PA-01. Den Of Thieves, page 20
part #1 of Pantheon Online Series
The first thing he noticed upon returning to Pantheon was how vivid the details were, even in the dim morning light. The wood had a hint of redness to it, and the grains were dark circular mazes tracing along the boards. His blankets were a forest green with darker threading that etched a wavelike pattern around the edges. His sheets were the faded cream of too many rough washings.
The details were a stark contrast to the washed-out bright lights, smooth surfaces, and plain white boringness of everything back in Grid Eight. He brushed his fingers over the fabric of his blankets. And then felt at his elven face. There were traces of stubble and tiny—blemishes wasn’t the right word, but there was texture to his skin—bumps and creases. It was astoundingly real. Almost too real.
His taut muscles pressed against his skin, as though he were constantly flexing. Though perhaps not the elite melee warrior he had first envisioned, he was certainly more impressive in this form than back in Grid Eight. He stood up from his bed and glanced in the mirror.
Nope, don’t mind that at all.
Gunnar had to remind himself that his enhanced physique was one of many things intended to keep him hooked. To keep him subservient. To make him want to come back again and again.
And damn it, it’s probably working.
“Get some clothes on, will you?”
Gunnar leapt at the gravelly voice. He turned to find Azmar hovering outside his window in the pre-dawn gloom.
“You know, you could knock. Or clear your throat. Or announce yourself in all kinds of ways other than scaring the piss out of me.”
“Sounds less fun. But seriously, enough of the peep show.”
Gunnar stooped and pulled on his clothes, feeling a little embarrassed. “Just, you know, appreciating the details in this game.”
“Way more information than I need to know.”
Gunnar ignored the quip. “How’s Nymoria?”
Azmar scowled. “She’s a minor deity whose most promising ward is currently a dusk elf obsessed with staring at his own ass.”
“That’s not what I was—whatever—so, I’m truly her most promising ward?”
“I know, shoot me now.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“For you, perhaps.”
Gunnar grinned. “So she’s still pleased with my performance, then?”
“Until about a minute ago.”
“I wasn’t asking if you were pleased.”
Azmar huffed, which elicited a sort of screech from his strange reptilian/avian body.
Gunnar was pretty sure he’d just made Azmar laugh.
“This quest in the Golden Hills, it was a good move?”
“You’re in over your head, as usual,” Azmar said. “But after your performance so far, Nymoria has confidence you will pull it off.”
“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”
“She said it.”
Gunnar smirked. “Fair enough.”
“The Nighthawks might be controversial amongst the guilds themselves, but they’re becoming a powerful force in this city, which means they offer much Glory to be earned. There’s far more riding on you not being a dumbass than I would prefer. I trust Nymoria feels the same, because she has asked me to deliver something.”
Azmar hovered close to the window and latched onto the bars. He was holding a small satchel in his mouth like a stork delivering a baby.
Gunnar took it.
“A gift from your goddess,” Azmar said.
Gunnar untied the satchel and quickly opened it up to find two items.
Lockpicks
Item Class: Common
Quality: Average
Weight: 1
Durability: 7
Quantity: 12
Description: Thin iron rods. Work them right, and the lock just might spread its mechanisms for you.
Stealth Boots
Item Class: Uncommon, Elven-crafted
Quality: Above Average
Weight: 4
Durability: 18
Effect: +10% Stealth
Description: Black boots made of supple leather, crafted to soften the sound of your footsteps on hard surfaces.
Gunnar hated the word supple, but he loved the gifts. They would certainly come in handy during his trials.
The boots gleamed a little in the lantern light, clearly brand-new.
“Can gods give gifts anytime?” Gunnar asked.
“Of course not. Only at the final sequence of a stage. Your trial will be the last step in your Initiation stage. It locks in your Rogue class and basically determines whether you’ll be of any use at all to Nymoria.”
“Can anyone get gifts?”
“Sure, but they’re costly.”
“How so?”
Azmar shrugged. “I’m powerful, but I don’t know the ways of gods. But usually only the most promising players get gifts.”
“Look at you dishing out the compliments.”
Azmar rolled his eyes. “You’ll be needing to tread carefully tonight. I hope Nymoria is right about you.”
“Now, that is truly the nicest thing you’ve said.”
“Don’t get teary on me. I’ve got plenty of insults reserved for next time.”
Gunnar smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Azmar leaned close, and his expression softened. Gunnar was not entirely sure what to make of it, but he had the impression that there was something riding on this quest he didn’t understand.
“Hopefully, next time we meet, it will be a celebration of a successful guild trial.”
“Have you had anyone pass the trials?” Gunnar asked.
Azmar sighed. “Not in a long time.”
“Well, it’s about time then.”
“Trust no one, Gunnar. Only yourself.”
With that, Azmar disappeared into the darkness.
Gunnar decided against the run today, with no overeager Kohli to force him. Instead he went to Sykes’ training facility first thing and worked on his strength training. He hadn’t done a ton of lifting since high school, and the quality of these hunks of iron were lacking, but his old routine came back to him. He cycled through sets with free weights—curls, chest press, shoulder press, and so on—starting with shorter sets and increasing with each new set, then decreasing them back to zero.
Despite his lean elven muscles, he tired quickly, but not before advancing his Sheer Strength skill to Level 7.
Once his upper body felt good and exhausted, he headed to a previously overlooked lockpicking station and tested out his new gift.
There were several chests set up in a corner, with locks of varying size and difficulty. Gunnar chose a lock, slid the metal rods inside, and shifted them around, testing the pressure as he attempted to turn. The lock gave.
Unlocked Skill: Lockpicking
Skill Type: Physical, Stealth
Linked Attribute: Dexterity (+95% Development)
Affinity Level: 11
Requirements: Level 8 Dexterity
Cost: N/A
Description: Your handy hands prove useful once again!
Gunnar grinned as he opened the chest, but found it empty. He moved on to the second. With the third, he received 5 XP.
But with the fourth lock, he started breaking picks. After losing three, he decided to save the rest for his quest.
When he returned to the Mermaid, Kohli was already there, slumped over the counter. Gunnar patted him on the back, and the thief jerked up, as though startled from sleep. Or perhaps just a daze. The man looked like he hadn’t slept all night.
“Missed you on our run,” Gunnar said.
“Mmhmm.” Kohli’s breath reeked and his eyes were bloodshot.
“You been here all night?”
Kohli shrugged. “Not all… had my trial.”
Gunnar had a feeling he knew the answer to his next question. “What happened?”
“Screwed it up,” Kohli murmured. “Din’t pass.”
“What went wrong?”
“It’s bullshit… alluvit is bullshit. This whole place. Alluvit.”
“What are you talking about?”
Kohli shook his head back and forth, cursing softly to himself.
Gunnar couldn’t help but think of what Sheira had said about her own trial. How someone had betrayed her. How she was set up, somehow. And it struck him that Azmar too had hinted at a similar rigged system. Always receiving mediocre recruits, no one passing the trials.
Don’t forget who runs this show, Sheira had said.
Something was starting to click, but Gunnar just didn’t understand the reason. Why would players be set up to fail? Was it some part of the test or something?
Sykes emerged from the back room, looking jovial until he took a sour glance at Kohli, who had once again slumped over on the bar top.
“My god!” Sykes said. “So you screwed the pooch. You’ve got another couple days to try to get another shot. But you sure as hell won’t get it like this.”
Kohli just shook his head. “Izallbullshit.”
Sykes turned to Theodore the bartender and ordered him to get some food to sober the thief up. As the elf hurried off, Sykes muttered about the idiocy of letting the man get this drunk.
“Well, you’re having a better morning at least,” Sykes said, turning to Gunnar.
His entire body tensed. Did Sykes know about his trial with the Nighthawks?
“I… I am?” Gunnar asked.
Sykes grinned and held out a parchment.
Gunnar eyed it suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Your friend is messing with you. It’s a summons from the House of Daggers.”
Kohli sat up at the name.
“They’re a damn good guild,” Sykes went on. “And one of their leaders wants to meet with you. You know what that means, right?”
“A… guild trial?”
Another one? What am I supposed to do with that?
35
AIN’T NO MURDERHOBO
Gunnar ought to have been thrilled. And he would have been if he didn’t already have a secret trial he wasn’t supposed to talk about from a guild that Sykes and Kohli didn’t trust. But he couldn’t let on about any of that.
“Er, that’s great,” Gunnar managed, though he sounded more dazed than excited.
“Damn right it’s great,” Sykes said. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry, just surprised. And, you know, nervous, I guess.”
“Don’t let Kohli mess with your head, kid. This is a good opportunity. Pull up your map, and I’ll show you where you’re heading.”
Gunnar wasn’t sure whether he would actually go to this meeting, but for now, he needed to at least act interested. He pulled up his map and let Sykes scroll around toward the center of the city.
The barkeep pointed, and Gunnar placed a marker over a tavern called the Hellhound.
“There’s where you’re having dinner this evening.”
Gunnar simply nodded. “Okay, sounds good.”
“Six o’clock. Don’t be late. Just take a seat at a booth, and Karl will find you and give you the details of your trial.”
Gunnar’s map zoomed out away from the tavern, briefly showing the whole city, or at least the areas Gunnar had visited. The rest was grayed out and marked Undiscovered.
“Say,” Sykes muttered as Gunnar’s display shut down, “what’ve you been doing over in the Golden Hills, of all places?”
Gunnar tried not to physically react, but cursed himself for not closing the map quicker. He shrugged. “Just exploring. I’ve been wandering at night when I haven’t had a quest or anything. Getting oriented.”
Sykes’ fingers brushed his bearded chin. “I’d steer clear of that place. Nothing good happens to noobs in a place like that. The Red Cloaks watch it close, and the nobles there are the worst kinds.”
“I thought they were the middling lords. Not very powerful.”
Sykes nodded. “That’s what makes them the worst. The middling lords don’t have much sway over the city, but they try hard as hell to feel powerful. A great lord wouldn’t bat an eye at a lowly elf like yourself, but a Golden Hills lord, you never can tell. Just be careful where you roam, kid.”
Gunnar nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”
Sykes crossed his arms over his barrel-chest and smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”
He turned to Kohli, who had been silently devouring a plate of hot breakfast. “Look, if your friend ain’t too much of a soak this morning, I’ve got some work needs done for a new investment of mine. If you don’t mind a little combat training, that is.”
Gunnar nodded. He needed something bigger than the gym to keep his mind off the task before him that night. “Sure, I’ve been itching for some real action.”
“Good,” Sykes said. “Reckon you could use some more combat if you’re taking a House of Daggers trial.”
“What do you say?” Gunnar asked, turning to the thief.
Kohli barely looked up from his food, a little bit of porridge dribbling down his chin, but Gunnar could tell he was excited.
Twenty minutes later, they stood near the wharf outside a massive complex that stretched half a block. It looked like it had once been some sort of warehouse. A very long time ago. The outside of the building was formed of old wood and sheets of rusty tin haphazardly thrown together. Gunnar wasn’t sure if the sheets were part of the original design or some sort of shoddy patch work.
It was set back from the waterfront, just enough that they couldn’t see the crowds of sailors and dockworkers, but they could hear the rattle of carts, the groan of cranes, and the bellows of foremen barking orders. The stench of fish and something burning hung over the place.
“Looks like a shit investment,” Kohli muttered.
Sykes frowned. “The bones are good, and that’s all I care about. I got a good deal on this place. It could make a good housing project or another training facility. But I need it cleared out.”
“Cleared out of what?” Gunnar asked.
“Squatters.”
Gunnar and Kohli glanced at one another as a notification appeared in front of them.
Quest Alert: Ain’t No Murderhobo
Description: This dump once belonged to the West Arran Trading Company. But after the notorious pirate Black Heart plundered a series of valuable shipments, the company went under, and this place fell into… disrepair. Lately, it’s become a favorite landing pad for the hobos of Thailen.
Objective: Clear the warehouse of undesirables.
Restrictions: We don’t want squatters in this city, but we’re not completely heartless. Use of lethal force will result in negative XP, unless used in self-defense.
Reward: What? Helping out an old friend ain’t enough for ya? Fine, we’ll make it worth your while.
Do you wish to accept? Yes/No
Gunnar accepted.
He was intrigued by the mention of Black Heart again. Had the Nighthawks been involved in the demise of that trading company somehow? It was an interesting coincidence—assuming it was one.
“Well, how’re we supposed to get them out of there if we can’t kill ’em?” Kohli complained.
“That’s why I’m hiring you,” Sykes said with a grin.
“I thought it was combat,” Kohli said.
“Best kind. It requires strategy. And control.”
Kohli cursed, but made his way toward the giant wood doors at the front.
“What happens to the hobos when we’re done?” Gunnar asked.
Sykes shrugged. “They figure their shit out, or they get deported. Not my problem.”
Gunnar felt a twinge of guilt about the quest, much as he had about pickpocketing low-levels. It’s just a game…
Sykes walked off with a wave. “Good luck.”
Gunnar followed after Kohli, who drew a gladius as they reached the door.
“What’re you doing?”
Kohli shrugged. “Didn’t say we couldn’t maim them. If we give ’em a good scare, maybe that’ll set them running. Worth a shot, right?”
Gunnar nodded, but he had an uneasy feeling about this. He drew a pair of daggers, and Kohli threw open the doors.
Right by the entrance, a large metal barrel proved to be the source of the burning stench permeating the air outside. Heaps of trash were scattered all around, and wisps of browned paper floated into the air as the fire crackled.
Gunnar didn’t want to know what that paper had been used for. The pungent stench rushed out the open doors and nearly stopped him in his tracks.
A pair of ragged-looking older dwarves hovered around the barrel, holding pokers over the flames.
“What’re yeh lookin’ at?” demanded a dwarf with long white hair.
Several more faces emerged from the dark expanse of the warehouse beyond the fire, bright eyes flashing in the light pouring in through the large doors. The hobos looked dazed at the intrusion.
“This property has been repossessed,” Gunnar shouted.
The white-haired dwarf laughed. “We’re but lowly urchins here. Afraid we don’t take yer meaning.”
“He means the party’s over, asshole,” Kohli said, raising his gladius. “Time to get the hell out of here!”
The white-haired dwarf laughed, a deep-bellied guffaw that echoed from the reeking warehouse and triggered laughter from the others.
More of the hobos moved toward the entrance.
The white-haired dwarf raised a very shoddy-looking dagger in the air.
Cork the Dwarf Miner
Level: 8
HP: 90/90
MP: 60/60
Threat Level: Orange
Gunnar hadn’t seen an orange level threat before, but judging by the fact that the dwarf wasn’t leaping out to attack them, he guessed there was still hope to prevent this from escalating.
Gunnar surveyed the room as best he could in the dim light. There were at least a dozen hobos, most wearing baggy and raggedy clothes. A couple of naked blurs flashed from a loft, where there were piles of blankets that must have served as beds. The blurs looked greenish, and Gunnar was pretty sure they were goblins of some fashion. A scrawny mother emerged from a corner, clutching a crying babe, and she looked like she would happily kill the person who woke it.
