Skull and Thrones: A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure Page 7

  "You know where Leofing might be?" I asked.

  "Likely the tavern," Titus said, "taking up the best spot next to the fire and telling stories to anyone near enough to listen. But if you go in there still looking like a drowned gremlin, the wife'll toss you out."

  Chapter Seventeen

  I was more than a little irritated that I needed to change, because I knew I’d inevitably have to go outside and get soaked all over again. Still, one thing I didn’t have at the moment was a surplus of time, so I needed to talk to Leofing. I went over to building number one, up the stairs, and traded out my drenched cloak and clothes for a new dry set. Then, down into the tavern.

  Sure enough, Leofing was at the table near the fireplace with a large plate of food in front of him. The massive blonde paladin twirled his mustache around a finger as he looked out the window, maybe pondering the weather. Or his decision to remain in Glaton and hang out with me.

  "What's going on?” I asked, pulling a Riker to sit down in front of him. "You look like you’re having deep thoughts."

  "The weather is remarkably unpleasant here," he replied. "And I'm told to expect it to get worse. Supposedly, summer is nice, if brief, and winter is long, cold, and horribly wet. As such I am having a moment of irritation with my mistress."

  "Your goddess?"

  "Indeed," he said with a nod.

  "You're irritated with her because of the weather?"

  "Yes."

  "Does she control the weather?"

  "Not that I know of. Maybe moderate changes, localized alterations, but probably not on a global scale. Although, perhaps, well, if we are talking in a purely theoretical concept, sure, she could control the weather. But I would never bother her with such a trivial matter."

  "You'd just be irritated at her."

  "I am irritated I am forced to live here, and that she has guided my hand thusly."

  "You aren't forced to live here—“

  "I have been tasked with keeping you safe," he said firmly. “It is not something I take lightly, nor something I would ignore.”

  “So you need me to move?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Hey, do you want to join a guild?”

  "The guild you belong to?"

  "It's more the guild I seem to be running now."

  "Ah, you're moving up in the world."

  "Not through any actions of my own. At least, not yet."

  "What is this guild devoted to?"

  “Well, a big part of it is devoted to making the world a better place. I figured that might entice you."

  “That does, to a degree. But the goddess of life is not necessarily concerned with making the world better. She is about celebrating life and fighting that which seeks to take life unjustly.”

  “Like the undead."

  “Any creature that seeks to kill for the sake of killing is an enemy. Those who kill for a reason, sustenance or defense, justice or, well, some reasons I may have forgotten, but those are not the enemies of life. The undead tend to hate life, and do little but fight to end it.”

  “So would it bother you if I used, uh, magic to, um—“

  "If you practiced necromancy?"

  "Yes."

  He took his first bite of food and chewed it languidly before looking back at me to answer. "Me? Not especially. I find it a bit gross, truth be told. But I can understand, to an extent, why one might wish to engage in something like that. Especially if one were gifted in that field, or had some other reason for pursuing that magic."

  "Okay, but what about your goddess?"

  "Why would she care about necromancy?"

  "Because she’s the goddess of life?"

  "Ah, but necromancy takes from the dead, not the living. Or if does take from the living, it does so in the way that all monsters and predators do. If she started being angry about that… It would be more precise to say she hates the undead, but not those who create the undead. Unless, of course, you managed to discover some means to make the undead out of the living instead of the dead, but I feel that might change the very basis behind what it is you are doing. If you want to see a god who hates undeath, you must instead look to the god of death. He hates necromancy because it steals from him. My problem is more one of aesthetics and control. I have never known a necromancer able to fully control all that he tries to bring forth. The bigger question might be asking yourself how you feel about the undead. How you feel about coopting the flesh of a creature and enslaving it for your own purposes after it has died a rightful death.”

  “These are all questions I’ve been thinking a lot about. The morality of magic is—”

  “A mess.”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a freedom in pledging service to a god. Certain moral decisions are made for you. But my goddess must trust in you to some extent, and she was not aware of you until after you gained your necromantic powers. There is more to her than either of us know.”

  “That makes me feel a little better about asking you to join me. Us."

  "I think joining is good. I think what you are trying to do might be good. And maybe you need someone to remind you which way leads you towards good." Then he held up a finger. "She seems to like you. So perhaps she is willing to allow a certain flexibility in the matter."

  I was about to reply with something glib about being liked by a goddess, but then I stopped. It was just so odd to live in a world where gods were not just invested in the affairs of mortals, but were also prone to liking things and being fallible just as humans were. If a god could like someone, it was entirely possibly a god could dislike someone. Or hate someone. If that was the case, what would happen? Could the god just snap their heavenly fingers and the object of their ire would keel over dead? Seemed within the realms of possibility.

  Maybe it'd be better for me to get away from Leofing and his goddess before she decided she liked me more. Or I did something to make her dislike me. Being cursed with a bevy of necromantic spells while the goddess of life was paying attention felt like a recipe for disaster.

  "She would like to meet you,” Leofing said suddenly.

  "I didn't realize you were praying to her."

  "I wasn't."

  "So she was just listening?"

  "The goddess may be anywhere and everywhere. Her powers are immense. She is a god, after all.”

  "You think she watches you go to the bathroom?"

  "I had yet to consider it."

  “But now you are, aren't you?"

  “Yes, but I can't say it bothers me overly much. More I feel some sadness at what she might have to witness.”

  "So, what’s it gonna be? Will you join us?”

  “Our fates our intertwined, Clyde Hatchett. But for me to join, you will have to gain the permission of my holy mistress.”

  He grabbed my hand in a crushing grip, and gave me a big ol' smile.

  You have been offered a quest:

  Rebuild the Guild IV - Leofing

  Leofing requires you to meet with his mistress, the goddess of Life Mokoš and gain her permission.

  Reward for success: Leofing will join your guild.

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): potential death of your guild

  Yes/No

  “Good luck,” he said. “Meeting a god is not an everyday occurrence. Enjoy it, but remember to be respectful.”

  He turned back to looking out the window, absently drinking from his mug of ale. It was a pretty clear indicator we were done talking. I accepted the quest, and immediately wondered how I was to go about scheduling a meeting with the goddess of life.

  I decided the best way to exit wasn't to walk out the front door of the tavern. It was probably better for me to be a bit sneaky. So I headed into the back room, the storage area, and smacked right into Shae and her shadow, Boris.

  Boris gave a little shriek and darted behind a crate, while Shae crashed into the ground.

  “Whoa, sorry," I said, reaching out to help her up.


  "No," she said, blushing a little. "I was just looking for you."

  "Oh, well, hi."

  “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

  “It’s complicated, and, uh, it’s complicated.”

  "Are you busy?"

  "Uh, maybe? I’m trying to, I mean, there’s just—“ I couldn’t help but be tongue tied around Shae. It was mainly when she was staring straight at me — her big blue eyes made me weak in the knees. I was fighting it, but there was something undeniably attractive about her. This might be the spot I mention my loins, except I don’t want to. “I need to recruit members to my guild and I’ve only got a few days to do it.”

  “Are you going to ask me?” Shae asked.

  “I was, yeah.”

  “I’ll join if you help Boris,” she said, then looked around her. "Where is Boris?"

  "Hiding over there. What's wrong with Boris?"

  "It's not Boris so much as some of Boris', uh, people."

  "The other kobolds."

  "Yes."

  "What's up with them?'"

  "Boris says they're in trouble."

  "Boris," I called out, "what's going on with your kobold buddies?"

  A little snout poked out between some barrels stacked nearly directly above me.

  "Buddies means friends, yes?” Boris asked.

  I rolled my eyes. "Yes," I said. "But in this case, I mean it in a more general way. What is going on with the kobolds that you know?”

  He looked at me, and finally crawled out from behind the barrels so he could sit on the edge of the crate.

  "Not sure there is time for this," he finally said. "I know many kobolds."

  I looked over at Shae and gave her my best I'm-so-done-with-this face.

  "He told me his friends are being hunted in the sewers," Shae said.

  "Yes," Boris added, "some of my friends are. Also, some kobolds who are not my friends. And at least two who I would not mind if they perished.”

  “They are all being hunted?" I asked.

  Boris nodded his head.

  "Not that I don't believe you," I said, "but where are you getting this information?"

  Boris pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to me.

  On it was scrawled a simple phrase:

  "Being hunted in sewers."

  "Okay, how does this work?" I asked. “Is this, like, a paired page?"

  Boris nodded. "Tear out two pages from a paired book, have paired pages. Easier. Good for emergencies."

  I paused to admire the brilliance of that. It might be worth investing in a few of these paired journals just so I could pass out pages to people. It'd be like texting.

  "Do you know where they are now?" I asked.

  "Sewers," Boris replied.

  “Right, anything slightly more precise?"

  "B-10."

  “What is that, like a map coordinate? Do you have a map of the sewers?"

  He nodded, then tapped his head. "Here," he said.

  “Right. One more question," I said, thinking about my initial experiences with Boris. “You specifically joined up with me because you said those other kobolds would have left you behind to slow the ooze so they could get away. Why do you want to help them now?”

  He looked at me, then looked over at Shae. She nodded at him.

  "I watch you, how you deal with others. You help. I am wanting to help and maybe they will want to help."

  I raised an eyebrow toward Shae. "What've you been telling him?"

  "I told him what you've done for all of us here. Are you going to help with this or not?" Shae asked. "I'm pretty sure time is limited with this. And, you know, the guild.“

  You have been offered a quest:

  Rebuild the Guild V - Shae

  Shae requests that you assist Boris in saving kobolds from the sewers.

  Reward for success: Shae will join your guild.

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): Potential Death of your guild

  Yes/No

  I sighed. “Son of a biscuit eater,” I said. ”I’m in."

  I accepted the quest.

  Boris smiled and nodded. Then he promptly darted down the stairs into the basement.

  "Wait, where's he going?" I asked.

  "You'll see if you follow," Shae said. Then she also turned and ran down the stairs to the basement.

  Naturally, I had to follow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The basement was still the basement, full of boxes and supplies. But then I saw that Boris had pushed a crate aside to reveal a small tunnel. Something perfectly kobold-sized linked the basement of my first building to the basement of my second building.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "Tunnel," Boris replied, ever helpful.

  “I see that. Did you make it?"

  "This morning."

  He smiled his toothy little grin and darted on through.

  I had to crouch to get through, and even then it was tight. Leofing would probably need to crawl. I was kind of excited for the excuse to explore the bakery's basement, where Jaclyn said bizarre cult activities had taken place. But it was virtually empty. Nothing indicated it had been used for anything, let alone bizarre cult activities. There was a bit of a funk to the place, but it was a basement after all, so that made sense.

  I didn’t get much time to look around though, since Boris darted through a doorway and down another set of stairs to the sub-basement. As far as I knew, there was no mystery monster in the sub-basement of the bakery, but heading down there reminded me that there was a mystery monster living in my own sub-basement, and that was still something I needed to look into.

  The bakery sub-basement was deep. Its ceilings were abnormally high, thirty feet at least. Heavy stones made up the walls, and the floor was hard-packed dirt. It smelled like loam and misery inside.

  There was a large door to one side, dividing the sub-basement in two. But instead of heading there, Boris led us to a small arch blocked up with a crudely made wooden door. If the broken barrels nearby were any indication, it had been recently made with elements taken from the back room of the Heavy Purse.

  Boris waited at the door, looking back at us impatiently.

  "Faster," Boris said.

  "Where does that door lead?" I asked.

  Boris opened it, and pointed. "There."

  "Where's there?" I asked.

  "There is there," he said.

  I just clenched my teeth and smiled.

  Boris smiled back and darted into the darkness beyond.

  "Goes to the sewers," Shae said.

  "You've been going to the sewers?" I asked.

  "Sometimes," Shae said. "Boris knows them really well, and I was intrigued."

  "It's dangerous down there," I said.

  "Sure, but Boris knows how to avoid the danger."

  "Last time he avoided the danger by having a giant slime follow us into the Imperial Palace."

  "And you were fine."

  "Not everyone was fine in that mess."

  Boris stuck his head back into the sub-basement. "Coming?"

  Once again, it was a tight fit through the tunnel. But while the door to the tunnel had a certain kindergarten charm to its construction, the tunnel was surprisingly well dug. Or built. Or both. It was winding, and had a slight downward tilt to it.

  Following along, we got to another small archway with another crudely-constructed door. The smell was blocked only slightly by the door, so it was immediately evident we were going into the sewers. Despite living in a magical world full of countless sentient beings with their own special abilities, there was still nothing that could disguise the smell of shit.

  I pushed into darkvision, and the world switched into hues of high-contrast green. Boris pushed the door open, and sure enough, there was a river of effluence slowly flowing by. Like the other sewers I'd been in, these were arched tunnels with small walkways along either side. There were spots for torches or candles to be set into the walls, making it cle
ar that whomever had designed the whole place intended for workers to come in and make repairs when necessary.

  Boris didn't wait for us, or give any unnecessary conversation. He just turned left and marched forward.

  "Can you see?" I asked Shae.

  She pointed to some weird goggle-like things on her face, something I hadn't seen before.

  "We found these in your apartment," she said. "Helps me see in the dark."

  She flashed her winning smile at me, and it was enough to make me forget that technically she’d stolen from me. And that she and Boris had been snooping around my place. I should have been mad, but I had a thing to do.

  I stood aside to let Shae pass, and took up the rear.

  It didn’t take long for me to get lost in the sewers. Everything looked the same, and I couldn't see any sort of signage to indicate when tunnels came to intersections. Which were sadly common. There were small bridges across some of the intersections, allowing the workers, or us interlopers, to get to the other side. Though theoretically, it’d be possible to just follow the flow of poop back to my place. Theoretically.

  Like everything with Boris, following him was an exercise in patience. He didn't bother to explain any of his actions. One minute we'd be walking along, quiet but unconcerned, and the next he’d snap his hand out to grab Shae and pull her to the wall with him, pressing up as far against the stone as possible. I’d do the same. No idea why I did the same, but I did. We'd be still for a moment. Then he'd nod, and we'd be moving again. No rhyme or reason. Or none that I could see, at least.

  He'd also stop and change direction, leading us back to a previous intersection and then on a different way. Occasionally, he'd pull out the tiny piece of paper and write something on it, wait for a response, and then take us along again.