“Um, yes. How did you know?”
Dirty Dave waves the question away. “Show me a weapon I don’t know and I’ll give you anything in the store.” He glances around to make his point. “Anything. With your dream armor and your upgraded weapon, there isn’t much I can offer you today. You are aware that your armor will start leveling up with you once you reach level ten, are you not? With that armor, you’ll never need an armor upgrade.”
“Seriously?”
Dave gives him a wolfish grin. “That’s what I’m here for, to educate. I don’t have anything for you today, next time. Moving on, and we will keep this short because my guess is you five are looking to get out of town.”
“What makes you think that?” Tamana asks.
“I sell weapons and I know things.”
“But not drugs!” Hiccup pipes in.
“Most certainly not and thank-you for your support, Hiccupanaratapana. I have the perfect thing for you. Follow me.”
Hiccup gives Ryuk a fanboy look that screams, ‘he knows my name!’
A high table with a silver box on it takes shape next to Dirty Dave. He lifts it by the handles to reveal a battered helm with goat horns. The helm sits atop a chainmail vest that faintly radiates yellow energy.
“It’s enchanted?” Ryuk asks.
“Ever-so-slightly,” says Dirty Dave. “It will increase your LUCK by fifteen points.”
“We’re going to be rich.” Hiccup hops up and down. “Howzabout lowering that table so I can actually check it out.”
The table lowers by about a half meter and Hiccup equips the helm. “A little help here,” he tells Tamana, who springs into action and helps him with the chainmail.
“Next.” Dirty Dave steps over to Zaena. He admires her for a moment. His eyebrows lift as he settles on a thought. “Ah, so that’s who you are. Interesting.”
The green color drains from her face. “No it’s not,” she mouths.
The weapons dealer tilts his head and winks. “As you wish. Now then, you’re going to need better swords.”
His table elongates and four short swords pixelate into existence. Their hilts are gold with Thulean script wrapping the grips and the center ridge of each sword is four shades darker than the rest of the blade.
“These are forged from the finest depleted Pelosium. I recently purchased these four from Kay and Ray’s Chib-O-Rama Superette – purveyors of high quality cutlery for every purpose. I am prescient like that at times. These increase your attack power by twenty points, and come with a signed certificate of authenticity. As for your armor, I will upgrade you once you reach a higher level.”
Two of the swords lift into the air and move through a brief attack-parry-thrust exercise. Zaena picks up the other two and tests their weight and balance. “Thank you,” she finally says, “they are wonderfully crafted.”
“Now to the White Warrior.” He stops in front of Tamana and examines her for a moment. A rectangular box made from white metal takes shape on his table; it contains an opalescent two-piece cuirass.
“You are the lowest level in the group,” he says, “so this will serve you now, and as you progress it will progress with you. This armor decreases any damage or injury done to you by twenty-five percent. It also heals you by 1% of your health every three minutes. It only adds ten points to your defense stat, but at the same time, it adds thirty to your magic defense. Later, as you level up, there will be more items like this that I can prepare for you. I’ll also be able to up the defense points on this, but not until you are a higher level.”
“This is wonderful!” Tamana slips into the armor. “And the fit … it’s like you knew my size.”
Ryuk laughs. This is something Tamana always said to Tritanian NPCs. Of course the armor is her size, any armor equipped is automatically the equipee’s size, but Tamana always goes out of her way to make the NPC feel special, worthy of praise.
“Thank you,” she says, bowing.
“My pleasure.”
Dirty Dave steps in front of FeeTwix. “And we arrive at the Quantum Hughes methodology enthusiast.”
FeeTwix gawks. “You know him?”
“Knew him. It was my misfortune to have to deal with him for two subjective years, as he liked to say. This was in a different world, before I came here.” He smiles a pointy and predatory smile. “I know you. You’re the type of player who scrolls through your list behind your back, totally unpredictable, a bit of a loose cannon, but usually surprisingly effective. Am I right?”
“Not completely,” FeeTwix says. “Most times, I let my viewers select my weapon.”
“Viewers?”
FeeTwix points at his eyes which are blue at the moment.
“Ah yes, your viewers. Keep your feed off and follow me.” He turns, and motions for FeeTwix to come with him. “The rest of you stay here, and as my dear departed dad used to say, keep your hands in your pockets and don’t make nose prints on the glass.”
Dirty Dave approaches an oversized knight standing against a stretch of blank wall.
The knight’s accoutered in heavy, uncomfortable-looking, elaborate pink cloisonné Hello Unicorn themed armor that sports a sugar skull helmet with big pink bunny ears. The pink knight rests both hands on the hilt of a massive broadsword, the tip of which is pressed to the floor between his feet. Dave reaches up, smacks the knight on the helmet and whispers something in Thulean. The knight’s answering growl is so low as to be almost inaudible, and his grip tightens on the hilt.
The weaponeer raises a finger in admonishment. “Just remember what happened the last time you tried that, Matthew.”
The pink bunny knight sighs, side-steps to the right and assumes his original position.
A dark blue, three-meter shield decorated with white clouds and an armored fist clenching lightning bolts and an olive branch forms on the wall. It splits vertically down the middle and ponderously swings inward to reveal a gray, industrial steel staircase. At the bottom is a heavy steel blast door; Dave enters a lengthy numerical sequence into a keypad and the door swings inward. The lights come up, and The Swede gasps.
Mounted on the walls of the cavern, displayed in cases, and stored in racks are a variety of weapons, the likes of which has FeeTwix just about depositing digital genetic material in his underoos. “Holy CRAP – look at this stuff! I am seriously not worthy!” He presses his nose against a display case and actually slobbers on it. “OMG, Dave! That’s a genuine BFG 9000! How much?”
“Well spotted, sir, but it’s for display only, I’m afraid.”
“And that … he points to a slick-looking weapon with a cube shaped muzzle.
“A PHASR – personal halting and stimulation response rifle – with an enhanced neuromuscular inhibitor.”
“And this … ” FeeTwix approaches a golden ax behind thick glass. One side of the ax is fractured off, and veins pulsating with an ethereal green liquid extend down the weapons cheek, over its lug, and all the way to the knob on the other end.
Dirty Dave steps in front of him. “Also for display only, sorry to say. I do, however, have something similar.”
He takes a dragonwood case out from a drawer and sets it on the table in the center of the room. After registering his fingerprint, the lid lifts on its own, revealing a dagger with a damascened blade and an intricately wrought emerald handle.
“A knife?” FeeTwix asks.
“Not just any knife, pick it up.”
FeeTwix lifts the knife and it immediately starts to grow. Tendrils of symbiose peel off the weapon and wrap around the Swede’s hand. They spiral up his shoulder and form a hardened shell with pulsating veins. Once the blade has formed, and underslung barrel takes shape, its muzzle rimmed in green energy.