Requirements: Level 4 Mage, LUCK > 5.
The Thulean takes a dainty nibble from her cake. “As I said, I let you win.”
“Bullshit.”
Her eyes narrow on Ryuk. She bristles. “Excuse me?”
“This isn’t my first avatar; I’ve spent a lot of time on Ultima Thule and I know for a fact, that Thuleans don’t back down.”
“I didn’t back down; I let you win to end it.”
“That’s backing down.”
She huffs and rolls her orange eyes. “Once I knew you two weren’t the ones who’d attacked me, I ended the fight.”
“That’s not how it really played out,” FeeTwix says, “but sure, if that’s how you want to spin it, fine, you didn’t back down. Personally, I’m more interested in your statement about a Ryuk doppelgänger in the forest outside Jatla. How is it that they didn’t kill you?”
“I got lucky. They had a prisoner, a female White Warrior. She head-butted one and kicked the knee of the Ballistics Mage, which distracted him in a major way. I killed the two sell-swords and the Ballistics Mage fled with his prisoner. It is safe to say that she probably saved me.”
“A female White Warrior? What did she look like?” Ryuk is suddenly eyes front and attention fully focused. Could it be?
“Long white hair with thin braids behind her ear, cheap armor typical of a new avatar. She had a sheath for a sword of unusual size, but the sword was missing.”
“Is it her?” FeeTwix asks him. “Did your friend have the braid?”
“It was Tamana, it has to be!”
“Who?” Zaena asks.
Ryuk takes a deep breath and says, “It was our friend, I mean my friend, who saved you.”
(x)__(x)
Ryuk explains it all, from Tamana’s attack and subsequent death in the real world to her kidnapping here by the Shinigami. He is briefly interrupted by the hostess, who brings hot tea for the three in a Drukpa Kunley-themed samovar. She simpers, curtsies, giggles again, and leaves as quickly as she came.
“Do you know what hour you logged in?” Zaena asks Ryuk soon as the hostess is gone.
“At the Hour of the Water.”
“And I was assaulted at half past Water.” Zaena admires another macaroon. “These really are lovely, aren’t they?” She pops it in her mouth. “I told you this place was decent; too bad all their food is spiked with aphrodisiacs. Luckily, most herbs have no effect on Thuleans, at least they are not supposed to.” In goes another macaroon. Zaena’s eyes seem to unsquint a little. They’re still straight little lines, but their edges have softened some. “And what is the name of your guild?”
“Right now we’re calling ourselves the Mitherfickers. The third member is a goblin named Hiccup.”
Ryuk kicks FeeTwix under the table. “That’s not our name!” he hisses.
“The Mitherfickers, huh?” Zaena chuckles. “Most amusing, in a vulgar and guttersnipe sort of way. I believe that Gob-swearing will be all the rage in the not-too-distant future, so you two have got a leg up on the trend. Should I instead say three of you? Where is the goblin you spoke of earlier?”
“Probably having his chalupa waxed by an orc lap dancer right about now,” FeeTwix snorts.
“Having what done to his what by a what?”
Ryuk to the rescue. “Never mind. We’re supposed to meet him tomorrow morning, at the Hour of the Morning Fire.”
She looks him over for a minute as she nibbles another macaroon. “These are simply wonderful! You know, for a pair of soft, weak, inept, clumsy, bumbling low-level commoner stumble-bums, you suck less than many.”
“You’re only level 11,” FeeTwix reminds her.
She ignores him and focuses on Ryuk. “And your armor, that’s dream armor, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He touches the iridescent epaulet over his right shoulder; it’s warm to the touch.
“I’ve seen it before, on a higher level and much more skilled warrior of course; it’s really quite powerful. You should really take it to a master armorer or a weapons master to have it matched to your aura, but if you’re willing to spend the rupees it’ll be well worth it.” She turns to FeeTwix. “You, I understand. A new avatar with money to burn on fashion statements and non-conventional weaponry.”
FeeTwix’s eyes flicker black.
“And your eyes?” She cocks her head to the right. “It feels like your eyes are the windows into thousands of souls, and all of them are watching me.”
FeeTwix shrugs her off and she returns her attention to Ryuk. “You shot me with something that froze time, correct?”
“A time marble.”
She ghost limbs up a napkin and daintily dabs the macaroon crumbs from her lips. “You aren’t experienced enough to wield time marbles.”
“I actually used a clear marble, which is a wild card. It can be anything and has been helpful and … not so helpful in the past.”
“Indeed. Thus it is with those. What other types of marbles do you have?”
“Knife marbles, exploding black marbles, and clear marbles.”
“You need something to cast them with more force,” she states in a matter-of-fact voice. “Your slingshot is a toy for children.”
“I’m aware.”
FeeTwix claps his hand on Ryuk’s shoulder. “Talk about a convenient segue! A fan just sent me a prototype of something she’s been working on for you. Check out the image.”
Ryuk raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Do I even need to ask?”
“Notice the lack of trigger? That helps get around the firearms penalty.” FeeTwix pulls his shooting iron from the back of his pants and places it on the table. “My Desert Eagle, .50 Action Express. Now this – this is a firearm, as described by the Tritanian bylaws, which define ‘firearm’ as any instrument or device that uses an explosive reaction to propel a projectile through a barrel or tube.”
He gestures to the image. “This – shaped like a firearm, looks like a firearm, but not a firearm. No moving parts – no trigger, no explosive propulsion.”
Ryuk is singularly unimpressed. “So it’s a club. A short-handled, badly angled club.”
“Ah, not so, my friend.” FeeTwix grins, “It uses energetic thaumaturgial linear acceleration to boost your magic marbles to über-sonic velocities. And the best part?”
Ryuk gives him a skeptical look as FeeTwix taps his finger against his temple. “It is triggered with the power of your mind, Young Padawan. That’s all the weaponsmistress said about it; my guess is that it’ll be ready soon.” He swipes the image away.
“Interesting.”
The Desert Eagle suddenly floats in the air. In a calm and soothing tone, FeeTwix says “We’ll all be much happier if you point that away from us and put it back on the table.”
“Hmmmm … ” She transfers the gun between her ghost limb and her hand. The hammer’s cocked, the safety is on, and her finger is all over the trigger. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryuk sees FeeTwix’s finger move behind his back.
Scrolling behind his back?
A short-barreled Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum revolver appears in his hand. Without appearing to, he keeps his eyes on Zaena, casually returns his hand to his lap, and aims the hand-howitzer at her from under the table.
“I really don’t know how to use this thing,” she tells him, “well, aside from pulling the trigger.”
She flicks the safety off with her thumb, and with finger still on the trigger, doesn’t quite point the weapon at the pair of them.
The hair on the back of Ryuk’s neck stands to attention, and he hears the distinctive click-click as FeeTwix thumbs back the hammer on the big Smith in his lap. Zaena grins, and with the delicate grace of a careful drunk setting down a Ming vase full of nitroglycerin, she returns the weapon to the table.