Ignoring the cheerleader Zombies—and Lorelei was doing her best to achieve this feat. Those things creeped her out—there were ten living, breathing people in the party she was being required to escort out of the city centre and over to the cathedral.
Steffan the Necromancer was their de facto leader, although the more Lorelei spoke to him, the more she came to realise he did not really have the Charisma for that role. His approach to getting things done was to do an awful lot of talking, then aeons of listening, some empathetic nodding and – if he still didn’t get his own way – have one of his undead army wander over and growl menacingly until his point of view won the day.It worked as an approach, for sure, but it hardly made him seem like the second coming of Marcus Aurelius.
To help with his little game of intimidation, Steffan had eight Zombies in total – did that count as an army? - but Lorelei had found that there was little point in trying to tell which was which. Quite apart from the fact that pre-death, they were all sporting the same uniform, hairstyle and elaborate make-up routine, the resurrection spell Steffan had used - something called
This was probably a touch unfair on the Necromancer as, having spoken to a few of the others, it seemed Steffan had been entirely unwilling to add to the number of his little war band by casting that spell on any other fallen friends or foes. However, that didn't mean they weren't afraid he wouldn't get that particular horror show on the road anytime soon.
For her part, Lorelei couldn’t help but think that things would be happening an awful lot faster if the dude would just cut to the chase and lean into all the stereotypes around his Class. However, she was the last person to offer constructive build advice, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Lorelei could sense, though, at some stage, the trauma of losing all his friends and then reanimating their corpses into a terrifyingly submissive, and yet very hot, girl band was going to catch up with the young man. At which stage, he was probably going to go one of two ways: psychotic edge lord or full-on emotional breakdown. She was very much hoping he would continue to hold it together for the length of their journey to Lichfield.
Of course, she realised as soon as she had that thought, trusting to luck was the one thing guaranteed to mean the poor guy would lose his shit any second. Tearing her eyes away from that little oncoming train wreck waiting to happen, Lorelei turned her attention to the two figures standing at either end of the group. These armoured bookends were what she assumed the Guide had meant by 'meat shields' when it was offering her the warrior Class options a million years ago. Or was it just yesterday afternoon?
Both were Level 3 - so they had hardly been tearing the place up with their derring deeds of do - but Steffan had said they'd done more than their bit to keep this impromptu group alive.
The first was a beefy, rugby-playing type called Pete. His Class, Adamantine Sentinel, sounded pretty damn imposing, so it was, therefore, a shame that the man was easily on the wrong side of fifty and had clearly enjoyed many a pie in his time. Saying that, though, he was clad in armour so resplendent it would make a dragon covetous, and he also held a massive oblong shield that was less a tool and more an impenetrable wall. To show willing, Lorelei had tried to engage him in conversation but had quickly realised a) he was pretty deaf and b) he was from somewhere so northern he only appeared to speak in vowels.
Nevertheless, given a choice, she much preferred Pete's good-natured silence - and occasional inarticulate gargling - to the other massive figure standing at the opposite end of the pub. Hild was a statuesque brunette who had quickly let it be known she disliked pretty much everything about Fortuna's Herald. Now, this was not Lorelei's first time being looked down on; where this hit a little different was that it was the first time a fucking Level 3 Valkyrie had done so, literally peering down on her from seven feet in the air. Lorelei couldn't help but feel it would have been nice for the sisterhood to come through for her at least once, but those were the breaks.
Hild's armour, a sleek ensemble of interlocking blackened leather plates, was obviously built for both formidable defence and the agility to dodge, and the massive axe she was resting on was not just for show either. She seemed to have a sardonic sense of humour, muttering snide little remarks while Lorelei was speaking. Steffan had assured her that, in the heat of battle, Hild was as dependable as it came, albeit one that clearly had taken against their ‘saviour’.
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"Guide, why are those two so ridiculously overgeared compared to me?"
***Help Message***
They're what is known in the trade as 'tanks'. Fun fact: after things started to go downhill, it was suggested that I improve drop box quality for those focused on protecting others. Nice idea, right? And it worked perfectly. If by 'perfectly', you mean it was a colossal disaster. It just meant a bunch of you fucking psychos worked out that mowing down and looting tanks was more profitable than focusing on the more squishy types. Have I mentioned that I am growing heartily sick with some of you chaos goblins?
Lorelei ignored that, turning instead to consider the members of the group that the Guide suggested could be described as 'damage dealers'. Steffan, in theory, fell into this category - providing he could ever bring himself to send his zombie 'army' into battle. Alongside him were three versions of Mage, which an ever so positive *** Help Message *** had noted were heavy on the 'glass' and less so on the 'cannon'.
The three guys had all dived heavily into the 'I want to throw a fireball' vibe, but judging by their low level, they hadn't actually gotten around to dealing out all that much fiery death. The highest levelled of them, Zorrobar, was a fairly affable Friar Tuck of a man who seemed perpetually amused by the situation in which he found himself. The other two wizards . . . well, Lorelei did not wish to seem harsh, but it had been a trying few days, and she only had enough brain space for important details. For that reason, she had designated the taller of the two other mages, Red Shirt #1 and the shorter guy, Red Shirt #2. She wasn't being callous, but between the pair of them, they'd nearly killed themselves a bunch of times just sitting in the damn pub. Neither was giving the vibe that they would likely be in this for the long haul.
Starting to get disheartened at the quality of her little squad, Lorelei turned next to the two rat-like figures—she assumed they were related because they looked so alike—doing their best to break open the pub's fruit machine. Michael and Michelle had described themselves to her as rogues, and it had taken the Guide's intervention to clarify this was a Class description, not a general statement of personality deficiency. The brother and sister had both picked the same Class—Veiled Stalker—which did not exactly fill Lorelei with trust and belief in them as team players.
The two were draped in muted, shadow-hued garb that blended seamlessly with their surroundings, no matter where in the pub they stood. Whenever she had tried to speak with them, they had exuded an aura of cold, calculating menace. Steffan had vouched for them, saying that, thus far, they had been reliable, if somewhat unnerving, presences. Lorelei was pretty sure that they were literally going to stab her in the back the first chance they got. However, you played the cards you were dealt, she thought. And then was quite proud of the luck-based metaphor.
That left just the two figures the Guide had designated Healers. The first, Monica, was wearing a nurse's costume that, to Lorelei's mind, suggested 'stripper' rather than 'serious medical professional'. Her fears had been confirmed when, in discussion, it appeared the woman had not entirely understood the implications of the integration and had chosen her Class based on the available outfit. Lorelei had mentally prepared to add her to the list of Red Shirts but then, remembering Clover's 'Final Girl' theory, realised that if anyone were likely to survive this shitshow, the AI would probably make sure it was the big-breasted blonde dressed as a slutty nurse.
"Can she actually heal?" Lorelei had asked Steffan, watching dubiously as Monica rearranged her hat in the bar's mirror.
Steffan shrugged. "No idea. Kris has taken care of most of that for us so far."
Now, Kris . . .
Lorelei was acutely aware that she was probably in the 'rebound' stage of her emotional journey. The brutality of the completion of her relationship with the Prick with the prick had left a number of wounds which were probably going to take any amount of casual, meaningless encounters to get over. And she would be absolutely fine if, say, the next five hundred of those were with Kris. He managed to be both tall, dark and handsome without also needing the addition of being mad, bad and dangerous to know. More Darcy than Heathcliff. And more The Rock than anything else. The fact that someone of his build and size had chosen to pick a healer Class added more than a little to the attraction she felt for him. He wore monkish robes that gave him a calm grace, and his gentle yet firm hands were perfect for channelling soothing energies to mend wounds and restore vitality. And Lorelei was sure, other, more exciting things . . .
***Help Message***
Not that I'm not delighted you've found another emotional state other than 'fucking useless', but I might suggest you get a move on. You've got a bunch of pissed-off Level 10s just up the road and a quest ticking. There will be time for mooning over the Healer later, but if you don't get cracking soon, it'll all be over before it starts.
With that ringing endorsement - seriously, where was the Guide at the establishment of the Fellowship of the Ring? It could have added some much-needed gravitas to the situation - Lorelei nodded to Steffan, and he began the process of encouraging his little flock to get moving.
Watching him cajole, persuade, and eventually threaten the small group out of the door, Lorelei could not help but think this was going to be a long, long walk.
ong, long walk.