Bright sun blinded him as he left the cabin he’d been sequestered away in for what felt like weeks. He blinked rapidly and squinted. The sounds of a busy port washed over him: the yells of sailors, the clang of hammers, the creaking of ropes.
The pungent smell of fish and seawater laced with tar and smoke filled Darren’s nose. His eyes finally adjusted. “Wilson! You coming?”
A notification flashed, alerting him to being inspected. His heart hammered in his chest as he walked to the side of the ship, heading to the dock.
Wilson dropped to the deck beside him, bouncing a couple of times before he rolled to a stop and scrambled to his feet, picking up his battered bowler hat and ramming it on.
No one said anything as Darren strode down the gangplank, trying to exude confidence, Wilson in tow.
His foot hit the dock, and he blew out a breath. Home free.
“State your business in Twin Lanterns!”
Darren froze. Then turned. A guard strode up to him. The man wore a battered cuirass over a sweat-stained white shirt, stiff brown trousers, and once black boots now caked in mud and crap. Several days of stubble shaded his chin, and a rusty helmet sat on his head. Not the most intimidating of figures.
Darren risked a quick inspection, regretting it as the man’s eyes narrowed and his lips dipped in a frown.
<<<<>>>>
Roger Blackwell
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Level: 24
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HP: 2,736
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Class: Guard
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Status: Local
You are insufficient level to see more information on Roger Blackwell.
<<<<>>>>
Level 24? Nearly 3,000 health? Darren swallowed, feeling very warm all of a sudden. So that’s why the pirates had all left him be. The guard class—exclusive to NPCs so far as he knew—must get +2 CON per level to have that high health. Did they get any other stats per level?
“Oi!” the guard, Roger, said.
“I, um…” Darren began, trying not to wilt beneath the steely gaze incongruous with the dishevelled appearance. “I’m here to visit Poseidon’s temple. A sojourn.” Truth-ish felt like the wise choice.
The guard continued to study him, taking in the lack of shoes, tattered clothes, and, most likely, the smell.
“What business does a vagrant have with Poseidon?”
“Well,” Darren said carefully, “Poseidon gave me a quest after I was shipwrecked a week ago.”
“A quest? To a level 5?” The guard erupted with laughter. It wasn’t the kind, friendly sort, either. It was the sort that made it clear you were on very thin ice. Ice that was already turning into a spiderweb of cracks.
Of course, Darren mentally kicked himself. NPCs rarely received quests. The Exhaustion debuff hitting his Wisdom and Intelligence stats was an utter cow.
Stolen novel; please report.
Heh, udder cow.
It left his Wisdom at a measly 7, which netted him a -6 modifier. Quite unwise. And while it didn’t reduce his actual wisdom as a person, it did leave him with a strong urge to try run away from the higher-level guard.
Darren managed to resist the urge and raised his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m not going to cause trouble—”
“Oh I know you’re not,” the guard said.
“—I don’t know why I have a quest from Poseidon. All I know is a few days ago I woke up on an island, just me and Wilson.” He jerked a thumb towards the coconut next to him. “It’s been a very long week, and if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to go to the temple and find out what the god wants with me. You can come with if you’d like?”
The guard looked between them, suspicion etched into every line of his weathered face.
“This is just as hard for me to believe,” Darren said. “But after my run of really bad luck, I’ve kinda been hoping things might be turning around for me.”
The guard grunted, but finally relented. “I’ve got my eye on you.” He turned and stalked away.
Wilson whistled. “He was a tough ol’ nut. And I should know, I am a nut. Coconut.”
“Let’s just get to the temple, eh?”
“Fine by me. We need to get you a class so we can get to controlling the seas.”
Darren just sighed.
They hurried along the bustling dock, weaving between sailors and dockhands. Wilson drew more than one stare until Darren finally picked him up and set him on his shoulder, concerned someone might try to pinch the coconut.
Darren and Wilson soon left the port and entered the shanty town that was the poor quarter. Immediately, Darren missed the smell of the port. Stale sweat and faeces was the flavour of the day here. He wrinkled his nose and started breathing through his mouth.
Hot dirt warmed his feet as he hurried up the steamy, sun-scorched street, dreading every puddle he dodged around. Vendors had claimed the shade along the side of the street, setting up their booths beside buildings. Most ignored him, correctly guessing him as a poor mark for their trash-quality wares.
The buildings themselves were not much more than ramshackle huts. They almost made his own workmanship look classy. Almost.
They reached an intersection and scanned the three directions ahead; the left headed back downhill. From the glimpses Darren caught through the buildings, it looked like a smaller fishing village lay at the bottom. Presumably, where they caught the catfish the island was named after. Ahead levelled out and looked residential. To the right, though, the road wound up the hilly island; he could just see through gaps in the buildings a fort perched at the top of a hill.
If there were going to be temples, most likely they’d be that direction. “Right, you reckon?” he asked.
“Yeah, mate,” Wilson said. “But you sure you don’t want to get some new clothes before you try enter a temple?”
Probably not the worst idea. He was itching to try and get some answers, though… A lot hinged on what the AI god had to say, so no point wasting time shopping now. He shook his head and took off right at a trot.
Now they were so close, he was loath to waste another minute.
Slowly, the scenery improved as they travelled higher in the town. Buildings went from bare-bones shelters to actual houses. The smell also receded, though every now and then a strong gust swept up the hill from the direction of the harbour, carrying with it the heavy cocktail of foul smells.
The people on the streets improved in appearance too; more and more nobles and aristocrats could be seen, red-coated guards in tow. Darren received more than one stink eye, and he grew increasingly aware of his appearance—and smell.
The coconut riding on his shoulder like a parrot also received a fair few looks. Though magical beings weren’t that uncommon in this game, so it wasn’t a completely new sight.
Also, maybe the sweat and faeces he kept smelling weren’t just from the poor quarter below…
He brushed the thought aside and kept on.
Finally, he reached what appeared to be a temple district, hidden in the shadow of a mid-sized fort.
District might have been a stretch; there were three small stone temples at the end of a cul-de-sac with minimal decorations adorning them. Poseidon's sat at the end, easily the largest and most impressive of the three.
If one could use the term ‘impressive’ for a stone building barely six metres tall with a thatch roof. Two carved stone pillars guarded the double doors of the entryway, holding up a small angled awning.
Three steps led up to the temple. Darren hesitated at the base, sweat dripping down his nose. Damnation, it was hot and humid. He licked lips that were dry despite the sweat soaking him.
“You right?” Wilson asked, his voice low.
“Not really.” Darren blew out a long breath. “I suspect Poseidon knows the state of my body back in my world. And now I’m here? I’m not entirely sure I want to know. What if I am dead? What if this is all that’s left of me?” A soulless digital shadow.
Wilson patted his shoulder. “Look, mate, whatever you find out, it doesn’t change who you are to me.” He heaved himself off Darren’s shoulder and landed with a soft thud. “My loyal minion.”
“Thanks, Wilson,” Darren said. “I knew I could count on you for comforting words in my time of need.
“I got yer back.”
Darren drew in a long breath through his nose, then blew it out, feeling his heart rate slow a fraction. There was no more putting it off. He mounted the steps and pushed through the double doors.
Time to find out if he was dead or alive.