Bibliomancer ~ 18!

~ Eighteen ~

They made it back through the gates fifteen minutes before full dark set in. Cutting it close, considering the potential repercussions, but everyone was far too elated to care. The group was high off their gains of the day, and taking out the Hardcores was just the cherry on top of it all. Sure, they didn’t earn anything for taking out Headshot and his goons—Eternium dissuaded PKer’s by ensuring they earned no experience and couldn’t loot corpses—but they also didn’t get in any trouble. On top of there being no tangible benefit for PKing, the game actively punished Pkers by docking experience, reputation, giving you a player-killer aura that let people kill you for rewards, or collect bounties from the local guards. 

Of course, if you killed another player in an act of self-defense, there was no negative downside. In this case, there was at least one upside: they got to teach the Hardcores a well-deserved lesson. To celebrate the victory, they made their way to the Square Dog Inn, which was nearly packed to the rafters with adventurers fresh from a long day grinding out experience and killing the local fauna with reckless abandon. By the greenery some were covered in, Sam surmised that there was a significant amount of flora destroyed as well.

The bagpipe-playing bard was gone, replaced by a troupe of scantily clad brunette triplets, each playing a different instrument. One sat on a low stool, plucking the many strings of a zither, while another beat out an upbeat tempo on a leather-topped instrument that looked like a mix between a snare drum and a modern tambourine. The racket sounded like… racket. Everyone else seemed to like it, so Sam simply sighed and added another reason to get his perception up. As he was grumbling, the third triplet stood front and center, swaying and sashaying across the stage as she crooned a tune that left Sam’s cheeks burning red when he took the time to actually listen to the lyrics. It seemed this tavern only allowed those that were eighteen and older.

The pub-goers, however, didn’t seem upset at the lyrics, just the opposite. They stomped along, waving full flagons of beer while more than a few sang along like a round of ye olde karaoke. Most of the singers couldn’t carry a tune if they had a bucket to hold it in, but that didn’t matter; everyone in the tavern was having the absolute time of their lives. Splashes of colored lights whisked across a dance floor filled with grooving bodies. Sam glanced up and saw that some enterprising soul had attached bits of colored glass to the massive wrought iron chandelier overhead, turning the whole apparatus into a makeshift disco ball. The sheer ingenuity of humans never ceased to amaze Sam.

“Come on,” Dizzy called over her shoulder as she jostled her way into the press of bodies, clearing a path with her physical prowess. They fought their way all the way to the back of the Inn where Dizzy proceeded to order meals and drinks for everyone on the team. Not that Sam had any idea where exactly they were going to sit; abyss, even finding standing room was going to be a challenge considering how stuffed this place was. Dizzy leaned forward and exchanged a few quiet words with the bartender. After a few moments, a small leather bag left her palm and found its way into his pocket.

“Follow me,” Dizzy called, cupping one hand around her mouth to be heard over the clamor and racket of the room. “I managed to get us a private room in the back for a little extra coin.”

Beside the bar was a door, which Sam had just assumed lead back into the kitchen. False. The door let into a long hallway with a couple of private rooms off to the left and the right. The spaces weren’t huge, but they were recessed into the walls and far more secluded than the seating in the common area. The tables and chairs were also of a much finer quality than what was available for the masses. Instead of creaky wooden floor boards, the private rooms had colorful carpets laid out, candelabras poking out from the walls, and elegant trestle tables made of polished walnut.

Dizzy had just bought them access to the VIP section of the Square Dog Inn. Nice. Sam thought that he could get used to this kind of treatment. Most of the private rooms were already occupied with parties of finely dressed heroes, but the last room on the right was open and waiting for them. 

Mugs and dinner was already set out on the table. Sam hadn’t seen any servers bustling through, but somehow, they’d managed to get the food and drinks out in the short span of time it had taken the party to walk back here. Now that was service! Or the food had been sitting there for a while… he chose to believe in good service. The party crowded around the table, and dropped into padded leather chairs; chairs a thousand times more comfortable than the wooden benches in the front. Sam let out an involuntary groan as he settled in, this felt celestial to his aching feet and adventure-sore legs.

Then the aroma from the food hit him in the nose, and all thoughts of exhaustion fled as Sam recalled just how hungry he was… and how long it had been since lunch. He hunched forward, forearms resting on the polished table top, and inhaled the steam wafting from the wooden bowl in front of him. 

Sam picked up a spoon and ladled a bite into his mouth, burning his tongue in the process. In his mind, he circled ‘good service’ and scratched out ‘food had been sitting’, then he turned back to the food. It was a stew with chunks of tender lamb, sliced carrots, and cubes of potato all covered in a thick brown gravy that tried to sing on his tongue. Rich, salty, with just a little bit of spice to balance out the lamb. The only downside was that after the initial burst of flavor, his perception ensured that all he tasted was the texture of the food. At that point, it may as well have been sewer special surprise. 

At least he wasn’t the only one eating, or he may have just given up. As it was, he was sure he would get some kind of ‘quality food’ bonus, so he kept going. The table was silent except for the scrape of spoons against bowls and the soft smacking of lips as everyone ate.

About halfway through the meal, a serving girl in a wool outfit brought out several fresh loaves of bread, along with small wooden bowls filled to overflowing with creamy whipped butter. Sam was slogging his way through a second bowl of stew when Dizzy raised her mug and rapped against the side with a silver spoon, the *ting-ting-ting* drawing everyone’s attention.

“Everyone who knows me, knows that I’m not really one for making big speeches, but after a day like today… I figured someone should say something.” She shrugged apologetically. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you all for putting everything you had on the line today. We pushed hard, took some serious risks, and won a battle that we probably shouldn’t have walked away from.

“But we did, because we held our ground, worked together as a team, and trusted each other. I couldn’t be prouder. I think with the addition of these two spell-slingers… we are going to be unstoppable. I can feel it in my bones. Although we still don’t know how to form a proper Guild yet, I think it's high time we come up with a name for ourselves. Folks like the Hardcores should know who to cuss out after we kick their teeth in.” She paused, glancing at each face in turn, her eyes curiously lingering on Finn. “So. Ideas?”

A contemplative silence fell over the gathering like a thick blanket.

“How about the Wolf Pack?” Sphinx offered after enough time had passed for things to move into awkward territory.

“But… the wolves are our enemies,” Finn politely pointed out, one eyebrow cocked as he swirled his mug.

“That sure is true, ya know.” Sphinx bobbed her head in acknowledgement, “But I think that makes it even better. It lets everyone know they’d better not cross us unless they want more trouble than you can shake a stick at. Plus, we saw a pack fight today. They almost killed us, and probably would have under any other circumstances. They worked as a team and they weren’t afraid to protect what was theirs. They weren’t gonna let anyone push ’em around, right? It reminded me a lot of us, today, taking out the Hardcores. Those fur boys fought fierce, and they fought smart, but they’re still just overgrown dogs. Imagine us, having that coordination, but with the smarts and leadership to back it up.”

“Dude,” Kai intoned solemnly, as though the single word were some great proclamation. “That’s like… super deep, or whatever. I totally agree with you. There are a thousand worse examples for a team to, like, model themselves after. You’ve got my vote, pack sister.”

“The Wolf Pack,” Dizzy slowly tested how the words felt on the tip of her tongue. “Wolf Pack. Yeah, I like it. Sam, Finn, Arrow? Any thoughts?”

“I, for one, am just happy to be here,” Finn deflected with a wide grin. “I’ll add that I’m also in favor of the name; though full disclosure, I’m more than a little bit biased since the crest of house Laustsen is a lunging wolf on a field of gold and black.”

“Well that has to be a sign, right?” Sam added. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s cool too.” 

He thrust his hand into the center of the table. “So can I get a ‘Wolf Pack’ on three?”

They all piled their hands into the center, one on top of the other—Finn looked utterly lost, but added his palm to the pile without comment—then broke after a brief three count, followed by a ‘Go~o~o Wolf Pack!’

“Now,” Sam stood from the table, “if no one has anything else, there’s a party out there! Since this is my only day off for a week, I fully intend to take advantage of it! Who’s with me?”

Bellies full, and alcohol working through their systems, they ambled back out into the common room. Sam was more than a little surprised to see Dizzy grab Finn by the hand and pull him over to the dance floor, a grin on her face and a blush in her checks. Sam just stood there letting the intoxicating atmosphere wash over him like the incoming tide; taking in the shrill cry of the stringed instrument, the pounding of the drum, and the sultry voice of the lead singer. Trying to enjoy the scent of pipe smoke and roasted lamb in the air the instant before it all switched to smelling like… body odor. At least he could enjoy the good-natured laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the tinkle of silver coins as they changed hands or were shuffled across table tops.

This… this is what Sam had been missing since coming into Eternium. Right then and there, he decided that he was done playing by other people’s rules. He loved his class and wanted to see it through, but he wasn’t going to let those goobers at the College walk all over him anymore. He needed to perform his chores and attend his classes, but the second he got some free time tomorrow, he was going to pack up his meager belongs and find somewhere else to hunker down. Staying at the College was convenient—especially considering the hours he worked—but he refused to let Octavius suck the fun out of this awesome world. 

Arrow slipped up beside him and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s really something isn’t it? Hard to believe that this is all just part of some massive video game. I’ve only been here a few days, but I’m already starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here forever.”

Sam choked. “Wait, is that possible?”

“Not officially,” the man replied, thumping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Word on the street, though, is there are a handful of people who are going perma. Mostly folks that are terminally ill, but have heaps and heaps of moolah to throw around. But enough of that, leave it me to rain on your good time.” 

Arrow  fell silent as though unsure how to proceed. After a moment, he asked, “Hey, don’t suppose you play cards, do you?” 

The only cards Sam had ever played was Enchanted Gathering, but he doubted that was the card game the ranger met. Still, he was in great spirits and was more than happy to lose a little silver if it meant more time with his new friends.

“Nope,” Sam replied, “but I’d love to learn! Lead the way…”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of too loud music, free-flowing booze, and one hand of cards after another. Sam had never played Texas Hold ’Em before, and he lost twenty silver and forty copper as a result, but he hadn’t had that much fun in ages. It seemed that there was a secondary benefit to playing games of chance as well.

Characteristic point training completed! +1 to luck! This stat cannot be increased further by any means other than system rewards or lucky encounters for twenty-four hours game time.

Eventually, Sphinx pulled him out onto the dance floor, where he cut a rug for nearly half an hour. He’d honestly never had more fun in his adult life. Sam was genuinely sad when a mostly sober Finn wrapped an arm around his shoulders and practically dragged him into the street. 

The time was well past midnight—therefore technically the next day—and both Sam and Finn had to be up by six to prepare for their round of morning chores. It was going to be an awfully early day, that was for sure, and considering just how much liquor he’d downed, Sam figured it was going to be an awfully painful morning at that. He hadn’t been hung-over since freshman year, when he ‘accidentally’ downed an entire blender of margaritas at his first Berkley party. First and last, as it turned out.

Sam clearly recalled the following morning, when he’d woken up wrapped in a shower curtain and missing his left eyebrow—some generous soul had shaved it clean off in the night. He’d had to pencil on a fake brow, which didn’t look even remotely natural, for almost a month. He felt that drunk tonight, and silently prayed that come first light, things would be a little less messy this time around. Together, Sam and Finn headed back for the College, sticking to the well-lit portions of the city, since they were both snookered, and Sam doubted very much whether their magic would even work.

The pair of them earned some curious, or even outright disapproving looks from the night patrol, but no one stopped them on their way back to the College. The fact that Finn was dressed like a noble and kept summoning a flurry of snow around him as a cloak may have had something to do with that. Sam didn’t know everything about this city, but it seemed unlikely that the guards would willingly pick a fight with a scion of even a minor house, since the political consequences could be devastating. That probably went double for apprentices with the College proper.

The Mages of Ardania wielded an unhealthy amount of power and influence over the city, and no one, it seemed, wanted that power turned against them. Just a little after one in the morning, Sam and Finn stumbled through the portcullis and into the eastern courtyard. Sam didn’t particularly care for the College, but he was certainly looking forward to faceplanting on his uncomfortable little cot and stealing whatever shuteye he could before the new day officially started with its litany of chores, classes, and responsibilities.

“Uhhhh, Sam,” came Finn’s voice, his words slurred and jumbled, “I think we may have a problem.”

Sam blinked lazily and focused on the present… how in the world had he failed to notice there was a small crowd of people milling about in the courtyard at this ungodly hour? Oh right. Lousy, no good, low perception. That and the alcohol.

Upon closer inspection, Sam saw it was a group of Mages, ten strong, along with a pair of College thugs wearing heavy armor and carrying enchanted halberds that glimmered with opalescent light like pent-up moon beams. A cold feeling of dread filled Sam, sobering him in an instant as a Mage stepped forth from the assembled group and lowered his cowl, revealing none other than Octavius Igenitor, Stone Mage and Peak Student in charge of making their lives absolutely miserable. 

Sam had no idea what these assembled Mages wanted, but it obviously had to do with he and Finn, and considering the circumstances… well, these guys probably weren’t here to congratulate them on their victory over the Hardcores.

“If it isn’t our two wayward children, come home after a long day of breaking every rule that governs proper Mage society. Drunk, no less, which is a further indictment against you. Public slovenliness is unbefitting of a member of our illustrious order. Guards,” Octavius looked at the two armor-clad guards waiting in the wings to swoop in, “please take them into custody now.” 

Finn pushed away from Sam, swaying slightly, blinking heavy-lidded eyes as he lifted his hands and conjured a slowly spinning ball of frost. The surrounding Mages acted at once, magic springing forth in bursts of color. Blue Mage Armor shimmered to life here, a cloud of emerald light formed in the air there… as they prepared to put Finn down by force if necessary.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Octavius was growing more smug by the second. “We intend to bring both of you in alive, but I’m sure the Archmage will forgive us if an accident were to happen while we were trying to detain you two gentlemen.” 

Somehow, Octavius imbued so much scorn into the word ‘gentlemen’ that he made it sound like a curse word. 

“Like bloody hells you’re going to take us into custody you sadistic, sanctimonious bellend.” The confrontation had, apparently, not sobered Finn up at all. “Me and my friend Sam…”

The ice Mage gestured in the wrong direction with his free hand, “…haven’t done anything wrong. Under what charge are you arresting us, then, Lord Fancy Pants? Hmm? Perhaps the high crimes of having fun? I can see how you lot of morose, self-important losers might be against anything resembling entertainment.”

Octavius glanced at a balding Mage in purple robes and issued a terse nod. The man moved at once, uttering a slick chant as violet light built in his palms like a dying star. The spell rocketed from his hands, slamming into Finn like a torpedo, but it didn’t seem to do any tangible harm. For a long beat, Sam wasn’t sure what purpose the spell was. Then Finn opened his mouth, no doubt to unleash another vicious and drunken tirade, but nothing came out. Not a word. Finn’s eyes bulged as he grabbed at his throat. Silence reigned.

“Ah, now that's what I like to hear out of you Novice Laustsen,” Octavius wasn't bothering to hide his smile this time. “As for your crimes, why… I wouldn’t even know where to begin!” 

Octavius folded his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly, boots *clicking* and robes swishing. “So I won’t bother. Besides, I imagine you both are too intoxicated to properly comprehend the charges anyway. But never fear, all will be explained tomorrow, and by none other than the Archmage himself! I hope you have a lovely night. We’ll be seeing each other again very, very soon.”