Tamana nods.
Jim gives her a twitchy smile. “Indeed, but as I was saying – and I beg your pardon most humbly for intruding, but the door was open and I suspect that you will find this information useful, despite my lack of proper doormanship.”
“Go on,” says the Swede.
“This establishment is a sanctuary guildhall for all of our paying guests for the duration of their stay. If you die and respawn here, your person is sacrosanct and inviolate within the confines of our most humblest of humble abodes.” He dusts a fleck of something off his shoulder.
“So if we die and respawn here, no one can follow us, right?” Ryuk asks.
“Precisely. These are all precautions, mind you, and I inform you of them so that you may better formulate your plans, whatever they may be.”
“How does it work?” FeeTwix asks. “I mean, how can you create a place in which only selected players or groups can spawn?”
“Ah, yes,” Jim says, “the interior of this structure is what’s known as an OMIB space.” He waives his hand around. “I trust you’re familiar with the term?”
FeeTwix looks from Zaena to Ryuk. Only Tamana seems to have heard the term before. “Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base – OMIB.”
“Yes indeed, White Warrior – you’re quite correct; please enlighten your companions later, if you would. Basically, it means that this is a very exclusive, controlled space and no one gets in without my approval.” The odd immiNPC hostelier clears his throat. “Now then, were there any breakfast requests? The chef and the saucier will be leaving soon for a private engagement.”
“Konakhchani Rohva!” Hiccup calls from the hallway. “And for the love of the Empress, let’s get this show on the road.” He shoulders past Jim, leaves a trail of wet footprints and drags a toilet paper tail into the room behind him.
“I’ll have the same,” Zaena says, “I’ve been craving.”
“I’m good,” says FeeTwix.
“Same.” Ryuk turns to Tamana. “Hungry?”
“Plomeek soup with tofu and flatbread, please.”
(0)__(0)
After a hurried breakfast, the five Mitherfickers make their way to the Aramis Riverwalk, which sits along the Bonsor River and is overshadowed by the tall towers of the financial district. Tamana wears a robe with a hood that obscures most her face. She’s travelling incognito, so her handle isn’t visible. It’s a bit risky, but the five of them need to gear up and to do so, they need to go out in public.
Unlike other shopping districts on the three floating continents of Tritania, the one in Aramis is known for its hodgepodge of shops that sell everything from weapons and armor to souvenirs and tchotchkes.
Like Bar Row, most of the shops take advantage of the absolute lack of zoning regulations and are closely packed together. Ryuk too pulls his hood over his head to blend in with Tamana. It’s amazing the power of a hood when it comes to one’s fantasy-world confidence – truth be told, just because you can’t see someone in your peripheral vision doesn’t mean they can’t see you.
FeeTwix points at a place call Over Armour. “That looks decent enough.” His eyes flash as he reads a message from a fan. “Nope, there’s a better spot.”
“Dirty Dave’s Armor and Weapons Depot?” Zaena stops and her face hardens. “I’m pretty sure that that’s the same Dirty Dave who introduced wizardous to Tritania.”
Hiccup waves her concern away. “Look, just because someone is filthy rich and famous, doesn’t mean they’re fickin’ selling drugs. Until the Magistrates in Porthos actually decide his case, Dave is still innocent, in my humblest of opinions. Let’s get in there and blow our wad.”
“Well, when you put it like that … ” FeeTwix takes the lead, ushering the others forward.
Dirty Dave’s Armor and Weapons Depot is a single story warehouse, not much larger than the buildings surrounding it. What makes it unique are the two roof-mounted turrets with six-barrel mini guns, crewed by a pair of NPC fawns in combat helmets and wraparound Oakley sunglasses, who sometimes amuse themselves by flinging pellets of faun poo at unsuspecting passersby.
The Mitherfickers stop in front of a large circular entrance that resembles a vault door. FeeTwix places his gloved hands on a Steampunk-y helm and gives it a spin. The door pops open almost immediately, and the Swede politely opens it all the way to let Tamana and Zaena in. Not one to miss the opportunity of an open door, Hiccup elbows his way to the front of the group and enters first.
Last in, Ryuk closes the door and stands in awe at the sheer scope and variety of weapons arrayed before him.
Some are in glass display cases and others are mounted in wall racks. There are enough blades, maces, spears, pikes, and lances to supply two crusades and a jihad and still have enough left over for some old school ethnic cleansing. The other side of the warehouse reminds Ryuk of a sporting goods store with its displays, live mechanical demos, hanging tapestries depicting famous battles, and even a kid’s section, in which aspiring warriors can test-fit armor and battle with Nerph weapons under the watchful gaze of orc referees.
“It’s a lot to take in,” FeeTwix finally says, picking up on Ryuk’s thoughts. “And it is so much larger in here than it appears outside.”
“Welcome.” An NPC with a thin smile and nearly translucent skin steps out from behind one of the counters. He’s in a neatly pressed morning coat with an elaborately tied white silk cravat that doesn’t cover the vertical Thulean tattoos running up his neck. His hair is slicked back from a widow’s peak, and as he speaks, the glint from his sharpened silver teeth catches Ryuk’s eyes. “Welcome to Dirty Dave’s.”
Hiccup gives the salesperson a skeptical look. “This place isn’t owned by the same Dirty Dave who invented wizardous, is it?”
The man smiles. “You’d have to ask Dirty Dave.”
“Is he here?”
A name tag that reads Dirty Dave materializes on the salesperson’s chest. “At your service.”
Dirty Dave Level 99
HP: 8999/8999
MANA: 4697/4697
ATK: 3347
MATK: 1679
DEF: 3000
MDF: 3000
LUCK: 115
Hiccup nods, impressed. “So you’re Dirty Dave?”
“You’d be surprised what a level 99 Mind Mage can do, including being in several places at once. Regarding the drug trafficking charges, those are just hearsay and fake news. Alternative facts.”
“See, Lizzy?” Hiccup shakes his head at Zaena. “I told you. Innocent until proven guilty.”
Dirty Dave approaches Ryuk, his eyes trained on the marble gun. “How very unusual! That is some algoweapon you have there. Mind if I take a look?”
Ryuk unholsters his marble gun and removes the magazine. He lays the weapon on the counter with the muzzle pointed in a safe direction.
“It’s a fine piece,” Dirty Dave muses as he looks the weapon over. “Do you mind if I touch it?”
“By all means.”
Dirty Dave sticks out a finger crowned with a pointed yellow fingernail. A plastic glove forms on his hand, and as he runs his finger along the Thulean script engraved on the barrel of the gun. The inscription glows green. “Very good, very interesting work.” He mumbles in Thulean as he reads it. He asks, “Someone from Chrono’s school made this, correct?”
“Yes, Dory the Weaponsmith.”
“It is an interesting specimen and very well made, but I expect that I can improve upon it somewhat. Not now though. I’ll need some time to develop something … ” He straightens his back as the word comes to him. “Something more automatic, for sportier situations. Also, I’m almost certain I can improve upon the magazine capacity. You get eight marbles per magazine, correct?”