What the Shell?, page 22
“Glaring isn’t going to harm them though. Instead, it will only harm us!” insisted the Crab Fighter. “Just be quiet and let me handle this, okay?”
Turning his eyes on Phac, Oreg stared deeply and earnestly. “If that’s what you ask of me,” he replied, “then I will do it, because you’ve proven yourself a warrior worthy of my respect and a good friend. However, you shouldn’t compromise your beliefs for benefits.”
“They’re your beliefs, not mine. Even if they really are here to hunt, it’s not my business.” Phac returned the orc’s stare before turning to the adventurer leader again, who waited patiently with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Around them, the adventurers were eyeing the group warily, a few of them even ready to draw weapons if needed. Neville, Daryll, Maylin, and Ximea were also tense, eyes darting around in worry.
“None of us speak for another,” announced Phac in a somewhat hard voice, speaking for the others.
The adventurer leader smiled.
“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, could you tell me who you are and where you’re coming from? Underequipped people are rare in the woods. Were you attacked by something?”
“You could say that.” Phac shrugged. “We fought a necromancer and things got slightly out of hand.”
“A necromancer? Here? That’s interesting.”
“Not anymore. What about you? What are you doing here?”
“Adventuring!” Yorn gave him a toothy grin, inciting Oreg’s disgruntlement. “We’re on a quest, though I’m afraid I can’t share the details.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Phac waved it off. “So, about food…”
“Naturally,” Yorn hurried to reply, his attitude visibly better than before, “but, if I may ask, where are you planning to spend the night? Darkness has already fallen, and we have room to spare. You could share our campfire. Our groups are not the best fit, but—” he spared another glance for Oreg, who was already drilling his gaze into Phac’s back, ”we gotta help each other. Sending you off into the night doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Spend the night?” Phac raised a brow, turning to regard the rest of their group. Discreetly, Ximea and Daryll both nodded at him, urging him to accept, while Oreg’s glare was as hard as Pincer.
It does sound like the safest thing to do… These people are clearly not hostile. Oreg will feel a bit bad, but going out in the dark could lead to accidents… Why risk it?
He still remembered that Level 15 panthers prowled the foliage, easily able to pick off any of their group’s weaker members.
“Sure, if you don’t mind us,” he replied, shooting Oreg an apologizing gaze, “but we’re leaving at first light.”
We don’t have to like them to enjoy the safety they offer, Oreg. Put up with it. We’ll be out of here by morning.
“Perfect.” Yorn smiled. “Extra people means more safety for us, too. You never know what’s lurking in the darkness. You can take that space over there—” he pointed to a relatively empty spot near their campfire, “or you could stay a bit further away, if you prefer. I suppose you’ll have your own watchers for the night?”
“Naturally.” Phac nodded. These people seemed friendly, but they remained armed strangers.
“Make yourselves comfortable, then,” concluded Yorn as he turned and headed for his tent, a hand already removing his hastily tied belt. “Feel free to speak or drink wine with us, but please respect our group’s privacy. See you later, tomorrow, or never!”
In the sound of his own laughter, the leader disappeared into the tent, leaving the group surrounded by half-curious and half-wary adventurers.
“Hey. I’m Doris,” a voice came from somewhere to his left, and turning to look, Phac saw that an impressively short woman had approached him—and what a strange one she was. Her purple hair was made into a disproportionately tall mohawk, while her left cheek sported an equally purple tattoo of indeterminable meaning, with complex lines resembling a glyph.
Her eyes were piercing and brown, but the most peculiar thing about her was that she barely reached above his belly button in height—or his chest, maybe, if including the mohawk.
“Hi,” he replied, looking downwards. “Nice hair! My name’s Phac. I assume you’re the guide around these parts?”
“Vice-leader,” she replied, a faint hint of dissatisfaction in her voice, though Phac didn’t remember doing anything to cause that. “You can call me if you need anything. Our leader is busy,” she finished, and an emotion that Phac couldn’t quite decipher passed through her eyes. “You can have some of our food. Do you have money?”
“We do,” Phac smiled with pride. The necromancer’s tower wasn’t empty, and his pockets were currently stuffed full of the copper coins these people used as money. For the first time ever, he wasn’t poor!
“Good, then.” She smiled back, although it didn’t seem genuine. He couldn’t sense any dislike toward him, though, so perhaps the smile’s ingenuity was just his impression. “Set yourselves up, and then you can join us by the fire. If you can handle your alcohol, that is.” She finished with a wink.
Phac grinned.
In the darkness of the night, a patch of light could be seen in the middle of the otherwise dark forest. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional cries of nocturnal animals, as well as the talk and laughter of those who sat around the campfire.
The adventurers had been kind enough to offer wine, and Phac, Daryll, and Neville hadn’t said no. Apparently, drinking wasn’t against the priest’s religion. Phac decided this warranted future investigation; what a wonderful church!
At least you’re doing something right, Dunce.
As for Oreg, Maylin, and Ximea, they had gone to sleep early. The girls said they were tired, while Oreg refused to socialize with the adventurers.
“They look friendly, but their veins are filled with blood colder than the pussy of a night hag,” he’d said, spitting on the ground. “Morality aside, I suggest staying away from people like that. Adventurers are a rotten bunch!”
Phac found that too harsh. He’d practically just entered this world, after all, and getting to know people was important. So what if Oreg didn’t like them? Phac wouldn’t become best friends with them either, but he found it unfair to judge people solely by their profession. There were bound to be some good adventurers, as well—like Neville!
I’m still wondering why they have so many shorties… Are they perhaps common around here? Should I ask?
Nah, it will probably be rude. It’s their business, not mine, he concluded, looking at the people he shared the campfire with. Yorn and Doris were there—though the mohawk-wearing shorty didn’t speak much—as were three more members of their group, all men.
“So, what do adventurers do, exactly?” Phac asked. “I mean, ‘adventuring’ doesn’t sound like a concrete definition.”
“Heh.” Yorn chuckled, taking a sip of his cup. Not too long after he’d first welcomed them, the man had re-emerged from his tent full of smiles, this time followed by a strikingly beautiful elf woman. He’d joined them by the fire, narrating all sorts of tales. According to him, this group had even hunted down pirates before!
Neville was listening to the stories starry-eyed, and Phac smiled. Yorn was probably exaggerating a bit to amuse the overeager young man.
“Anything we’re paid for, in short,” continued Yorn, answering Phac’s question. “From trophy collection to monster or bandit extermination, to bounty hunting, to escort missions. If anything is dangerous, the Adventurer Guild is the place to ask. We even receive requests for menial assistance in construction sites!”
“And do you accept that? I thought you were fighters!” Phac replied, and Yorn shrugged, the dancing light of the campfire reflecting on his tin cup and his bald head.
“Money and strength, that’s what we’re after. Sometimes, we accept lower pay for jobs that provide easy Levels, but we’ll do just about anything that pays well enough.”
“Anything?” Daryll raised a brow, and one of the adventurers, a thin, tall human, hurried to explain.
“Don’t take it badly, man. We’re not criminals or scum, okay? But if the Guild tells us to kill someone, we’ll do it. The Guild is upright shit; it knows what it’s doing. We’re only paid workers, that’s all.”
“That sounds a bit extreme, doesn’t it?” insisted Daryll, frowning. “You’ve got to keep a clean conscience.”
“You gotta be hard to survive, pal.” A second man shrugged, looking tipsy. “The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows, and I ain’t planning on being under some rich-born motherfucker’s boot for the rest of my life. You gotta do hard shit to rise, and we only do the proper hard shit, not like some other fuckers, so cut us some slack, will ya?”
“God instructs to help others, so that they may help you.” Daryll shook his head.
“I’m telling ya, it’s proper shit, man,” continued the same man. “If they tell you to bring the head of a murderer, you bloody well do it. At least I would; get the money and experience. You gotta trust the ones above.”
“My One above…” Daryll’s frown deepened, “is different than your ones above. I serve God, while you only serve yourselves.”
“Now, now,” Yorn intervened, calming the spirits, “let’s not get carried away. We all walk different paths in life, but just for tonight, we share the same bonfire. Let’s forget about everything for a few hours and enjoy our different perspectives instead of judging each other. Am I right, Phac?”
Phac nodded. “As right as the sun rising from the east.”
No more fighting, please. I need a quiet night.
“Heh.” Yorn chuckled again, his bald head and white teeth reflecting the firelight as his voice gradually got filled with passion. A burst of chilling wind came from the side, making them relieved to be sitting around a fire. “We may not always see eye to eye, but in the end, we are but strangers in the night. Nobody knows who’s going to die tomorrow, so live with passion while it lasts. That’s the adventurer life!”
He laughed uproariously, wine spilling out of his cup, but he didn’t care.
“Apologies for the heavier words. My church advocates personal freedom after all, so everyone can have their own way.” Daryll smiled enigmatically, raising his cup. “Strangers in the night; I can drink to that.”
“Cheers!”
They all raised their cups and downed their contents. The adventurers had an entire barrel of alcohol, but they weren’t planning on drinking a lot. They had to be battle-ready at all times.
“Hah! I like you, priest!” shouted Yorn in his deep, sonorous voice, his enthusiasm seeping into everyone—or perhaps that was just the wine—as he suddenly jumped to his feet.
“Oh, man, there he goes.” An adventurer smiled, and as Phac’s group looked on in confusion, Yorn tapped his foot rhythmically and hummed a tune.
“Catch the goblin and slay the goo,
get their money and sleep with them, too!
I want the gold, I want it all,
I want the women’s panties to fall!
I want some strength, I want to fight,
all I want is live to die!
Die trying or make it big,
is the adventurer life for me!”
It was a crude song but sung joyfully, and that was often enough.
The adventurers gradually joined in on the tune, and even though most of them couldn’t sing properly, it was the joy in their voices that carried the melody along. Phac, Neville, and Daryll only looked on as they didn’t know the lyrics, but they laughed regardless, enjoying the company of these adventurers. Suddenly, the forest was filled with song and laughter, bringing life to the night and complaints in the minds of those struggling to sleep.
Phac’s eyes shone as he looked at the adventurers. These were not the purest of souls, that much they had made clear. They were hard people, living in a hard world.
But they were certainly merry. And, for strangers in the night, that would do.
Come morning, everyone awoke by the gentle light of dawn, Phac’s group seeing the adventurers and their camp for the first time in the sunlight. Around them, the forest was also awakening, chirping already echoing everywhere as the sunlight reflected off the morning dew that piled on leaves.
Having traded for enough food to last them a day—until they reached Salom—the group followed Oreg’s wishes and prepared to depart immediately. Goodbyes and well wishes were exchanged—except for Oreg, who only glared—and the group was ready to get going, the morning sun in front of them and the pleasant forest breeze behind them. It was a new day full of excitement and adventure, a pleasant hike with good company through the woods. Nothing more, and nothing less.
But fate always had the last word.
The law of karma was inescapable. All actions had consequences, and as much as you try to outrun them, they always catch up.
It was right then, as the group was about to depart, that the clock of fate struck for them.
Out of nowhere, a black-feathered raven made its way into the camp, rushing straight for Yorn, who, raising a brow, let it land on his shoulder.
“Klarissa?” he mumbled, frowning as the bird leaned to his ear and a faint murmur became audible, as if the raven was whispering.
Yorn’s eyes, which were glued to the ground, gradually hardened.
“Men,” he ordered sternly, and everyone tensed up, “on guard. Now.”
The black-feathered raven flew off, vanishing in the overgrowth, and the adventurers quickly but orderly picked up their weapons. They armed themselves in a heartbeat, their postures and gazes exhibiting the deadly calmness of experience as they awaited yet another battle.
“What happened, boss?” asked Doris, the second-in-command, and Phac noticed that the purple-haired shorty wasn’t holding any weapons, but the tips of her fingers shone purple as she constantly looked around, scouting for threats.
Is she a wizard? he wondered, but Yorn’s next words captured his attention.
“A bounty was just issued by the guild. A big one,” he said, his mouth tight as his eyes still stared downward, lost in thought, “and we’re going after it.”
“After it? Now?” Doris narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Do we have the time, with our current quest?”
“Sure, we do.” Yorn chuckled darkly. “It will be a short hunt.”
Her eyes flickered, suddenly alternating between confusion and worry. “What happened, Yorn? Whose head is it?”
Finally, Yorn raised his eyes, and this time, they were as cold as the winter seas, as steady as the tallest mountains. He raised a hand, and the gazes of the entire camp followed the direction of his finger as he pointed at Phac’s group—right at Oreg’s forehead. The orc’s yellow eyes widened.
“Theirs.”
TWENTY-FIVE
BAD GUYS CAN SING TOO
“Theirs.”
Yorn’s words struck like a thunderbolt in clear sky. Everyone followed his pointing finger to Phac’s group.
“What? Us?” Phac blinked in confusion, taking a step back. “You must be joking.”
But Yorn’s eyes were cold. These were not the eyes of a joking man. Looking around, the rest of the adventurers were directing hard gazes at them, too.
Behind Phac, the group was as confused and scared as he was—except for Oreg, who only snarled as his hand gripped the greataxe.
“You must be mistaken.” Ximea stepped forth, speaking calmly and confidently as she spread her arms wide with her palms open. “There is no reason for a bounty to be placed on us.”
“An orc called Oreg and at least two other men, who were near the abandoned tower in the marsh just yesterday,” spoke Yorn, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “You told us about the tower last night. You have the orc. That’s good enough, isn’t it?”
Ximea frowned. She looked around; they were still inside the camp, so they were surrounded. “Who set the bounty?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. You’re coming back to town with us,” he commanded. “Throw your weapons to the ground.”
“Ximea…” muttered Maylin, while Neville looked at Phac. Daryll, too, stepped forth to assist Ximea.
“Let’s talk this through,” said the priest, smiling at the adventurers. “There is no need to get violent.”
“The boss was clear.” Doris likewise stepped forth. “Drop your weapons. Nobody has to be hurt.”
Daryll’s forehead was wrinkled, but he didn’t drop anything. “This has to be a mistake,” he insisted.
Meanwhile, Phac shared a look with Oreg, and they both saw their thoughts mirrored by the other.
The ‘master’!
The mysterious figure behind the necromancer. It had to be him, but how did he know Oreg’s name?
In the end, it didn’t matter. Not now.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Yorn thundered, drawing his axe. “Drop your weapons and surrender. We will transport you safely to Salom. If there really is a mistake, you will know there.”
Both sides simultaneously fired off Inspections. Phac targeted Doris and Yorn.
Doris Dale, Mountain Dwarf
Level: 21
Dwarves are short humanoids, best known for their nimble hands and love of precious stones. Their expertise is unrivaled in most fields, from carpentry to masonry, to jewelry. If you need to get something from a high shelf, though, you’d better ask someone else.
Mountain dwarves usually reside in underground caverns and rocky terrains. In recent years, many have chosen to leave their homelands and look for more diverse environments.
Oh, shit.
Yorn, Human
Level: 27
Humans are the most adaptable and populous of sentient creatures. Every sort of human exists, their species characterized by extreme diversity and yet no obvious separation into subspecies.
