Flynt and Meg pull the corpses into one of the corners, taking the time to go through their pockets as any good adventurer would. Looting the dead feels so different when you’re ostensibly living it. In a videogame, you just press a button and voila! But here, with the exception of my weird ice spider venom, you have to physically move aside clothing and dig in pockets and pouches all while they’re staring up at you because, it turns out, not everyone closes their eyes when they die. I knew that, intellectually, but it's tough to be faced with it.
We don’t know what to do about the ice chunks, so we silently decide to ignore them while they lie there melting into bloody bits of former human.
It’s just a dream, it’s all just a dream, but it sure doesn’t feel like one.
I focus first on retrieving my arrows, recruiting Meg to help me remove them from the bodies, even the broken one. It feels important to do.
Then, I try to focus on the loot, and it is kind of fun even if it feels... wrong. This was clearly a sacred space for someone, though as Jonas points out, it’s been untouched for decades and clearly corrupted since then.
“This has to have been a shrine to Zendriel,” he says, “it’s the only thing that makes sense with all the imagery. And she would definitely, most certainly want us to take out these cultists.”
“And to be rewarded for the effort,” Tyrus agrees. He’s kneeling down beside one of the chests, holding a lantern he found up to the lock. “She might have been a good dragon, but she was still a dragon. She’d appreciate building a good hoard. Help me with this. Hold the light steady.”
I take the lantern and move the reflective piece to focus the light where Tyrus concentrates. He inspects the lock closely, frowning as he does so, then probes it with one piece of his lock-picking tool. Satisfied, he goes to work, carefully moving the pick pieces in different directions before shaking his head and replacing them with a different set. This goes easier, though his tongue is partially out, peeking between his lips as he focuses. There’s a quiet click, and we all hold our breath before he moves and slowly opens the lid.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, pulling out a dark velvet cloak and holding it up. “More clothing! Would you believe it?! More fucking clothing. Who locks up their clothes? I don’t understand.” He throws it on the floor in a huff as Jonas and I look at each other, trying to suppress laughter. “Onto the next.”
I hand the lantern to Jonas and focus on the now open chest, carefully pulling out cloaks in a variety of colors—some black, like the first, but toward the bottom there are several silver cloaks that remind me a little bit of the one kept secret in my bag, only instead of dragon scales it is made of smooth, extremely soft velvet with the scale motif embroidered on with what looks like silver thread. Touching the cloaks doesn’t give me any information, so I fold one up carefully and as small as possible, then tuck it into my bag, before I pull up [Inventory].
> [Inventory]
> [1 Green Elixir of Stamina, Basic]
> [1 Cloak of Dragon Scales, Legendary]
> [1 Endless Journal, Basic]
> [1 Endless Ink Pen, Basic]
> [1 Deck Playing Cards, Mundane]
> [1 Pewter Mug, Mundane]
> [2 Lesser Enchanting Stones, Basic]
> [1 Key, Wide Sky Tavern and Inn, Mundane]
> [1 Toothbrush, Mundane]
> [1 Jar of Mouthsoap]
> [1 Medicine Kit, Mundane]
> [1 Medium Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [10 Gold Pieces]
> [21 Silver Pieces]
> [3 Copper Pieces]
> [2 Used Breakfast Wrappers, Mundane]
> [1 Vial Ice Spider Venom, Basic]
> [1 Small Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [15 Silver Pieces]
> [1 Waterskin, two-thirds full, Mundane]
> [1 Cult of Zendriel Lore Master Robe, Basic]
[Cult of Zendriel Lore Master Robes]. Not priest or initiate or general cultist. Lore master. I have no idea what that means, but it seems different and potentially important. Though, at this point in the game, it feels like everything could be important.
I look back into the chest, frown at it, and decide to knock at the bottom. It sounds hollow and is several inches above where I’d expect it to be. Feeling around, I manage to get my fingertips between the edge and the walls of the chest and ease it up, pushing it aside. I grin. Underneath are two small pouches, a pair of red elixirs, and a pair of old books.
“Do elixirs go bad?” I ask the room.
“What do you mean?” Jonas asks from a dozen feet away, holding the lantern for Tyrus who looks to be struggling with the lock, so much so that there are actually beads of sweat at his temples.
“Tyrus gave up on the chest too soon, I found a false bottom with some pouches and a pair of what look like healing elixirs, plus a couple of books.”
Jonas grins as Tyrus grunts at that. “They’re magical, so they shouldn’t go bad. They may taste a little funny, but they should get the job done. Good find.”
“Thanks.”
Flynt remains at the altar, carefully investigating the materials there, while Meg comes up to me, wiping her hands on a dusty piece of cloth she picked up. She crouches down to speak to me in a low voice.
“You doing okay?”
“I kind of wish people would stop asking me that.”
“It’s only that you threw up your breakfast all over the entryway.”
I cringe. “Sorry. The whole killing people thing is an adjustment for me. This can't actually be okay.”
She glances back toward the pile of bodies and shakes her head. “I don’t know about ‘okay,’ but acceptable? They’re members of an evil cult that attacked the city two days ago. I saw bounties on their heads when we were looking at missions. And, they attacked us first. It may not be the best justice system possible, but… I don’t know. It is what it is, I guess.”
“We’re basically vigilantes.”
She nods. “In some ways. Many ways. You’ll need to decide if you can deal with it. Mostly, it’s going to be monsters and creatures but, every now and then, we’re going to face people. They’re often going to be up to no good and, nine times in ten, will try to kill us before we confront them. Sometimes... honestly, all the time... it’s going to feel pretty shitty. It’s how you survive in the adventuring life—and honestly, in this world in general, even in Qeth." She pauses and frowns deeper, that sadness creeping into her edges again. “It can be hard on the soul.”
“It’s very different from the life I left,” I murmur, looking down at the book in my lap with its ancient-looking leather binding and embossed Elvish title. Lost Artifacts of The Dragon Wars. “I don’t even hunt my own food. I buy it at the market.”
“Sounds privileged.”
“It is,” I agree, drawing a deep breath, glad I now have a toothbrush and mouthsoap in [Inventory]. “I just... don't want to make a habit of this.”
“Trust me when I say I don't either... even if it sometimes looks otherwise. Okay?”
“Okay.” I draw another deep, steading breath. “I’ll figure it out. But for now, please assume that I am okay.”
“Alright. Hey, at least you didn’t lose consciousness this time,” she says, offering a tight smile. “That’s progress.”
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“You know what, I’ll take it.” I match her expression, and glance back to the guys at the other chest. Tyrus still doesn’t have it open and he’s getting frustrated. “I’ll tell you now, though—if that’s more clothes, I might die of amusement.”
She bites back a chuckle. “There’s part of me that’s hoping it is.” She hesitates for a moment, then reaches out to squeeze my shoulder before she stands and heads back toward Flynt, hands on her hips as she inspects the altar with him.
I stuff the books into my bag as well as the healing elixirs so they don’t get broken, then scoop up the pouches, which feel full of coins. That should make Tyrus happy if nothing else.
“Ah-ha! See, I told you I’d get it,” he says to Jonas and flips open the lid—only to be blown backward with a quiet BOOF of force, the momentum rolling him ass over teakettle into one of the pews. I gasp but Jonas laughs as Tyrus scrambles up, getting tangled in his own limbs as he tries to reorient himself. “It’s not funny. That hurt. Stop laughing.”
“Oh, you’re fine!” Jonas gasps, putting his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath and regain composure while Tyrus tentatively returns to the chest and looks inside. Tyrus heaves a heavy sigh and reaches in to pull out a rolled-up piece of heavy cloth, offering it to me. I slowly unroll it.
It’s a tapestry, similar in style to the ones in the front. “Interesting,” I say. “This is a small version of one that’s out in the foyer.” I peer over Tyrus’s head and into the chest. There are several more in there along with some other pieces of art: a silver dragon statue and a figure that looks like the teleport statue. “What else is in there? If it was trapped like that, it has to be valuable.”
“Not necessarily,” Tyrus mutters, but carefully reaches in and removes each piece, setting them on the floor around him.
I roll up the first tapestry and set it aside, then pull out the next. It’s the one that reads Kellnor Receives the Stone of Ylaura along the bottom, though this one has a different, more elaborate border done in slightly tarnished silver thread, much like the design on the lore master robes.
“Could just have special meaning and need extra protection,” Tyrus continues. “Hard to tell. These things look a little niche. What is it you were saying, Jonas?” He looks up at the healer. “The Cult of Zendriel was forbidden? It may have been their way of trying to keep their secrets. Either way though, not a particularly fearsome trap. That says they expected people to be getting things out of it and didn’t want to risk permanent injury if they forgot to reset it.”
“That makes sense.” I pick up the figure and examine it. It’s not exactly like the teleportation statue. This one has a small green gem in the open left palm, directed downward, while the right arm remains outstretched—though it’s broken off at the elbow. “I wonder if this is a depiction of the stone.”
“Maybe.” Tyrus sighs. “Either way though, not worth a lot. You’d have to find the right collector, and that’s not really worth the trouble. Right, Flynt? You’re the shop owner.”
Flynt looks up from the altar and back toward us. “Depends on the artifact.”
“Cult of Zendriel shit.”
“Oh.” Flynt shrugs. “If we can date it to the Quakes or earlier, maybe. But you’re right, we would need the right collector. Not likely to find one in Oosal either. Probably would need to go up to Gerai. The elves typically like that kind of thing.”
I set the statue aside, fully planning to bring everything with us to pour over later. If this is the quest tree we’re being offered, then I want to have everything we can. We may be finding out how much this bag can carry, and I’m glad for the inventory that keeps track of everything in it.
There are nine rolled miniature tapestries in all, which account for the six in the foyer and the three that are defaced in here. There are also several other small dragon effigies, all seemingly made of silver, all representing the same dragon by the looks of it.
When he gets to the bottom, Tyrus does exactly what I did and taps at the wood, nodding at the hollow sound and feeling around for a way to pry it up. Lifting it out, he grins, sets aside the bottom, and pulls out the three different pouches, another book, and two vials of blue elixirs of Essence—which he immediately hands up to Jonas, who shakes his head.
“No, they should go to the team.”
“They should go to you. You keep the team alive,” Tyrus says, and I nod in support. Jonas sighs but accepts them, tucking them into the same pouch as the one I handed him.
Tyrus hands me two of the three bags, which feel like they have coins in them, then dumps the third out in his palm to reveal a fist full of precious gems, all cut and gleaming: a couple of rubies, an amethyst, a large sapphire, some onyx, and a diamond about the size of my thumb nail.
“Hello gorgeous,” Tyrus says, picking the diamond out and holding it up. “We have some real loot, my friends. It’s not a lot, but it’s some. Makes up for last time at least. Plus, Keira has a bunch of reading material.” He adds the last bit as he watches me slowly put the book into my magic bag, then the various statues, and finally slip in the tapestries one by one. “Those bags always freak me out a little.”
“I feel like Mary Poppins,” I agree. “A, uh, folktale from back home.” I slip the last one in, then close my bag and open it to find the space empty. It’s so weird how that works. “Do we want to sort through the money now or wait until we get back to the city and turn in the bounty?”
“Let’s wait,” he says, dumping the jewels back into their pouch and handing it to me. “Just put it all in there and we’ll figure it out. Maybe the Wide Sky owner will let us hang out after closing to divvy it all out.”
“We can also go to the Emporium,” Flynt says, coming up behind us, carrying a massive, dusty tome of a book and a fistful of coins—several of them gold. “I don’t have a pouch for them.”
“Put it in here.” I hold out one of the other pouches, and he does so. I add it all to my magic bag and check [Inventory] to make sure it’s all there, almost gasping at the amount of coinage that’s accumulating. In addition to what was already in there, [Inventory] now includes:
> [Inventory]
> [2 Red Elixir of Healing, Basic]
> [1 Book: Lost Artifacts of the Dragon Wars, Mundane]
> [1 Book: Clash of the Ancients, Mundane]
> [1 Book: Life in the Times of Dragons, Mundane]
> [1 Guardian Angel of Qeth Statue (broken), Mundane]
> [4 Zendriel Effigies in Silver, Mundane]
> [9 Small Tapestries, Mundane]
> [1 Book: Ballad of Zendriel, Mundane]
> [1 Small Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [13 Gold Pieces]
> [10 Silver Pieces]
> [8 Copper Pieces]
> [12 Iron Pieces]
> [1 Small Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [3 Gold Pieces]
> [18 Silver Pieces]
> [10 Copper Pieces]
> [4 Iron Pieces]
> [1 Small Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [11 Gold Pieces]
> [20 Silver Pieces]
> [1 Copper Pieces]
> [1 Small Coin Pouch, Mundane]
> [18 Gold Pieces]
> [3 Silver Pieces]
> [8 Copper Pieces]
> [1 Small Pouch, Mundane]
> [2 Rubies, Mundane]
> [1 Sapphire, Mundane]
> [1 Diamond, Mundane]
> [6 Onyx, Mundane]
> [1 Amethyst, Mundane]
I don’t have much to compare it to, but that feels like some good starting loot.
“The shop has a comfortable, furnished cellar as well as several rooms upstairs,” Flynt continues. “We don’t have food the way the tavern does, but we do have some ale, and it’s private. We shouldn’t be interrupted.”
“That’s promising,” Meg says, joining. She’s looking around the room critically, a frown on her face. “If you’re satisfied with what you’ve managed to pilfer, let’s get out of here. We did okay against these four, but I’m worried others may come back. I don’t think we want to risk getting into an altercation with some of the stronger cultists.”
“Agreed,” Jonas says, nodding. “I’ve had my share of fighting for today and could really use a nice meal.”
“Before our next outing, we should stock Keira’s bag up with some supplies. We shouldn’t be leaving the city with just the clothes on our backs and whatever random shit she already has in there,” Tyrus says, poking at my bag with a stubby index finger. “Those things can hold a lot, and I bet there’s plenty of room left.”
I nod. “Seems to be. Though I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to tell when it’s starting to get full.”
“It starts taking longer for things to disappear as the enchantment tries to figure out where to store it in the trans-dimensional space it’s connected to,” Meg says. She’s pulled an apple from one of the small bags at her hip and hands it toward Jonas with a raised eyebrow. He sighs and accepts, taking a bite of what is at least his third apple of the day. “As long as it’s quickly disappearing, you should be okay. One that size should be able to hold several cubic meters.”
“What about weight?”
“Usually, the shop will tell you all the pertinent details,” Flynt says, frowning.
“A friend gave it to me,” I reply. “She didn’t have a lot of information about it. Remember, I left pretty suddenly.”
“In my experience,” Meg says, “it’s the space that gets used up before weight. Unless we’re storing dozens of full plate armor suits in there, we should be okay for a while. Especially if you clean it out whenever we are between quests. All those statues, for instance—no reason not to take them with us, if only to get them out of this corrupted temple, but there's also no reason for them to accompany us the next time we go out.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one,” I say. “A bag, I mean.”
“I used to. It was taken from me.”
The way she says it doesn’t leave much room for questions, and we all let it go.
I look one more time around the room, my gaze landing first on the pile of bodies, then on the slowly melting chunks of flesh and bone that used to be the cultist mage. My stomach twists again, and I clear my throat.
“Okay. Return to Oosal, then. I’m guessing I’m in back?”