloth. So, what happens? A dwarf turns up with a quest you are meant to fail.”
“You’re saying that dwarf is working for this system too?”
“No, I’m saying you are meant to fail that quest. But that does not mean it is impossible.”
“And that’s where the Nighthawks come in,” Gunnar said.
Leilani shifted in her seat and nodded. “Something like that. Em tells me you plan to attempt a jailbreak tonight.”
“Yeah…”
“I would like to propose another way.” Leilani reached into her ornate leather purse and produced a scroll of parchment.
Work Order
This hereby states that Gunnar Ashwood, a dusk elf of the Arkan clan, is cleared to enter the Golden Hills. He shall report for service at Dravingdel Estate on the eighth evening of the month of Curran, as an attendant at Lord Dravingdel’s party.
Per the orders of,
Turk Landis
Captain of the Guard
Gunnar read over the work order multiple times. “This won’t work. The entire point is to rescue the dwarf before the party begins.”
Em had been silent for some time, but she gripped his arm now. “These types of sideshows never come out right away. They begin with more standard fare.”
Leilani nodded. “The nobles like to put on the appearance of propriety. But once they’re good and drunk… their baser inclinations emerge. I expect there are worse things than dwarf cockfights prepared. Dravingdel is not a high lord, but his security is strong enough that you will not make it far if you attempt to break in before the event. We can get you in on the night of the party. The rest is up to you.”
“So, what? I’m just supposed to sneak into his dungeons in the middle of a party full of nobles?”
“There will be a lot going on,” Leilani said. “Plenty of distractions. This is not a castle, and it will have no dungeon. Dravingdel likely only has a few holding cells down in his cellar. A few tossable dwarves will hardly be the focus of his security that night, and as a servant you will be expected to go in and out of the house throughout the night. Em will be there to help you. It should be straightforward enough.”
Gunnar thought for a moment. Em smiled at him. But something felt a little too good to be true about all this.
“And for your help?” Gunnar asked. “What do you want from me?”
Leilani leaned back in her seat and smiled. “Em told me your Wisdom was not terribly high, but I’m not sure I believe her.”
“I’m working on it,” Gunnar said, gritting his teeth despite himself.
“Very good,” Leilani said. “There is a man named Admiral Benton who is expected to be in attendance at this particular party. He has been away for some time, rounding up pirates across the Altaean Sea. He’s a well-known man in the city. Bombastic and loud and easy to spot in a crowd. He’ll be conversing with plenty of people over the course of the evening, but one of them will be delivering a secret letter. I need you to intercept this letter and replace it with one I have drawn up.”
“What’s in the letter?”
Leilani hesitated.
“You want me to trust you?” Gunnar asked. “You gotta give me something.”
Leilani grimaced, then spoke in a soft voice. “The letter contains the whereabouts of a notorious privateer named Black Heart.”
The name meant nothing to Gunnar, but he chuckled at how clichéd it sounded.
“Saving cutthroats doesn’t sound terribly noble.”
“Nobility is always a facade,” Leilani said. “And I never said the Nighthawks were concerned with piety.”
“This sounds quite a bit more important than a dwarf,” Gunnar said. “I’m not sure this is really a fair trade.”
“Fair trade?” Em said, appalled. “Don’t you get it? You’re being offered a guild trial.”
Gunnar had not picked up on that. “Oh.”
Well, that is very interesting…
Leilani smiled and leaned forward, her fingers brushing his knee. Her eyes flashed in the dim light.
“I can assure you, Gunnar, if you succeed, you will be well compensated. The scoundrels under my care want for nothing. But first, you must prove yourself.”
Quest Alert - The Purloined Letter
Quest Type: Rare
Description: Admiral Benton carries a letter of grave importance to the Nighthawks. If you want to know more, looks like you better show yourself useful to the mistress.
Objective: Steal and replace Benton’s letter with one from Mistress Leilani.
Reward: You complete your Guild Trial for the Nighthawks.
Do you wish to accept? Yes/No
Gunnar mentally assented.
Immediately, Leilani sat back in her seat, and Gunnar felt a rush through his body, a part of him longing for her touch again.
The carriage came to a halt, and the door opened. Leilani gestured for him to exit.
“I must ask that you tell no one of this trial,” the mistress said.
Gunnar did not ask why, he merely nodded.
“You’ll be needing some nicer clothes as well. This is a highbrow event, even for the staff.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Leilani’s lips drew into a pursed smile.
“I like you, Gunnar Ashwood. Don’t prove my intuition wrong.”
With that, she closed the door.
Gunnar stood on a strange street in the heart of the city, watching as the horses ferried Leilani and Em away. It was not until the carriage vanished from sight that a sudden chill came over him.
He did not fully understand what had happened. But he was fairly certain that the mistress had cast some sort of charm on him, and only now had it worn off enough for him to notice its absence.
Her absence…
Whatever her true reason, Leilani had wanted to be damn sure that Gunnar would accept her quest.
Gunnar set out into the city at a brisk pace, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into.
31
OLD FRIEND
Gunnar found a haberdasher’s shop near the temple market, but quickly found he did not have enough coin for any decent black tie getup.
So, it was back to the streets.
There might not be anything glamorous about swiping coins from unsuspecting victims, but Gunnar did find a certain satisfaction at his successes. He pushed himself into situations that he suspected would be more like his upcoming transaction at the party. He even tried his hand at swapping out coin purses with purses filled with pebbles, so they wouldn’t realize anything was missing. It was harder than it sounded to swipe and drop in the same movement. The first couple attempts, he was sure he would give himself away, and he was ready to sprint away. But he continued to rack up successes and a little non-combat XP along with them.
Outside the temple, he struck up a conversation with a dawn elf, critiquing the quality of a certain merchant’s sacrificial doves. The end result was a bargain for the dawn elf and a fifth successful snatch for Gunnar.
He walked away, and a notification appeared.
[Congratulations! You’ve got a knack for purses there, Coach! You have reached Level 14 in the skill Pickpocketing. You have reached Level 15 in the skill Perception.]
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 7! You have earned Glory for your goddess Nymoria. You have received one attribute point, which can be distributed at any time. But remember that every choice you make will echo into eternity. Choose wisely.]
Gunnar shook his head. It was pretty much the same spiel, with or without Nymoria’s recorded appearance. The little jingle was annoyingly repetitive, but he actually found he missed seeing his patron goddess. Something about the impersonality of the new message left him feeling more alone in this world than he already had been. As though the AI were now his only ally in this game, which was not a comforting thought in the least. He pulled up his HUD and reconfigured his settings for Nymoria’s script.
He opted to delay placing his attribute point for the time being. With enough coin in his own purse now, he returned to the haberdasher and left with a decent suit with a frilly white shirt and collar that felt very Revolutionary War era. He just needed a good powdered wig. And maybe some Ben Franklin–style shoes.
Gunnar had tallied up a good haul—over a hundred coins, even after purchasing his suit. It was getting too easy, and it began to show in the results, as he achieved lower XP and fewer coins with each snatch, especially after passing Level 7.
He was going to have to find some better ways to earn money in this world soon. Though hopefully his trial would solve that problem.
Gunnar lost track of time as he made his way across the city. When he reached the training gym, Kohli had already left for the day.
Gunnar spent some time in the pickpocketing course, maneuvering amongst the mechanical figures. It was good enough practice, but he felt it was not quite a match for the real thing. He spent some time on the climbing walls until his forearms got too tired, and then he finished out his grinding session with throwing knives. He probably should have reversed the order. His forearms were pretty pumped from climbing, and his aim was not as great as it had been in the crypt. But with focus and time, he managed to adjust for the discomfort.
He advanced his Throwing Blade skill and improved his ambidextrous throws. He wasn’t sure how necessary the skill would be for his party-crashing quest, but it had come in handy before.
When he left the training center, night had fallen. He was growing tired of the routine of eating all his meals at the Mermaid, and besides, it was late enough that the shows were probably about to start.
So, he ventured into the city.
The streets were largely empty, though the taverns were rocking with shouts and cheers and maniacal laughter. Gunnar strolled along the wharf, taking in the scents of the sea. Fishermen unloaded the day’s catch, heaving enormous swordfish into wheelbarrows that then were rolled over to a cleaning station strewn with blood and entrails. There were metal cages filled with lobsters and barrels of shellfish lining the docks. It was not all that different from the fish markets back home, just with older and ricketier gear.
There were few other pedestrians at this time of night, just fishermen and sailors going about their business, so when Gunnar spotted an older woman talking hurriedly to a young orc, it caught his attention. The woman gesticulated as she talked, and when she pointed back down the wharf, he caught sight of her Maldan face in the lantern light.
Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He hit her with Scan, and sure enough…
Sheira - Level 15
HP: 120/120
MP: 130/130
Race: Dusk Elf
Clan: Maldan
Disposition: ??
Relationship: Single and Ready to Mess You Up Again
Description: She might share your heritage, but she’s not exactly sentimental about it. Steer clear if you know what’s good for you.
His entire body tensed at the sight of her, and he quickly resolved what to do.
Gunnar kept his hood up. Neither she nor the orc seemed to notice as he neared.
Sheira grasped the orc’s arm, as though about to hurry off, and Gunnar couldn’t help himself.
“I wouldn’t go with her, man!”
They both glanced up. Gunnar was only about ten yards away. Sheira glared as he approached.
“What’re yeh talking about?” the orc grunted.
“Look, I don’t give a damn,” Gunnar said. “You do you. But whatever she just told you, she lied.”
“Don’t listen to this street rat,” Sheira said. Her eyes leveled on Gunnar, recognition dawning. They weren’t filled with the rage he expected, but rather, resigned defeat.
The orc glanced from Sheira to Gunnar and back again, then shook his head.
“She’ll shank you good and hard the first chance she gets,” Gunnar said. “Just sneak off into the city. Get someplace safe. But this ain’t it.”
Sheira did not seem to know what to say. She shrugged, trying to act like she had no idea what he was talking about.
“I’m outta here,” the orc said, and hurried off.
Gunnar gripped the hilt of one of his daggers as the elf turned to him, suddenly remembering that she was the one who had given this particular blade to him in the first place. And after she betrayed him, she’d left it. And somehow, that realization stole the satisfaction of this little piece of revenge.
“That’s for Vampire’s Glory,” he said, lacking the angry resolve he’d imagined only moments ago.
Sheira gritted her teeth, hand at her own blade. Then, she shook her head. “Well, you’ve wisened up, at least, I’ll give you that.”
She turned to walk away.
“That’s it?” Gunnar asked.
Sheira turned back. “If you wanted a duel, you’d have attacked by now. We’re even, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got things to do, unless you’re planning on following me and scaring off every noob I target.”
When Gunnar hit her with Scan after first spotting her, to his amazement, he had found that she had only leveled up once since their last encounter. He’d advanced six times in that time. And he now realized that Azmar hadn’t been lying about people like her.
Gunnar guessed she’d done most of her leveling before her trials and was now just scraping away an existence in this world. Hell, even her progress bars seemed low for her level.
The AI had warned him about approaching her to begin with, but somehow, that only steeled his resolve.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Since your trials?”
“What trials?”
“You failed your guild trials, right?”
Sheira glared. “How could you know that?”
“Intuition, I guess.”
Something changed in her, then. Her body relaxed. She released the dagger at her belt. Her face was expressionless, but there was something in her eyes.
