“Obviously, I don’t want to contract cancer-rabies or whatever in the fuck Blight actually is,” I said. “But I’m willing to listen if you think there’s a way I can strike a deal with the Hold.”
I briefly considered the golden Seal of the Researcher tucked away in my storage space. I was pretty sure that if I showed up at the gates and flashed that bad boy, the Howlers would welcome me in with arms open wide. But that was also a powerful single-use item, and once I used it, there would be no getting it back. If there was a way I could win their trust and hang on to the medallion as well, I was interested. Even if there were complications.
“They’re having Blight issues,” she replied, her sour smile transforming into a mischievous grin. “The Hold itself is located near one of the largest Loot Arcades on the seventh floor. That’s why they built the Safe Harbor there in the first place. But something nasty has taken up residence and they’ve been reluctant to send their own people out to deal with it, since the Aspirants are all out and on the warpath.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “that’s the job you’re supposed to handle to get back into their good graces?”
“You’re more perceptive than you look,” she replied. “If you help me, I suspect that good grace might extend to you as well. Plus, I’d be willing to vouch for you.”
I looked at her askew. “Yeah… I feel like having you vouch for me might do more harm than good. And even if that’s not the case, there’s no guarantee that helping you will get my foot in the door.”
“It certainly won’t hurt your chances,” she replied, “especially since it seems that you’re at least partly responsible for all the trouble with the Aspirants. If you want to open trade with the Hold, this would be an excellent olive branch. The thing about the Howlers is that they never forget a debt.” She paused, boring into me with unflinching eyes. “They also never forget a transgression. Knowingly or not, you’ve brought trouble to their doorstep, but if you fix one of their problems they will remember.”
I grunted, already knowing I was probably going to say yes.
“Let’s just say for one minute that I’m interested. What exactly are we dealing with?” I asked, before taking a long slug of coffee. It was lukewarm and bitter, which pretty much summarized my feelings about this whole operation.
“Hold on. I’ve already accepted the bounty and have the details saved to my Grimoire.” She raised both hands, fingers flying through a complicated set of arcane gestures. “I’ll just share it directly with you.”
After a few more intricate motions, she clapped her palms together, then pulled them apart in quick succession, revealing an enormous leather tome, floating in the air directly in front of her.
“What the hell is that?” I asked incredulously, gesturing toward the floating book. The cover appeared to be crafted from human skin and the book looked like it was meant to summon the Old Ones from the fathomless depths below.
I wanted one.
“It’s my localized VIRUS interface portal,” she said offhandedly while flipping through several pages.
“I didn’t see anything about that anywhere in the Monolith.”
She flipped another page and finally glanced up. “That’s because you’re operating on the newest iteration of the VIRUS,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m still using a much older version. Iteration 16.6. I could upgrade, but prefer the old ways.” She affectionately tapped the dusty parchment pages. “I don’t see the windows as you do. Instead, my localized familiar speaks to me through journal entries. There are a few compatibility issues with the newer Monoliths, but I find it’s worth the occasional headache.”
“What do you mean the newer Monoliths?” I asked, confused. “Are you talking about the ATMs?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure when exactly those came around, but when I first Noclipped, the Monoliths resembled large standing stones with ancient glyphs carved into their surfaces. I’m told you can still find some of those older versions if you go deep enough down. The Black Forest on floor seventy-four is supposed to have quite a few. Now, do you want to see the entry or not?”
I had about a thousand questions, but I also really wanted to see the entry. Obviously, the Flayed Monarch was mobilizing his forces, so I was working against a shot clock and needed to make some friends of my own. And the faster the better.
“Yeah, fine. Show me the stupid entry,” I grumbled.
She waved her fingers over the pages and they flickered wildly, as though caught in a strong gale. An otherworldly light emanated from the tome, conjuring ghostly green text that lazily backstroked across the air. There were clearly similarities between this and my own eight-bit notification system, but the differences were still fascinatingly stark.
Even the language was old-timey and weird.
Like something out of a Shakespeare play.
If Shakespeare had been on Bathsalts.
Funtime Frank’s Jungle Gym Jamboree
Peril Assessment Quotient: ۞۞۞
Current Geographic Position: 7.56.02.88-20 (Ye Seventh Floor, Quadrant 16, Sector 23)
Once a youngling’s paradise, a sanctum of swaying slides, cacophonous mechanick games, and delightful clockwork jamborees, now a den of pain and inequity of the most horrifying order. The provisions are abominable, the costs preposterous, and the cleanliness so dubious, it hath earned the scrutiny of the Plague Doctor’s Consortium. Verily, thou wouldst never wish to sojourn here, yet fate hath other plans, for no child can resist the wonderous allure of this carpeted hellscape.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Twisted by the accursed Blight, the entertainments within this Mythic Trove of Trinkets have metamorphosed into hellish riddles, crafted with the sole aim of mauling, disarticulation or—in the most blessed of circumstances—incurable emotional scars. The orb pits are a nightmarish tableau of bladed playthings and venomous murk. The marionette shows? ’Tis best to remain silent, for they instruct in matters most grotesque.
As for Funtime Frank, the mechanical beast of yore, on him we shall not expound. He is a subject most ominous, to be considered only with dread and loathing.
The sole redemption? Should thou survivest this dire excursion, the loot, in a twist most ironic, is nigh wondrous. Hark! When next ye hear the jingle, once a herald of merriment, know ye must confront Funtime Frank. And Frank shall bring ruin upon thy household for ten generations.
Reward: 3,500 Experience Points, 15 x Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 3 x Silver Delver Loot Tokens, 1 x Golden Mercenary Loot Token, 1 x Sapphire Loot Token.
Accept Quest? Yes/No
I read the damned thing over three separate times, and it was like someone was talking in cursive at me. Still, I gleaned enough to get the gist of it. This was some kind of Chuck E. Cheese, Discovery Zone mashup, bursting at the seams with games, questionable food, plastic play tunnels, and a nightmarish animatronic band, which was presumably led by Funtime Frank.
“I don’t want to be a party pooper,” Croc said, its eyes gliding over the text hanging in the air, “but this seems like a terrible idea. I’ve never personally seen Funtime Frank, but I’ve heard of Funtime Frank. Also, anecdotally, several years ago I was working with a trio of Delvers who tried to raid that particular Arcade against my advice—”
“Let me guess,” I interrupted, “they were beaten to death with their own limbs?”
“Wait, did I already tell you about Maria, Chad, and Robert?” Croc asked.
I sighed. Of course they’d been beaten to death using their own limbs. “We need to find a way to make friends with the Howlers, and this seems like the best way to do that. You love making friends,” I said, eyeballing the dog. “I thought you’d be on board.”
“Although my desperate need for friendship does haunt my every decision like an angry ghost I shall never be rid of, protecting my best friend forever is my top priority. And that’s you, Dan. You are my BFF and I care about you even more than waterslides or Froyo or the critically acclaimed book and movie series Twilight, which is why I need to tell you that this is a very bad idea. Maria, Chad, and Robert died in minutes, and that was before Funtime Frank contracted the Blight.
“He’ll be far more powerful now,” the dog continued. “And this is a three-star job. That might not sound particularly ominous, since it’s only one star higher than the MediocreMart, but the Threat Assessment Ratings aren’t linear, they’re exponential. A two-star rating is twice as difficult as a one-star rating, and a three-star rating is twice as difficult as a two-star rating. Whatever we’re dealing with will be well above level twenty. Even level thirty isn’t out of the question. This is a suicide mission.”
“He’s not wrong,” Temperance admitted readily. She almost sounded happy about it, which was concerning. “There is a reason why the Howlers haven’t dispatched a strike force, and it’s not just because they are shoring up their defenses in case the Aspirants decide to take a shot across the bow. Funtime Frank is dangerous and there is a chance we will die. With that said, it is not as hopeless as it seems. I have it on good authority that Frank is only level twenty-five. Tough but not impossibly so.”
“Then why such a high threat rating, I wonder?” Jakob asked, his claws clicking against the tabletop. “Seems like a two-and-a-half-star bounty at most.”
“No, the three stars are warranted,” Temperance replied. “Frank may only be level twenty-five, but he isn’t alone. He may be the leader of the Funtime Jamboree, but he is not its only member. To take him out, we’ll need to take out the whole band, too. And they are all at least level eighteen.”
“How many of them are there?” I asked.
“It’s a classic five-man band,” she said, “including Frank, of course.”
I glanced at Croc.
An image of the mimic sprawled out on the floor, a single footstep away from death, cartwheeled through my thoughts. The mimic had warned me that picking a fight with Mohawk was a bad idea. I hadn’t listened and it had very nearly cost Croc its life. I couldn’t let that happen again, especially since the Researcher’s Seal would likely grant me access to the Safe Harbor without any complications.
The potential upside was worth the risk in my estimation, but I’d only do it if Croc was fully on board.
“What do you think?” I asked the mimic in all earnestness. “You know the stakes. Establishing a trade relationship with the Howlers is crucial, but if you sincerely think it’s a suicide mission, we can try to find a different way instead. What do we do here, buddy?”
“You, Dan, are trusting me, Croc, to make the call?” Croc asked, its googly eyes suddenly the size of teacups.
“Maybe if Maria, Chad, and Robert had listened to you,” I replied with a shrug, “they wouldn’t have been bludgeoned to death with their own limbs. Friends trust their friends, and I don’t aim to make the same mistake. So what do you think? Do we help her out or not?”
“I think you’ve just made me the happiest normal human dog in the whole world,” Croc said. “I also still think this is a terrible idea.”
“What if he came with us?” I asked, nodding at Jakob.
I liked the oddball German, but I still didn’t trust him for shit.
In his defense, I didn’t trust anyone other than Croc at this point, although Baby Hands was slowly edging his way into my inner circle—that weirdo was a hard worker. My mistrust also extended to Temperance, but she was only two levels higher than me, and she didn’t have a Mythic Emblem as an ace tucked up her sleeve. If push came to shove, I was confident I could at least get away from her, if not outright kill her.
Jakob was another matter, entirely.
Still, no man was an island, and if I was going to hold my own against the Monarch and the Aspirants, I wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. I’d need to trust other people eventually, and so far, the Cendral had proven himself to be reliable if nothing else. Maybe he’d kill me the second he got the chance, or maybe not. But if I didn’t take a few risks, the Monarch was one hundred percent gonna put me in a coffin. And I’d probably be alive and without an ounce of skin on my body when he did.
My question gave Croc a long pause.
Finally, the mimic-dog bobbed its head, googly eyes jiggling wildly. “Between the four of us, I think we’d have a shot.” Croc turned the look at the Cendral. “The real question is, will you help us?”
Jakob regarded his talons for a moment, as though in deep consideration. Then, finally, he sighed. “Wer A sagt, muss auch B sagen, as my countrymen say. I think the closest English expression is, In for a penny, in for a pound. I will help, but if we are going to do it, best to be smart about it. Getting the two of you”—he glanced between me and Temperance—“up to level twenty must be our highest priority. If we can do that... Maybe we can beat Frank and clear the Blight.”
“Well fuck it,” I said with a grin. “Let’s go power-level our asses off then kill evil Chuck E. Cheese.”