Chrissy read the note that Lorelei passed her, then looked up quizzically.
“So, every time you speak…”
Lorelei nodded.
“What, like full-on Meg Ryan?”
Lorelei nodded again.
"Awesome. You'd have made some serious cash in my old game with an ability like that! Say something!"
Lorelei was not particularly thrilled by this revelation, but then, who could blame her? Every word she now uttered was met with the kind of reaction typically reserved for particularly steamy scenes in late-night television. It was like her vocal cords were perpetually stuck on the adult channel; the remote control was forever out of reach.
***Approving Message***
You know, I always liked this one. She has the right outlook on life. Perky.
The notification blinked at her with the smugness of a cat that’s just knocked something off a high shelf, daring her to swat it away. Lorelei dismissed it, her irritation only growing at how accustomed she’d become to these constant intrusions. The fact her new vocal stylings were actually a step up from being slowly crushed to death was neither here nor there.
Lorelei took back the pad of paper she'd bought off a Vendor for the princely sum of 1 gold. To be fair, she recognised it was more than just a 'pad of paper', but at that moment, she wasn’t really in the mood to appreciate it properly. It had taken some time for Lorelei to explain what she needed to the little NPC Goblin—who bore an uncanny resemblance to the shopkeeper back in Pandora’s Box (***Nothing Wrong With Recycling Skins Message***) —she had been offered this 'invaluable tool for the discerning adventurer.'
The goblin had beamed at her, displaying a set of teeth that could have been described as charming if one was particularly far away. “Just what you need, miss! Perfect for all your heroic scribblings!”
Rewritable Pad & Enchanted Pencil
Item Type: Utility Tool (Uncommon)
Required Level: n/a
Class Compatibility: n/a
Weight: Light
Endless Pages: The pad of paper can be written on and erased an infinite number of times. The pages refresh themselves when erased, returning to a blank state.
Memory Recall (Limited): The pad can remember and restore the last three sets of writings that were erased. This allows users to retrieve recently discarded notes or sketches.
Emotion Ink: The pencil lightly imbues written words with the writer’s emotional intent. This can add a subtle, persuasive quality to letters or notes but has no effect on spells or enchantments.
Soulbound: The pencil is soulbound to its first user. If misplaced, it reappears in the user’s possession at dawn.
Special Ability: Word of the Moment. Once per day, the user can write a single word on the pad that briefly enhances their focus or creativity, granting a small bonus to Intelligence or Wisdom (+1) for 10 minutes. This effect is minor but useful in critical moments.
She had stared at the goblin, then at the pad, then back at the goblin, who was still grinning as if he had just sold her the deal of a lifetime. Lorelei, however, was not so easily convinced. But given the current state of affairs—specifically, her own personal affair with involuntary vocal pornography—she had grudgingly handed over the gold, noting with some irony that even a voice enchanted with the dulcet tones of a screaming orgasm hadn’t managed to earn her a discount.
"Have you seen any of the others?" she wrote, passing the paper back.
Chrissy shrugged. "No, but this place is enormous. I'm sure they'll be here somewhere. Before we know it, they'll all turn up. Anyway, forget about them for a bit; what do you think of my new costume?" As Chrissy's Class imbued her with the power of whatever clothing she was wearing, this was more than a vanity request for affirmation. Although, considering how little the Chameleon Courtesan was currently wearing, it didn't take long for Lorelei to complete her consideration.
"You've gone full-on Barbarian?" Lorelei wrote, an eyebrow arching as she took in the strategic placement of fur tassels that barely covered the woman’s modesty.
Chrissy twirled on the spot, the scant pieces of material somehow managing to stay in place despite their clear intention to defy all known laws of physics and common decency. "Well, I was thinking about my
"But what about the healing?" she scrawled, adding a small frown for emphasis. She couldn’t help but feel healing was one of those things that people only thought about after the fact, usually while lying in a pool of their own blood and reflecting on how things could have gone differently if only someone had put a bit more thought into their Class choices.
Chrissy wrinkled up her nose at the note. "Look, I get you being a bit down on Kris, but he never let us down as a healer. I don't think it's making the best out of me to double up there. When you're back to yourself, you've got a heal, Hild can self-heal, and Steffan's got spells to take care of Ent. Even with less power than he used to have, it makes much more sense for the others to rely on Kris and for me to be able to do more than just stand at the back and simper. And I'm rocking this look."
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Lorelei didn't necessarily agree, but it was true that the group had been using Chrissy like a flesh-and-blood Swiss Army knife. The trouble with being multi-functional was that people often forgot you had feelings or, indeed, any say in the matter at all. She jotted down her next question with a touch more empathy.
"So, what Class are you currently?" she wrote, handing the pad back.
"Berserker Ravager, apparently. I can't wait to see Steffan's face. He won't know where to look!"
By the various glances Chrissy was getting whilst they were speaking, Lorelei thought she had a pretty decent idea where the Necromancer's gaze might be attracted.
"Do you know anything about what we're supposed to be doing?" Lorelei asked. Or, more accurately, she moaned ecstatically—at length—in a way that gathered them even more attention. Blushing, she grabbed back the notepad and wrote down her question, trying to ignore the various thumbs-ups and appreciative nods from bystanders who had clearly misinterpreted her current level of enthusiasm for the upcoming obstacle course.
"You really have a talent for that, you know! I had—well, had—a few clients that would pay off your mortgage for a few hours of you moaning at them," Chrissy beamed, then frowned as she read the message. "Not really. My Guide says that we're fifth in the queue for our 'first run,' which I presume has something to do with all of that," she gestured towards the assault course.
"Fifth in the queue?" Lorelei silently asked her own Guide.
***Help Message***
Don't sweat it, bingo wings. The first run of the course is really just a way to sort the men out from the boys. Everything's basically set to stun, and it's rare for there to be casualties. The idea is to weed out those who are simply not up to it before the tournament proper kicks off.
The veracity of her Guide's words was somewhat undercut by the sudden fountain of blood shooting up from a decapitated corpse who had zigged when it might have been advisable to zag.
***No harm no foul Message***
Yeah, but what you've got to understand is that he was a Level 19. You're not supposed to be anywhere near this place until you are at least a 20. To all intents and purposes, he was asking for it. Pretty much assisted suicide just by stepping into the arena.
Lorelei's jaw tightened as she furiously scribbled on the pad. "I'm the fucking highest levelled of our group, and I'm only Level 13! What have you got us into!"
***Not Much Help Message***
I'd be finding this conversation much more amusing, sweetie, if you'd be verbalising, rather than thinking things at me. Look, there's no point being all pissy with me. I couldn't have been clearer when I gave you this quest.
I said don't touch it with a bargepole, and yet there you went, blindly careening into the Winding Way to find the amulet. Your party claimed it, so here you are. You get automatically entered into the arena by being here, so there's nothing I can do about it. Best bet is to quit your whining and start working out how you're going to make it through alive.
Cursing—somewhat orgasmically—Lorelei turned to watch the 'show' for a few moments. She'd thought defeating the Chimera had required some epic teamwork, but it was nothing compared to the complexity of the obstacle course they were fifth in line for. It resembled something designed by a lunatic with a particularly vindictive sense of humour—perhaps the kind who enjoys painting kittens in chainsaw duels.
***Clarification Message***
Third. One of the teams ahead of you has taken one look at it and chosen not to complete it.
"That's an option?" she scrawled hastily, her heart doing an odd, hopeful little skip. The idea of not having to partake in what could only be described as "overkill with a sprinkle of sadism" was very appealing.
***Help Message***
Sure. Didn't I explain that? You can absolutely choose not to take part.
Lorelei felt a wave of relief, so powerful she could almost hear an imaginary orchestra cue up a triumphant swell. Finally, a way out! She could see it now: they would politely decline, head to the nearest inn, perhaps enjoy a drink that didn’t come with a side of existential dread. "Well, then we do that. We refuse to make our run." She wrote with a flourish, already imagining the look of bafflement on the faces of the other teams as they waltzed out of the arena, heads held high.
***Your Funeral Message***
Okay, well if that's what you want. I mean, having my Class ripped from my body and my shrieking, Classless self sent to the Underworld as a plaything for demons feels like a pretty big downside compared to going for a little jog and a climb, but you do you.
"Oh, do fuck off," Lorelei said aloud, earning herself another round of amused glances, and a particularly enthusiastic wave from a centaur.
As she glared at the pad, Lorelei couldn't help but feel that, on balance, she was a lot more fond of the days when her most difficult decisions involved the rewriting of the Safeguarding policy. Back then, "stressful" meant deciding whether to make announcing pronouns mandatory. Now, "stressful" involved the very real possibility of a brutal, untimely, and potentially very messy death. Sighing, she stole another glance at the assault course. Even from this angle, it was clear was a labyrinth of traps, pitfalls, and inexplicable design choices. Each obstacle seemed more ludicrous than the last: there were walls that oozed oil, swinging blades that would have made even the Grim Reaper pause to take notes, and the occasional burst of flame that really added that special something, a little "je ne sais quoi" that said, "You're going to die, but you'll be very warm when you do."
“Third in the queue,” Chrissy said, almost to herself, as she continued to watch a particularly muscular orc attempt to navigate the course. It was difficult to tell what part of the orc’s efforts were due to sheer determination and what part was just sheer panic.
Lorelei’s earlier wave of relief had evaporated, leaving behind the cold, clammy realisation that they were not, in fact, getting out of this. “Well, at least we get to see what happens to the people in front of us,” Chrissy said brightly, in the kind of tone usually reserved for people trying to find the silver lining in a mushroom cloud.
“Or what’s left of them,” Lorelei wrote.
Another burst of flame erupted from the course, followed by a scream that Lorelei was certain had started as a roar of defiance. The team currently on the course was not faring well, which was not doing wonders for her already frayed nerves. If they couldn’t make it, how could she and her team? “Any ideas on how to survive this?” she wrote, shoving the pad at Chrissy.
“Run fast, duck often, and pray?” Chrissy suggested - the kind of advice that was technically sound but deeply unhelpful. “I mean, we’ve faced worse, right?”
A fresh round of screams echoed through the arena, drawing their attention back to the course. The Level 21s, or what was left of them, were clinging to the last shreds of their dignity. The obstacles had torn through their ranks with the precision of a bureaucrat on a deadline, and it was clear that the course had not been designed with any intention of letting anyone leave it in one piece.
“Whatever happens, at least we’ll have a story to tell,” Chrissy said, ever the optimist.
“Yes,” Lorelei wrote with a flourish, “assuming we have anyone left to tell it to.”