“Do any of you know a good tight-lipped healer in the area?” asked Dakkon. No one did. Zelle came to mind, but she would be off working on her class and, despite her willingness to answer his questions, Dakkon barely knew her.
“Well then, let’s go get a drink,” said Finnegan. “The sensation of being bitten, lifted, coiled, and squished by a snake big enough to eat our rogue’s fat mom is something I’m not going to be able to shake off without a particularly fine bottle of scotch.”
“Didn’t you just—” began Ramses who was cut off by Damak.
“I could use a drink and a new shield,” agreed the stout warrior, stifling any argument after Finnegan’s jeer.
“Maybe we can find out something about these snakes to forewarn of their ambushes while we’re in town,” suggested Dakkon.
Before Ramses could dissent further, Finnegan spoke for him, “Ramses can have a Shirley Temple.”
Rameses looked terribly offended at first, before apparently deciding that he would, indeed, like one if the opportunity presented itself. The inner workings of this decision-making process painted clearly on his face caused the others to chuckle at the display.
The party wheeled their scantily-filled cart back in the direction of town, passing by several groups of players with carts containing sloshy, melting ice and little more krimmer meat than their own haul. When they arrived at the location of Letis’s stall, they found a mass of players surrounding it from all angles. The four approached cautiously.
“What’s taking so long!” one player demanded.
“When did they even leave?”
“Does anyone have them on their friends list? I need a refill!”
Dakkon tapped on a player’s shoulder near the outer edge of the throng of players and asked, “What’s going on?”
“The vendor ran out of that preserving ice,” said the player. “He said he was going to resupply about 15 minutes ago.”
“No way,” Dakkon said. He turned and whispered to the other three. “There’s no way he could have sold all of that ice that quickly. Something must be up.” Concern showed on the others’ faces. The physical exertion alone of selling that amount of ice shouldn’t have been possible over a couple of hours. Dakkon was worried for his partner.
The group walked into town, Ramses taking care to keep his marked cheek obscured within the hood of his cloak. Dakkon thought about Letis to establish a mental connection.
“Letis,” thought Dakkon. “Are you ok?”
Dakkon’s anticipation built as he waited for his partner’s reply.
“Oh, hey, what’s up?” asked Letis in an unconcerned tone, completely dispelling any tension.
“Don’t just say what’s up!” Dakkon mentally snapped. “There’s a huge mob of people looking for you.”
“Well, yeah,” replied Letis casually. “Wasn’t that the plan?”
“You seem pretty relaxed considering the situation,” thought Dakkon. “Are you at a tavern or something?”
“Just a little,” thought Letis. “I can have a drink while I lay low.” There was a brief pause before Letis said, “Yeah that’s why I’m here. Why’re you here?”
Dakkon was confused, then he had a troubling thought. “You aren’t speaking out loud to me are you—as in, with your mouth?” he added as an afterthought.
“Of course I’m speaking with my mouth. How else would I talk?” said Letis with sapient rhetoric.
“Damn! Where are you right now?” asked Dakkon.
“I’m at the Daze of Yore… War … are you’re?” thought Letis.
“What? Never mind. We’re on our way. Hang tight and do not,” Dakkon stressed these words, “wander off.”
“Ok. Nada problem,” replied Letis.
Dakkon severed the link.
“Finnegan, do you know where the Daze of Yore is?” asked Dakkon.
“I do. I take it that’s where we’ll find our esteemed colleague?”
“You’ve got it,” said Dakkon. “We need to get there as soon as possible.”
“It’s on the west end. Ramses, you should know the back alleys?” Finnegan raised an inquisitive eyebrow to make it a question.
“Yeah, follow me,” the rogue replied. “Try not to look at anyone.”
Under Ramses’s lead, the four left their cart of little krimmer loot and made quick time between alleyways, over two rooftops, and through one locals-only watering hole. When they found Letis, he was in the company of three rough-looking men who appeared to be in good spirits, drinking good spirits at Letis’s expense. Letis appeared happy to oblige them. The other three drinking looked to be the type to break skulls and bottles both should their ticket to free liquor be stolen from them.
Dakkon needed to extract his companion. Not wanting to cause an uproar, he hoped a little showmanship could grease the wheels. He approached the drinking men with an expression of extreme but familiar annoyance while Finnegan sat himself at the bar to order a strictly medicinal scotch.
“Letis,” Dakkon said in his best rustic accent while he walked up to the seated man with an air of exasperated familiarity. “Bridgette is a right mess. She sent me to scour the bars for you—again.” Without a lot of time to think, he had decided that a marital crisis would be the easiest way to pull a man from unfriendly-looking company.
Banter at the table fell silent as Letis looked up in confusion. “Oh, Dakkon…” Letis trailed off.
“Now this is the last time I’m missing work to come hunting for you! I don’t care if she is my sister!” Dakkon barked. He wasn’t nearly as convincing in his performance as he’d have liked, but the men Letis sat with cringed as though it were a scene they’d seen before.
Letis, in his drunken state, did not know how to respond to the sudden, fictitious intervention he was thrust into.
“Get your sorry hide up and let’s go,” said Dakkon, shaking his head in faux frustration. If the three gruff-looking individuals which Letis had been sitting with had any input on the situation, they kept it to themselves.
Once Letis was on his feet, steadying himself by holding onto the table, Dakkon gestured towards the drunk salesman. Without skipping a beat, Ramses and Damak strode to either side of the wobbling man and acted as his supports.
Though Damak was stoic in his role, Ramses playfully added, “So here we are again,” and shook his head as the three walked toward the door as one.
\\\\\\
1,822 gold. An even five-way split yielded each group member an astounding 1,822 gold. Each one gold being worth approximately a credit, Dakkon now had on him 2,341 credits and some change.
He’d never had so much money simply… there, on his person. Dakkon found that, for once, the daunting payment of 1,000 credits for his monthly rent wouldn’t be causing him any real grief or stress. Dakkon felt a fleeting sense of elation and accomplishment which was quickly numbed by another feeling that his deeds might not go unpunished. Forget having such a sum of money simply on his person, it was on his person in a videogame world where he’d already been assaulted by bandits and muggers. He had to see about securing his money and do it quickly. Aside from Letis, who was laying asleep above covers on the bed of the inn room, the others’ expressions conveyed a similar internal dialogue. Finnegan was the first to snap out of his own muddled reverie. The bard’s lips curled into a broad smile.