“It’s soooo early,” Matti whined before yawning. “The sun’s not even uuup.”
Pyroshir and I gave her a look. “Bit odd for you to say, Matti.”
She kicked the ground as she stepped in what I was learning to be a classic ‘mildly annoyed’ tell. “I’m adjusted, thank you very much.” She scratched Grif’s back and held a snooty face.
“Yeah, well, I guess I can’t fault you for that. Oh look, Cam’s got the carriage all packed and ready.” I waited until we were closer, as shouting before dawn is a good way to get your ass beat. “Hey, Cam, can you go get Parsnip from the company stable? We’re going doubled-up today.”
“Sure, on it.” He hopped off and sped past me, dropping a “morning, by the way” as he went.
I returned it and got Pyroshir mostly hooked up. He was plenty patient as we waited for Cam to return and get Parsnip hitched as well. We were on the road right quick and out of town at the crack of dawn. It was mostly quiet as we headed for the warp point. Cam napped, Matti napped, the wind probably napped, I got jealous, the whole shebang. It was pretty crowded on the seat with 3, so Matti was sitting in the back for shade when Cam got talkative.
“So, she’s your girlfriend, right?”
“Uhh, yeah, why?”
He held his chin for a moment. “I’ve just been wondering… if you have sex with a vampire, is it necrophilia?”
I furrowed my brow, then prepared to answer confidently. “Uhhh… I dunno,” came out of my mouth instead. “Legally, it’s the act of intercourse with a dead body. Undead count, so yes, in the eyes of the law. But if a necrophiliac is into fuckin’ corpses, then a moving, thinking being would be, like, not it, right? So, on a more base level, I’d say no.”
Cam nodded. “I can see that, but–”
“Uh, hello? I’m right here,” Matti interjected.
I looked back at her. “Oh, sorry. What’s your more nuanced take on it?”
She balked, looking at me funny. Then, she shook her head. “You know what? Fine.” She started to count down her fingers. “I am a ‘living’ being, by standards of existence. I can consent and desire sex. My body does not and will never decay, in fact, it regenerates. I am capable of being pregnant with the help of certain rituals. And, last but not least, I have body heat given by this ring. So, in the eyes of the law, yes. In all other respects, no.”
Cam and I shared a look, then nodded as I faced Matti again. “I guess that settles it, then. The expert hath spoken.”
“I suppose,” she griped. “What kind of conversation even was that, anyway?”
“Guy talk,” we answered in unison.
Matti crossed her arms where she sat. “It is stupid, no more, no less.”
I frowned appreciatively for a moment, then smacked my lips. “Yeah, and?”
……
We came to the turn-off for the warp point and I paused, looking at the dense woodline we were set to plow into. It never really registered how often I came near a tree until it was a goddamn problem. On the flipside, 4/6 of us could kick dryad butt, so I gave it a solid ‘eh, we’ll see what happens’ and flicked the reins.
Sure enough, the sight of Matti and the mere idea that the wind still existed warded off any potential incursion. There was a pack of wolves that came at us with the usual unrealistic hostility, but literally one hiss from Matti and they all hightailed it back into the woods. Grif also went puffball for the first time in, well, ever. He startled, bounced into the air, and tried to remove her face, but was out-sped and she caught him by the nape in a blur.
We arrived at a forest clearing with a distinct lack of grass in a near-perfect circle. We stopped the horses in the ring and I whipped out the stones. I gave the League of Conspicuous Evil HQ a ring and signaled that I had arrived for my appointment. Then I hung up and contemplated to myself. There’d be a decent chance that Auseta would pull something before we warped out, which presented a conundrum.
Do I want my psycho stalker yandere to get arrested and sold into slavery, likely on a LCE plantation…? Much as I disliked her, the answer came quick and I whispered to Cam, then cleared my throat to answer his ‘random thought’.
“I sure hope there’s no stowaways on our teleport to league HQ,” he started at a near-shout.
“Me too. It’d be so annoying to wait for them to get carted off. So much paperwork for ‘bringing in a prisoner of happenstance’,” I responded, again at a high volume.
There was nothing but morning birdsong as the ground beneath us started to glow and thrum with a red sigil. Matti clambered forward to whisper in my ear.
“I hear an ‘awwwww’ from the trees to our right. But why did you warn her? It could have been problem solved.”
I scowled. “Matti, I may be an asshole, but I’m not an irredeemable douchebag.”
And then we zipped out.
It wasn’t really all that psychedelic, more of just a dark redness and a path slipping by under our feet, appearing like we were going a hundred miles an hour. Then it slowed down and reality stretched back into place. We were on a massive, railway-style turntable of polished black granite with a gate behind us and a big crew in front of us. Huge room, lots of pillars, archways, and general artistically-jagged architecture.
There were dark knights, peons, a passel of spellcasters in their suitably black and red uniforms, and a few assorted beasts. I’ll let you use your imagination for what the monsters looked like (damn NDAs). One of the knights approached and I wordlessly handed him my stat card and membership papers, along with the manifest and writ of passage. He looked them over, faint murmuring spilling from his helmet as we were ushered off the turntable.
A few minutes later (and some comments of déjà vu from Cam) he returned and handed the papers back. “All clear, gentlemen. You have one stopping here, a Mattirina?”
“That would be me,” she answered, squeezing out front and hopping down. She glanced back for my inevitable question.
“You got all the forms?”
Matti pulled the sheaf of papers from her cloak. “Everything Grif needs for the CYA, so long as he doesn’t shred them.” She cradled him tightly. “Do you have my letter?”
I whipped it out of the shoulder bag, then stashed it again. “Covered. Have a nice one.”
She smirked. “Of course. I think I’m going to go bite someone.”
At that, she skipped off and we got the carriage moving back to the turntable. Cam remained completely quiet as I passed the coordinate card to the gate operator and we got set up to jump to our destination. The table turned, the ground hummed, yadda yadda dark stretchy portal, we just covered that. It zipped us out on a backcountry dirt road in the middle of hilly grasslands. Trees were nicely sparse and there were great, mountainous stone plateau spires with sheer, dark cliffs in the distance. The Pillar Downs. I turned us south and smiled a bit.
“Well, that was your first interaction with the League of Conspicuous Evil, Cam. What didja think?”
He thought for a moment, seeming bewildered. “Compared to the folks in castle town? They were… not nicer. Uhh, more professional? Yeah, professional. It was weird. I’m surprised I didn’t need to register or some shit.”
“Normally you do, but I’m a member and I can bring along minors.”
His face scrunched from the mental lurch. “Minors? The fuck? I’m a whole-ass adult!”
I offered him a smarmy grin. “But you’re not level 50, so you’re a minor character.”
Pyroshir snorted. “HA! Roasted.”
If the first face-scrunch was a temporary crash, the second was a hard reboot. “Wait, what the FUCK?”
“Oh, finally felt comfortable enough to introduce yourself?” I nudged him. “Cam, meet my new high-tier horse, Pyroshir.”
“Wassaaa, Cam? Bossman says you a G.”
His mouth hung agape a moment more. “Yo, what the fuck? You talk like a _____. … Wait, what? I can't say _____?”
“Don’t mind that. Some trash GCs were racist as hell and a... brotha from Atlanta just went and fucking deleted the N-word from existence.”
“Huh… really?”
“Yep, but I’m not demonstrating. Focus: Talking horse homie!”
Pyroshir shook his mane in a vaguely suave move. “Yeah, talkin’ horse. Real shit right here.”
His reboot finally complete, Cam slowly zeroed in on the current subject. “Cool, cool. What kinda magic are you? And how’d Dennis get a hold of you?”
“Sulphurous core strider, my man. We run along the endless flows of molten rock, all day, every day, foreva. And I gotta say, it’s ballin’ to know what a day is now I can see the sun. As for how I got here… deets are fuzzy, but my man Dennis did a fava for one o’ them gods and I was the payment. Yoinked me right outta there and said ‘work for him’.”
Cam nodded along, growing a sour look at the last line. He looked to me. “So… he talks like a… like he’s from the hood, and he gets ‘yoinked’ from a far-off place and given to a white guy as payment, am I getting that right?”
At the moment, I couldn’t really do much more than sneer and nod. Like most things that I alone probably couldn’t fix, I had already started to push it out of perception, ignoring it like a shocking amount of people do to the average injustice. Cam, on the other hand, had his own understandable reasons to fucking hate it. I’d’ve been right there with him if I hadn’t spent so many skill points on strategic apathy. Thankfully, Pyroshir stepped up to banish the awkward silence.
“Maaan, you don’t gotta be a downer about it. I’m helpin’... what, fiddy year? I been livin’ the carefree life for… damn, I can’t say. Million years? What’s a half-cent to that?”
I raised a hand to interject. “As much as 300, man. GC’s live a lot longer. I’ll… probably retire you on moral grounds before that, though.”
He nodded his big head emphatically. “Alright, can’t say I knew the age bit. But iss whatev. Half-cent, three-cent, pish posh. Donchu worry ‘bout it, Cammy-man.”
Cam held out his hands, frustrated. “But it’s still fucking slavery shit!”
Pyroshir shook his mane, then switched which shoulder he was looking over to address Cam more directly. “Look, maaan. We brothas in this. A god made an oopsie, so they dun yoinked some poor fool and chucked ‘em in with a pat on the back and a ‘go fix our shit that we too lazy to do our damn selves’. One and the same.”
“But…” Cam started with a raised finger, the (actual) wind seeming to leave his sails.
I wondered whether to say the next bit, but decided that the closer to the whole truth he was, the better. “If you want more to pile onto the slavery idea, said god also put in a mind-alteration that turned him from ‘kill all who impair my freedom’ to ‘this guy is nice, I’ll serve him’.”
Outrage renewed, he threw his hands up angrily. “What the FUCK kind of world have I been dropped into? Please tell me you’re going to try and fix that shit.”
A grimace overtook my visage for a moment. “To be honest… I wasn’t. He’s right about being immortal… and I’m not. Plus, what am I gonna do to break a god-level spell?” Cam gave me a highly disappointed look. “Buuut maybe I’m just too jaded after seeing numerous, unsolvable systems of actual slavery or worse. Tell you what. I’ll look into undoing the alteration once we're back home.”
Cam sighed, then looked forward and nodded. He didn’t bring it up again until we were back home, where high-level monsters wouldn’t hear him yelling angrily. Pyroshir raised his head to respond though.
“It might just be the spell talkin’ but I think that’s a baaad fuckin’ idea. I’d hate to kick yo face in, homie.”
……
It was a quiet ride for a while after that, Cam being understandably sour. We arrived at a crossroads and I whipped out the map to compare with the signpost.
“Yup, this is the one. Hop off, Cam, we’re doing a thing.”
He quietly followed my directions as I handed him one end of a neon-green string. “Stand next to the signpost and hold this end. I’ll stop when the spool is empty.”
I took the road along the edge of the Pillar Downs. After a few minutes, the carefully-measured 165-yard spool ran out and I stopped, whistling to Cam so he’d run up as I steered the carriage offroad. He climbed aboard, carrying the jumble of string.
“What’s all this about anyway?” he asked with less of the dour tone he’d gained a conversation ago.
“A bit of a time-saving maneuver. Lookit these maps and tell me what’s wrong with them.”
I passed him the regional chart with the map of the Pillar Downs under it. I pointed to the Downs as our destination and he noted them, quickly flipping to their specific map. He didn’t pick up on it for a few seconds, then I saw his eyebrows plummet toward the floor.
“Wait, the Pillar Downs are like, 60x190 on the regional, but this shows them as a thousand across and three thousand long!”
“Welcome to… uhh…” I snapped my fingers repeatedly. “Relativistic pocket space? Non-euclidean space? Some math or physics term for an area that’s larger than the space it occupies. That little offroad detour technically moved us several miles and saved an hour or two.”
He pursed his lips and handed the maps back. “Weird. Nice time save though, assuming we don’t damage the carriage offroading.”
I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “Come ooooon, what’s the worst that could happen?” I asked sarcastically.
The wind smacked me on the back of the head.
……
The rest of the day passed slowly. The Downs had a distinctive style to them. A great ocean of short, gently rolling hills with thousands of huge islands. Each a tall, straight-sided plateau with cliffs several hundred feet high and a flat, grassy top. And just about 40% of them had a dungeon inside (or multiple). And the other 60%? Well, if you’re a good builder…
It’s free real estate.
We picked a campsite and—due to the Pillar Downs being in the Lands of Darkness—I put up wards around camp. I took the evening as a chance to train Cam a bit on the repeater crossbow. I was hoping that he would get the joke of it running off a detachable tube-drum magazine and then being named ‘Bison’... buuut he's not enough of a gun nut, or Counter Strike player.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Instead, I taught him how to fold the collapsible fletching and load/unload the magazines. Then was some manual of arms stuff, lots of reloading drills, a little target practice at a tree (cuz fuck trees), and we closed on some snap drills. Turn, aim, shoot, repeat (and faster every time I’d hope).
We broke camp early the next morning and were on our way after I dispatched a black-horned bloodthirster (which is a fancy name for a solitary rhinoceros mofo that aggros on everything). The thing was butting its head against the wards since sometime in the night.
I don’t know how the things continue to exist after getting in a fight with literally anything that has legs and a pulse, but hey, not my problem. Thick hide and speed might have been a problem for Cam, but not me. One good kick from Pyroshir through the wards started a stunlock full-to-zero combo, ending on an aesthetically-pleasing ZWIPF from my vorpal-beam tomb-sword. I might have liked to take some of the meat or hide, but I settled for the horn and the assurance that every predator for miles would be running to the smell of blood rather than us.
It was a quiet day on the road… until around 2pm, when we saw a gang of 5 people coming towards us at a speed that suggested magically-assisted running. Cam tightened his grip around the Bison that he’d been keeping ‘shotgun’ since the morning. I squinted and spied several distinct features. They wore mismatched clothing, with no thematic synergy or even group cohesion. They were carrying lots of stuff, and several easily-identifiable popular items like wands or mass-produced potion holsters.
“Looks like adventurers. I’m thinking GCs with a penchant for min-maxing. Ease up, but not too much.”
Cam released some tension as the three men and two women closed in on us rapidly. We came to a stop as the defacto leader-guy slowed to huff and puff, hands on his knees. I leaned over and spoke first.
“Tryna make it to your ship before the planet blows up, Samus?”
He shook his head and stood up straight(ish). “No, no. You Golden Point?”
“That we are. What’s up?”
The blonde girl that I should probably have called Samus instead was the one to answer that. “We cleared a dungeon and stole some goodies, but now there’s fucking Dark Riders after us.”
“So can you please tell us the fastest way out of the Downs?” leader-guy finished.
I pointed back the way we came. “This road ends at a T junction in about 35 miles. Keep straight and you’re out a mile later. Go!”
The party thanked us in passing as they resumed their ‘expeditious retreat’. I looked at Cam once they were far enough away. “Well, that went alright. Now, when the riders show up, let me do the talking.”
About an hour later, we heard the clomping of cavalry coming our way. The riders came into view and… well, safe to say they’re exactly as copyright infringing as one might imagine. Black fabric over dark plate mail and not one glimpse of the faces beneath. Horses of dark coats and decrepit movements that unsettled the nerves. The only thing legally distinct was the almost normal voices (and killing them didn’t require becoming a feminist icon).
A dozen riders circled us and one approached as I slowed us to a stop. He inspected the lettering on the side of the carriage, then addressed me in the low, tobacco-gravelly voice.
“The confidence, the sense that you belong. Golden Point, off on a job?”
“Correct,” I answered bluntly.
“Did you happen to see five Gods’ Chosen on the run down this road?”
“No, I didn’t. They probably know to stay off the road in the case of Dark Riders. Either that or they hid in the brush for us to pass.”
He eyed me for a moment. Well, I can’t state that for a fact with facial obscurity in play, but I felt it. “Is that horse one of ours? He’s certainly dark enough.”
Pyroshir raised his head in mild offense. “Last I checked, no,” he answered sassily.
The rider appeared taken off guard before nodding. Then he moved off. “You heard the man! They’re off the road! Bands of four, fan out!”
They divvied up and ran off, four taking the road, and the other two groups splitting off either side of it. We got going again and—once the rumbling of hooves was gone from our ears—I sighed with relief. Cam sighed with relief. The wind sighed with relief. We enjoyed a quiet rest of the day after that. Perks of retracing the steps of a band of baddies that have a fear aura.
……
The morning after that we were on the final day of trekking, slated to arrive sometime in the afternoon and start work immediately. This, of course, meant that it was time to brief Cam on the situation.
“Alright, Cam. Infodump time, open them ears up.”
He offered a thumbs-up, taking after me so wonderfully. “Ready, Boss.”
“For the job… I got basically nothing. You packed the carriage, so you know we’re loaded for bear. This is a wildcard. We’re going in blind and not leaving till the only thing moving in that place is the client. Could be easy, could fucking suck.”
“Okay, I can deal with that. What else?”
I took a nice, long, apprehensive breath. “The client herself. Madame Gossamer… she’s… interesting.” I swished my lips left to right. “You remember the boss classification system?” He nodded. “Well, she’s a post-credits super-boss. Top-ten most powerful villains in the world.”
“Oh, shit.” He gazed off into the distance. “Why does she hire us if she’s set, though?”
“One word: Cheapskate. It’s less expensive to hire us when clearing out a dungeon than to use her own henchmen that could be doing stuff and making money. But there’s more to her than just that. Despite appearances, she is a spider. She is one of the most powerful beings in the world and her normal amount of aggression is extremely high. To mitigate this, she is majorly high or drunk 24/7. If she’s stone sober, she’ll kill you on instinct.”
“That… doesn’t sound good to me.”
“I agree, why the fuck we goin’?” Pyroshir added.
I sighed, wondering how much defense she really deserved. “Look, it’s been a few years since her last incident. She’s got a streak going and doesn’t want to break it. The stuff she pays in is amazing as well. However, you need to follow a few ground rules.
“1: A side effect of being high is that she is rather horny. Do not take any of her offers. Spiders eat their partners after sex. In fact, don’t fuck monster girls in general without thorough vetting and research. I’d apply that to all partners, but I’m not your mom and after how fast I got together with Matti I’m not one to talk.
“2: Stay out of her reach when you’re alone and she’s not actively doing anything. She’ll tie you up in a heartbeat for the hell of it.
“3: Be really casual with her. No suddenness, and no formality after the greeting. She’s lived thousands of years and is tired of uptight strictness. You play to her tune and she’ll like you more.
“4: If she puts you in a bad situation, like being silked up, try to get my attention first. If I can help to collaboratively un-fuck your situation, it’ll be better. Otherwise, try to calmly request your release. Cite the contract I’ll have her sign religiously. She’ll let you down after enough repetitions.
“And 5: Do NOT struggle if you’re tied up, and do NOT interact with any webs that she’s touching. Vibrations in her webbing set off her instincts… and make her hungry. Both can be about as bad for you as you might imagine.”
Cam and Pyroshir both sucked in air, speaking the same thing in synchronicity.
“Ssshhhhiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeet.”
……
I felt some tension rise as we turned off the road toward the high cliffs. Cam fidgeted uncomfortably as we approached a dark tunnel entrance with some simple stone architecture on the outside. He squinted, seeing a pale face appear and disappear in the darkness, occasionally illuminated by the stoked embers of a pipe.
“Alright, fellas. Remember the rules and absolutely do as I say, not as I do.”
At that, I halted the carriage, passed Cam the reins, and hopped off with a wristwatch-like device in hand. As I approached, Madame Gossamer stepped forward. Hoo boy, she is distinct. About 7’7”, snow-white hair worn in a fancy bun with hairpins, pitch-black eyes that could glow quite a bright red, soft cheeks… and that’s just her face. Now, as you surely know, I usually don’t jump to describing breast size… but she knows what she’s got. Probably E cups, but maybe as high as G, I didn’t exactly measure them.
The important part is that she wears this sick-as-hell furisode kimono (the kind with the extreme sleeves). It’s a shiny slate-gray with white and yellow accents. Yellow trim at the edges, white and yellow belt, major cleavage, a thigh slit that lets you see some leg, and it stops above the ankle, which shows her to be barefoot… and in heels at the same time (we’ll get to that).
The sleeves hang nearly to the ground and have a nice stripe of white patterning at the wrist that is easily mistaken for floral, but it is in fact human bones depicted in an artsy arrangement. There are a set of 8 stylish depictions of glossy black spider legs wrapping around the part below the belt (or whatever it’s called, my Japanese knowledge ran out a paragraph ago), and—due to what is basically a legal requirement of design—a red hourglass on the back. In that particular moment, I was focused on her hand, because she was carrying one of her many pipes. A good sign that she wasn’t too sober or stressed.
“Good afternoon, Lechia.”
She stopped a good 20 feet away, about the exact limit of space I’d need to dodge an attack. “My dear Locust. On-time, as always. But alas, will you ever not be on guard?”
“Nnnno,” I answered as I tossed her the watch device and she caught it, holding onto it long enough that it synched to her before tossing it back.
I looked down and read the display. A simple needle on a gradient scale. It was all the way left in the green, denoting ‘high as fuck’. I slapped it onto my wrist and exhaled before walking over to show her the papers. She’d heard it before, same song and dance as the last 7 times. I didn’t even need to explain it to her, she just skimmed and signed. It’s so automated that I could probably slip in a clause that screws her over, but that’s just a fantasy and I kinda like living.
Another degree of tension released from my body once she signed and I stowed the papers in my bag. “Alright, you know the deal. No harm and no fouls.” I whistled to Cam. “Non-aggression pact is signed! Come on over!”
He did so and brought the carriage closer, then dismounted. Right as Cam was about to offer a hand to shake, Pyroshir finished looking Madame Gossamer up and down and decided to speak.
“Damn, girl. Are you a school? Cuz I think I need to stay 500 feet away from you.”
The three of us came to an abrupt stop and all turned to look at him with various states of ‘hey, what the fuck dude?’ on our faces. He scraped the ground with a hoof then bucked his head.
“Alright, I’ll see myself out after that one. Back in a bit.”
Pyroshir then turned to dust, fell out of his barding, and reformed to run off into the fields. Lechia chuckled once. “A core strider, interesting. It’s been a while since I last saw one as a mount. Did your ‘mule’ finally move on?” she asked, almost entirely ignoring Cam.
“Yeah, it was a thing. Anyway, Cameron, meet Lechia Uvembril Arachnis, AKA Madame Gossamer, Queen of the Old Worlds, and Lord of All Spiders.”
Cam then extended a subtly-quaking hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame.”
She accepted the shake after trading her pipe to her other hand. She smiled in a way that really suggests sweetness. “Oh, you darling little man, it truly is all my pleasure.” She suddenly turned her grip viselike and turned the shake over, extending her index finger to take his pulse. “120? Dear me, suppressed as it is, the fear aura really is getting to you. What’s your level, mister Cameron?”
Cam stuttered as he got his hand back, fumbling for a response as the aura indeed was really hitting him hard. After a moment, she shook her head and flicked her hand, causing his stat card to appear between her fingers in an exceptional display of magical theft. I knew the move was in her set; she does it to your primary weapon at the opening of a fight, then starts working down your loadout until you're buck-ass naked (only if she wants you alive, though).
Lechia laughed heartily on seeing his stats, then snapped the card back into Cam’s bag and mussed his hair, causing him to try and become a turtle. “Level 41, you poor thing. If it makes you feel any better, if I came across you in the wild, I would be mandated to ignore you, or, at most, throw you out of my lair.”
Cam nodded, clearly still in the ‘getting used to/over it’ phase of a passive fear aura. I decided to jump in and give him a moment to acclimatize to her presence. “So we’re here now. What do you know about the job? Are we going in blind or what?”
It took a moment before she stopped reveling in his barely-mitigated terror. “Yes, I’ve checked the first room. Orcs. At least 70, but likely far more. I tried to challenge their leader and evict them the easy way, but they’re flunkies, nothing rattling around in those empty skulls. They tried to attack me after I killed him in a duel. I don’t think I can deal with them all without… sobering.”
I clapped my hands. “Alright, great. Flunkies we can deal with nice and easy, plus that’ll be enough meat to get the momentum going.”
“Yes, plenty. And that will leave me nice and free for the fitting afterward.”
The deliberate beating-around-the-bush stuck out to me. It was both kind and rather cruel. I decided to pass on it and stick to business. “Alright. We’ll be using Bisons with venom bolts. I’ll get you the bucket in a sec.” I wheeled about and grabbed Cam by the arm. “C’mon, Cam, we have some unpacking to do.”
As I dragged him around the back of the carriage, his composure magically rematerialized. He suddenly gasped for air. “Shit, man, that was like standing next to a cranky-ass cop, but like, 100 times worse.”
We got to the boxes and I unlatched the tailgate. “Yeah, fear auras are a bitch. You need a moment? A little bit of booze could cut down the effect if you need to.”
He shook his head. “No I… I think I’ll manage. It was starting to fade already so a few more minutes and I’ll be good. Promise.” He leaned against the carriage. “Damn, maybe I should've asked for a puff of that kush she’s smoking, stuff smelled strong.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “At your level, that much fear-resistance is great, but I think one puff would knock you the fuck out.” I synced a second watch off mine for Cam, passing it to him once the needles matched. “Put this on and don’t go near her if it’s not in green.”
He equipped the watch as I popped one of the crates and revealed rows upon rows of stacked magazines and neatly-stowed bolts. I pointed inside. “Take six mags and enough bolts to fill ‘em up, I’ll get you the bandolier in a sec.”
The repetitive nature of loading ammo would be good for his nerves once we filled the bolts with venom. I crawled in and got some potions and the ammo bandoliers. I also nabbed the aforementioned bucket. Cam had his ammunition all portioned out and I grabbed mine before we headed back to Lechia.
She was smoking again, sitting cross-legged on a tree stump that… was a whole tree a second ago, the toppled remains of which were behind her. It was a clean, flat slice that we neither saw nor heard. I set the bucket down and beckoned to her. She hopped up with a very off-putting grace, striding over to us.
Wordlessly, she put a foot in the bucket, then scraped that sharp protrusion extending from her heel against the side. Clear, scentless liquid spilled out as she raised her foot higher against the side. I held onto the bucket as several pints of venom spilled out before she stopped and removed her ‘foot’. Cam was shocked, so I took the chance to explain.
“Yeah, those aren’t her legs. She’s walking on her fangs right now.”
Cam frowned hard and nodded, not quite able to comment on it due to the fear. I decided to buy him a minute and reached into my bag for a certain letter.
“Hey, Lechia. A friend of mine wrote you this and asked me to deliver it.”
She… probably rolled her eyes. “Another Gods’ Chosen cursing my name for the trauma I gave them?”
I handed it to her. “Nope. Fanmail.”
She reared up slightly. “I have fans?”
“Apparently. Go, read up. We’ll be loading bolts for a minute.”
Luckily, she turned back and sat down once more on her fresh stump to read it. Cam let his held breath out and slipped the chainmail glove on before he started setting the venom bolts to ‘suck’. I got my own going too, loading in the venom to a few at a time, then getting them in the magazine.
“So… uh, what’s this venom do?” Cam asked, likely trying to bury his fear with small talk.
“High paralysis chance, and 4 damage-per-second.”
“Oh, well that’s not too—”
“For 20 hours.”
His face twisted into a nasty grimace. “Fuuuck, never mind.”
I chuckled. “It stacks too, up to five times for 20 DPS. No antivenom either, just hafta heal through it.”
We silently loaded the venom into the bolts for a few seconds before Cam shook his head. “Christ man, that’s 1.44 million damage. I’d be dead as fuck.”
“Damn, you really do like math. Yup. She can undo the effect if you ask nicely though… assuming you’re able to speak through the paralysis. Lucky for you curing it is in the contract.”
He nodded along as he finished his fourth mag. “What’s that ‘old world’ she’s the queen of, by the way?”
“Not a place. Old world tarantulas, the more aggressive kind.”
“Ah okay, that makes sense. And what about those ‘flunkies’ she mentioned?”
“Orcs. Each tribe is graded for its intelligence and affability. A+ is as well-behaved as a human, or even better. F- is the rape and murder garbage mobs that you feel no remorse in removing. Flunkies.”
He had a mix of a sneer and a grin. “Oh yeah, I could use some black and white morality after Pyroshir.”
I stood up straight to top off my fifth mag. “I mean, if you think about it… slavery is a very… black and white morality,” I joked, pointing between us and vaguely indicating a skin color joke.
Both disgust and amusement crossed his face. “That is unfunny and I refuse to laugh at it. Do better.”
“No. I will drag you down to my level of humor and beat you with experience.”
That, he was willing to laugh at, even if the most geriatric little snicker. We finished loading up and threw on the ammo bandoliers. I got my repeater out and rocked the first mag in. The closest thing to a gun legally available in the whole world… for now. The string remained forward, but the magic gear in the stock showed as ready to cock.
Lechia returned, not offering the letter back. “As expected, she was a fan of my silk. Otherwise, she rightfully chose not to come anywhere near me. Of course, I’d love to meet her, given the chance. You would help me with that, no?”
I did the so-so hand. “She’s a prospective partner, so only if you signed something. Now, are we getting our game faces on or what?”
She paused, sighing as she fidgeted with her still-smoking pipe. “I suppose. Keep your squishier company from… running for the hills.”
“Uhh,” Cam started as I nabbed his elbow to gently encourage that he take a few steps back.
It began with a shudder as Madame Gossamer hunched slightly, her dark eyes shutting tight. A crackling of bone entered our ears as the illustrations of spider legs on the hem of her kimono began to move, awakening in a wave and slipping down, off the fabric. As each escaped the confines of her garb, a spider leg came down to stand on the soil.
Eight legs—each with three triangularly-placed toes and retractable claws—spilled out from within her kimono. She rose a few inches off her ‘feet’ as the new appendages served their roles. Then, four spider legs extended outward to their true length… 10-12 feet. When those four planted onto the ground the rest joined them. The flesh of her former legs, slid up off the fangs and into the hem, no longer visible. The abdomen of a spider appeared from under her clothes, appearing no larger than a large melon, but it grew and grew to… I dunno man, maybe the size of a VW Beetle.
But it wasn’t just the 8 legs and… dump-truck ass. She had some fangs too. The chelicerae extended forward like they were legs for the human torso, but far too large and with one too many joints. The fangs on the end of that... were basically swords. Even folded under her body, you could see just how large they were. She had pedipalps too, which are like the littler legs either side of the fangs that spiders don’t stand on. Those had 5 fingers (and retractable claws because ofcoursetheyfuckingdo). A spider from the waist-down, torso and up remaining mostly human, her final hight was about 11-12 feet, though she did bend her knees a bit to keep your eyes tit-level in conversation. (Total weight of about 7 tons too.)
Her black carapace had a wavy sheen, thanks to her hairs, but they’re not just hairs, they’re quills! They lay flat when relaxed, but god help you if they stand on end. … Well, they’re not just quills. They’re poisonous quills. … Ehh… armor-piercing poisonous quills. They also can be deliberately shed, at which point they fly through the air at nearby opponents like magic throwing knives. So… Homing, armor-piercing, (almost forgot antimagic) poisonous quills. Yeah, that sounds about right.
Why such detail? Well, if you know what she looks like and what she does, then maybe, just maybe, you’ll see her one day and turn the fuck around and RUN. I swear to fucking god she has ‘sold’ me 20+ gift-wrapped GCs just for those sweet, sweet discounts. All summed up, I’ve lost probably a good 150k just because half the fucking GCs out there think they can win every encounter. NO! This is Final Fantasy rules! Some of the bosses have a move that sets the entire party’s HP to 1 and starts a cutscene you imbeciles! Don’t get story-cutscened! It’s bad for your health.
She took a deep, long breath, then an equally impressive drag of her pipe. “Shall we begin?”
I checked my watch, seeing low-green and climbing, then looked back to my partner in crime. “You ready to kick some ass, Cam?”
He was just finishing a vial of some sparkly-golden potion, dropping it from his lips and standing up straight. The fear was surprisingly absent, so I assumed some sort of liquid courage, which was backed up by the fire in his words.
“I think the words for this are… hell yeah, brother.”