“MORE!”
A roaring guffaw bellowed from the Lionkin warrior who’d just slammed back his eighth full pint of alcohol. The bar he was currently frequenting was less than half full – it was the middle of the day, after all – and other patrons seated at their respective tables were all glaring at him in irritation, but Eorlen didn’t care about the losers drowning their regrets in a deluge of emotion depressant. This was a day of celebration for him! Screw the haters!
The bartender, a Snakekin (or was it a Lizardkin? Did Snakekin even have arms? Eorlen wasn’t really sure either way.) dressed in a snappy white and black shirt-vest combo, nodded and swiped the empty glass from his coaster, topping it up at the tap.
“You seem mighty happy today, sir. Might I inquire as to why?”
“Eh?” Eorlen drunkenly raised his head and swayed to look for who had asked him that question. There wasn’t anyone seated at the bar counter besides him; he was sure of it. The Lionkin blinked a couple of times, trying and failing to banish the double vision plaguing him. But as the now full glass of alcohol was set on the coaster in front of him, the tipsy Lionkin’s beer-addled mind finally connected the dots; oh, it had been the barkeep!
He grabbed the golden beverage and drained half the glass, before missing the coaster and clacking the pint glass on the stone counter.
“W-wouldn’t… you like to k-know…” he slurred out, defensively.
“Well sir, it is part of my job to keep the customers entertained. What better way to do so, than to share in your triumphs and lend an ear to your sorrows? But it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to-”
The eloquent response came quickly, but Eorlen didn’t listen till the end before stopping the barkeep with his raised hand. He’d already made up his mind halfway through the Snakekin’s delivery. Wasn’t like any of his fellow guardsmen were going to congratulate him on his windfall; if they found out about it they’d be more liable to curse at him for striking it rich rather than feel happy for him, damned ghouls.
“Nooo… no… it’s fiiine… not like youuu…” He waved an arm in the general vicinity of the patient bartender to make his point; that the barkeep was quite literally half his size. “…can do anything to me…”
The bartender simply smiled and kept his mouth shut – he wasn’t going to spoil his patron’s mood by pointing out that the strength of a Snakekin lied in their venomous bite, and not their physical prowess.
Eorlen turned his head to the left in an overly exaggerated fashion, then to the right, before finally leaning in towards the barkeep and beckoning for him to come closer. After the bartender obliged, bringing his scaled face up to Eorlen’s own, he loudly whispered, “Caan you keep a seeecret…?”
“Certainly, sir. My lips are sealed.”
“G… good. Now you… you know thaaat one d-dungeon…? The one that’s… that’s outside the… the uh… y’know…” Complex sentence construction was currently not the tipsy Lionkin’s strong suit, so the bartender decided to help him along.
“The Hartan Ruins, sir?” The Snakekin supplied.
Eorlen banged on the counter with a triumphant fist, causing a few customers to stare disapprovingly in his direction. “That’s the one! Yeah… you knoooow… how like… the exploorers all say there’s no… nothing there…?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Well,” Eorlen grinned as he paused to let the suspense build.
I’m going to blow away this dumb snake with my next line, the Lionkin crowed in his head. The alcohol had dimmed his logical reasoning, but if Eorlen had stopped to think for a minute, he’d realise that spilling his secrets in front of a complete stranger might not be the best of ideas; let alone confessing to an actual crime.
But it didn’t occur to his drunken brain at any point to shut up; in fact, it encouraged him to keep going! He’d already committed to telling the story, so tell the story he must!
And so he did.
“I was just… just patrolling around some stupid panel thing… and I must’ve… hit some button or something… and… there was a whole lot of valuable stuff… just… just sitting there… So I grabbed it aaaall up; and now I’m super rich!”
The bartender feigned a look of surprise. “Why; congratulations, sir!”
“I… I know… right?” Eorlen burped as he gripped the beer glass once more, pouring the contents into his mouth. “That’s… that’s why I’m… celebrating now- I’m going to quit my… my job tomorrow.”
“Good for you, sir. Another glass?”
Eorlen gradually slumped forward on the counter, smiling dumbly. “Yeeah… another glaaass…” After his last slurred declaration, Eorlen finally drifted off into dreamland, still fantasizing about the feasts he was going to throw with his newfound treasure.
The bartender slowly pried the glass from Eorlen’s grasp and filled it up once more, meticulously tilting the glass to ensure that the beer head formed was aesthetically pleasing. This time though, after setting it down on the coaster, he eyed the drunken Lionkin over carefully, making sure that he was fully in the throes of slumber before leaving his post to go to the back.
Once there, Sossin Xaster the Snakekin wasted no time, uttering a single phrase.
“Party Chat.”
Immediately, a window popped up in front of him, a contact list complete with thumbnail pictures and descriptions of various people he had saved throughout the years. He scrolled through the list, looking for four specific individuals required for his intended purpose.
Most of his contacts had been saved with their full names and a short description (if he felt like it) about how he’d met them; but these four Beastkin were different. They’d been saved with only a single initial, given that that was how they had introduced themselves to the bartender. After selecting the four of them, he then tapped the confirm button to initiate the chat.
You have created a chatroom.
L has joined.
P has joined.
Q has joined.
Z has joined.
Well? What do you have, S? The query from L popped up instantaneously.
The Snakekin brought up the input method for Party Chat – a translucent, glowing keyboard – and proceeded to type out his response.
Medium haul. Price hundred fifty silver. Time sensitive.
No way you scored a medium haul in Hartan. Fifty silver; twenty five upfront, and the rest only if it’s legit. The counter-offer swiftly arrived from P, but Sossin had anticipated this and was already typing out his reply.
It has something to do with the Hartan Ruins.
The chatroom fell silent as the participants digested the new information. A scathing remark came from Q.
Bullshit; Hartan Ruins were picked clean years ago.
Despite his initial dismissive comment however, Q then proceeded to provide his own counter-offer.
But for curiosity’s sake… seventy five silver. Money upfront. I’m not a miser like P.
Hundred silver. Take it or leave it. We’re the ones taking all the risk here. L chimed in.
Z merely typed out three words.
Three hundred silver.
Sossin scrambled to signal his acceptance.
Sold!
He pressed successively on each of the other bidders in the chatroom, removing them from the chat room until only he and Z were left. Nimble fingers quickly tapped out the information that Z required to pull off his heist.
Eorlen Ukon, Lionkin. Occupation is Hartan Guardsman, but he’ll be parting ways with them tomorrow. Found some sort of large bounty in Hartan Ruins; enough that he’s leaving a stable job. Level 47, low SPD stat, high STR stat, classic warrior build. Recommend stealth over frontal engagement. Transferring tracking skill to you now.
Sossin pressed two fingers to his right temple.
“Transfer tracking of Eorlen Ukon to Z.”
Control of Tracking (Eorlen Ukon) has been transferred to Z.
The payment will be left in the usual location. Pleasure doing business with you.
Z has left the chatroom.
Sossin breathed a sigh of relief as soon as Z left. He wasn’t used to this life, acting as information broker for a couple of thieves. And it did play into the stereotype that Snakekin were all a bunch of slimy backstabbers and traitors.
But the job paid well.
Too well.
All he had to do was coax out a little bit of information from the patrons in the bar that looked a little too happy to be drinking in a dingy little outfit like the Serpent’s Tongue and pass on the details to the four Beastkin larceny experts. This sort of thing harmed no one, Sossin had reasoned. It wasn’t like he was actually the one plunging the dagger into the chest of a hapless victim; if any of them died from the data he provided, it would be the fault of those thieves, not him. And the additional income that he received went to a good cause; his rent and food expenses.
He closed the Party Chat window, adjusted his vest and left the backroom to return to his post. As he was approaching the bar, he noticed that the snoring Eorlen had been joined by another patron; a hooded gentlemen in a shabby cloak that was nursing a small mug of his own.
Sossin identified this person as a customer that had been sitting alone in a corner since the bar opened. He hadn’t paid him any mind; there was always someone like this in any bar in town, some poor soul that had been dumped by his girlfriend, or lost his life savings gambling etcetera, etcetera. Hardly a viable mark. If he didn’t strike up a conversation with Sossin, then it would be best to let sleeping tigers lie.
Sossin glided past the newcomer, picking up a mug and polishing it with the cloth on his hip. The hooded figure seemingly perked up at the barkeep’s return, and to Sossin’s surprise, picked up his mug of beer, got up from his seat, and sat down on the one closest to him.
Sossin shifted into his bartender mode. If this person was trouble, he didn’t want to make himself a target. He’d play the part of the clueless but well-meaning barkeep. Putting on his sleaziest grin, he spoke to the stranger. “How may I be of assistance, sir?”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Oh,” The stranger seemed mildly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d talk to me.”
“Why not, sir? I strive to provide the best service to all my patrons.”
“Well,” The stranger gestured at Eorlen with a jab of his thumb. “Look at how he’s dressed and how I’m dressed – I’m not exactly screaming out, ‘sucker’, am I?”
Sossin chuckled. “I’m not afraid I follow, sir. It is a bartender’s job to cater to the whims of patrons seeking his counsel; I merely played along with that gentleman over there till he tired himself out.”
“Oh, no. I’m not talking about you having a nice chat with that guy over there. I’m talking about how you left, into the back room over there, to convey the details of your patsy to your accomplices.”
He knew.
Sossin’s face hardened immediately.
Calm down, he thought to himself. He has no proof. At best he’ll have a guess at how I’m doing it. Just deny everything and send a heads-up to Z that there might be some heat around the Serpent’s Tongue and for him to designate a different drop-off point.
“I take offense at what you’re implying, sir. Yes, there have been a few… incidents involving robberies for a few of our patrons, but that could have been any number of scoundrels targeting people; Hartan is home to many a rogue, and its status as the centre of Beastkin civilisation makes it ripe for them to strike.” Sossin solemnly spoke, turning to place the now polished glass in his hands back on the shelf.
A flawless deflection to the rampant crime present in the town. With a bustling transit hub like Hartan, criminals could easily enter, pull off their crime, and leave on a carriage to any number of Beastkin cities in the world. It stood to reason that it couldn’t have been a humble bartender.
“Right, yeah; could have been any of them.” The stranger paused a moment, pretending to be deep in thought as he rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. Then he clicked his fingers, as if struck by a sudden bolt of inspiration. “Although; you are the only one here with Inspect, Party Chat and Tracking, so…”
Sossin froze in place. This man knew more than he had let on initially. Probably had the Inspect skill as well, and was actively scanning the room for the informant of the recent spate of crimes. That’s why he’d been in the background in the first place; to scout for the criminal! The Snakekin slowly turned around, coming face to face with the one that had unmasked him.
He bent forwards, pretending to examine the chipped stone counter more closely, but tilted his head upwards to hiss at the stranger, all pretense dropped. “Who are you; Hartan Secret Police? Guardsman? Are you going to arrest me now, officer of the law? You’ve seen my Status Page; if you’re going to take me in, you’ll need to bring a lot more than a single Beastkin.”
The hooded figure laughed, bringing the mug up to his face to have a sip.
“Nothing serious like that, Mr. Xaster. I only want what you sell; information.”
This confused the Snakekin.
Information? Wasn’t he part of the Hartan guard unit? Then something more likely came to mind. Perhaps this officer was angling for a bribe; maybe even a cut of the pie from his recent backdoor dealings. Or perhaps even to get in on the circle and join in on the bidding. Sossin wasn’t too pleased with this; it could mean compromising the people he was selling his information to and destroying this lucrative source of income.
But it beat rotting in Hartan Jail any day. So he cautiously replied.
“Are you suggesting… that I buy my freedom with information?”
The stranger scratched his head in mirth.
“Well, something like that. Rest assured, friend; this’ll be a mutually beneficial exchange. What’s the phrase again? You scratch my back, and I rub yours?”
The tensed up muscles in his shoulders relaxed as he took stock of all the information available to him. This couldn’t have been an arrest; standard procedure would be to surround the bar before the officer made contact. That kind of mobilisation would cause a big enough ruckus outside that it’d be discernible through the paper-thin walls of the bar, enough time that Sossin would have made his escape into the sewers beneath Hartan. And if this Beastkin really wanted it to go to blows, he’d be a little more heavily armored; not drape some rags over himself and call it a day.
So it was exactly what this Beastkin was talking about; a request for information.
In other words – it was simply another job.
“What kind of information are you looking for, sir?” his cordial tone returned, now assured of his safety.
“How should I say this… I want the location, or failing that, any of the most up to date information you have on the cult of Humanity.”
Humanity? Sossin thought. This officer just wants to know how to get to those cultists? It isn’t like they’re hiding themselves; an organisation as big as theirs still needs to eat. If anyone wanted to find them, all they’d need to do would be to follow the supply routes to their end. I’m not going to argue myself out of a payday, though.
“It won’t be cheap, I’m afraid.” Sossin spoke gravely. “It’ll be something like, let me see here… five hundred silver, at least. But I’ll cut it down to three hundred for you, sir.”
The stranger chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of funds, to be honest. Hiked all the way over here, actually.”
Sossin frowned. Did this bastard think he was running a charity here? Money for information; that was the way the world worked. Still, this person had dirt on Sossin. It wouldn’t be smart to anger him unnecessarily, so he’d have to let him down as gently as possible.
“Then I’m afraid we can’t-“
“Inspect me.”
The sudden interruption by the hooded figure threw Sossin for a loop. This wasn’t the time to be using Skills; it was time for business. Sossin cleared his throat, then asked,
“Sorry, sir?”
“Exactly what it means. Inspect me.”
Sossin didn’t know how Inspect-ing him would change his mind, but he tentatively obliged.
“Inspect.”
Name:
Bonnie Brolk
Race:
Beastkin (Rabbit)
Level:
64
Overall Animalisation:
75%
HP:
1852/1852
MP:
289/289
Attributes:
LVL
STR:
345
DEF:
158
INT:
74
SPD:
564
LUK:
157
Skills:
LVL
Spear Mastery (High)
9
Brolk-Style Defensive Arts
9
Beast Form
-
Sossin looked over the stats on the page. Level 64… Rabbitkin? Judging by the high SPD and STR, however, this Beastkin could easily overpower him, no problem.
Was this just some sort of… power play? Like saying, “Look, even if you tried to run, you’d not make it too far before I’d get you.”, sort of deal?
“Yes, sir? What should I be looking for?”
The stranger mumbled a few more inaudible words under his breath, then looked back up at Sossin. The Snakekin couldn’t quite make out the stranger’s face, but he could barely make out a smirk plastered across mottled fur.
“Now Inspect me again.”
Sossin was thoroughly bewildered now. What was this supposed to achieve, exactly? The Status Page wouldn’t change in a matter of minutes, let alone seconds. What did he intend by this? He did activate Inspect once more, though.
And was immediately met with the impossible.
Name:
DON’T
Race:
YOU
Level:
WANT
Overall Animalisation:
TO
HP:
ASK
MP:
HOW
Attributes:
LVL
STR:
I
DEF:
DID
INT:
THIS?
SPD:
GO
LUK:
ON
Skills:
LVL
Spear Mastery (High)
ASK
Brolk-Style Defensive Arts
ME
Beast Form
-
“How did you…”
“It’s rather simple, really. I’ll let you in on the secret momentarily; as soon as you give me what I want. Imagine; you’ll get the ability to do stuff like that. Would help a lot, I’m assuming, in your line of work, yes? Being able to snip away and change pesky skills like Tracking, hm? Help you keep under the radar? What do you say, sir?”
Sossin couldn’t spill the beans fast enough.