HP 5 of 60
John pushed open the weathered wooden door of the tavern, and a warm wave of light and conversation washed over him. The door thudded against the wall, hinges creaking as he moved inside. The air within the establishment was thick with the pungent aroma of roasted meats, spilled ale, and the lingering remnants of smoke from both pipes and the fireplace. Laughter, clinking mugs, and the soft strumming of a lone musician's guitar filled the room, creating a lively and welcoming atmosphere. Tavern girls bustled about, delivering various libations to the different tables. One table near the door still bore the remnants of recent patrons, plates and cups awaiting cleanup from the busy waitresses.
However, the mood within the tavern shifted subtly as Gareth and John entered together. Both bore unmistakable signs of battle - their clothes tattered and stained with blood, faces etched with the imprints of violence. John's face was covered with bruises, while Gareth's was contorted in pain.
The patrons and employees eyed John warily, their expressions a mixture of concern and unease. He caught himself whistling absentmindedly before calling out, "Hey, can someone give me a hand here?" His tone was almost too casual, as if this was just another day. "I might need a bit of help with something." It was only when Gareth lifted his head that one of the girls let out a surprised cry and rushed over to assist.
One of the patrons pushed John aside to help Gareth onto the table. A second patron demanded to know what had happened.
John's mouth felt dry, and his words seemed to echo distantly in his own ears. "A group of thugs attacked. But don't worry, I beat 'em," he managed to say.
The tavern patrons grew visibly angry at hearing their friend had been attacked. John expected gratitude, or questions about the location, or even a mob heading into the street. Instead, a third patron nearby grabbed John's face, turning it towards himself. "What happened?" he growled, his voice barely containing his rage.
John licked his lips and swallowed hard. "Don't worry, I said I got'em." He glanced at his health bar, noticing it was no longer dropping as quickly, but it remained perilously low and still decreasing slowly. Once he knew Gareth was okay, he'd heal himself. Maybe the owner would even thank him with a meal?
The second patron grabbed John by the blouse, half lifting him off the floor. The simple action was enough to cause John to feel a burning sensation in his abs as stomach bile rose in his throat. The man lifting him squeezed his Blouse collar together in a crisscross fashion, and John felt his airway close shut. Two notifications filled the upper left corner of his vision, blinking ominously.
Debuff Sickened (Trauma) Level: 2 Effect: Reduces stamina by 20% Decreases attack power by 10% Causes periodic waves of nausea, lowering focus and increasing spellcasting time by 15% Reduces movement speed by 10% Duration: 5 minutes Note: That sudden jarring of your already infected gut really did a number on you. Try not to lose your lunch on the guy.
Debuff Asphyxiation (Situational) Level: 4 Effect: Stops oxygen intake, causing a 30% decrease in overall stamina as well as a 5% decrease in current stamina per second. Once stamina reaches 0, your health will begin to reduce at 5% per second. Decreases strength and attack power by 25% Causes blurred vision and dizziness, reducing accuracy by 20% Periodic waves of weakness, leading to a 20% chance of collapsing Duration: Until air is returned Note: Breathing is not supposed to be a luxury. Kudos to you for making life extra challenging.
As chaos erupted in the tavern, John found himself at the center of a dangerous misunderstanding. One of the older women began smacking his arm, her other hand gripping a knife with white-knuckled intensity. John's legs twitched desperately, seeking purchase as dizziness set in from lack of air. The cacophony of shouts made it nearly impossible to hear anything clearly. The woman with the knife pressed the blade to John's throat, silencing any attempt at explanation.
Unable to speak, John cast a pleading look towards Gareth, reaching out as his vision began to fade and his already dangerously low health continued to slip. 'Well crap, don't tell me I helped the wrong guy,' he thought, his mind scrambling for a solution.
As the frenzy in the tavern reached a fever pitch, Gareth cleared his throat. His voice, despite his weakened state, carried a commanding air that cut through the din like a knife through butter.
"Listen up, all of you!" Gareth called out, his voice ringing with steely resolve that belied his battered appearance. "This here's uh..." He glanced around, finally noticing John being held up by his dress, legs kicking weakly as she clung to her assailant's arms. Gareth made a "give me the info" gesture with his hands. John tried to speak but could only manage a weak croak.
The man holding John suddenly relaxed his grip, causing him to collapse to the floor in a heap. John gulped in breath after breath, hands instinctively going to his sore throat. It took several moments for him to fully grasp what had transpired. Without warning, the sharp edge of a knife pressed against his throat once more. Gareth pointed at the woman wielding the blade and commanded, "Agatha, stop it."
John hoarsely uttered "John" before descending into another coughing fit. He reached for a glass of water from the pile of dirty dishes nearby, and no one stopped him as he drank deeply.
"John," Gareth continued without missing a beat. "She..." He did a double-take, staring at John with obvious confusion.
John, breathing heavily, spoke up again in a raspy voice. "You can call me Elena."
Gareth quickly regained his composure and addressed the group. "She helped me out of a tight spot, and I'm vouching for her. So, if any of you got a problem with that, you best find another tavern!"
His pronouncement was met with a chorus of murmurs and whispers. The patrons and employees exchanged glances, their gazes darting between the demonic girl and Gareth. It was clear they were deeply divided; most seemed to trust Gareth's judgment, while others remained visibly skeptical. She was a demon, after all. At least the man who had been choking John with his own blouse now trusted Gareth enough to offer a hand in assistance.
John was in bad shape. His abdomen felt like it was on fire, his neck still bore the phantom sensation of being choked, and his head throbbed. He couldn't shake the persistent urge to cough. As his voice slowly returned, John thought to himself, not for the first time, 'The fuck is wrong with these people? Shit, I better do something before they lynch me again.'
He cleared his throat and spoke up, trying to infuse his voice with a calm assurance he didn't feel. "Look, I'm not here to cause any trouble," he stated. "Thank you..." John closed his eyes and extended a hand towards the man who had vouched for her, realizing he wasn't entirely sure of the man's name.
The man who had just defended him spoke up, "Gareth."
John addressed the tavern, his voice carrying a mixture of confusion and conciliation. "Thank you, Gareth. Thank you for speaking up on my behalf. And as for the rest of you... well, I'm not going to pretend that I understand why you might feel a light bit of assault is warranted. But I don't want trouble. And if I did something wrong by helping Gareth out, I'm sorry."
He then turned his attention back to Gareth, looking at him with appreciation. John could see the fatigue and pain etched into the lines of Gareth's face, noticing how he winced with every movement despite his attempts to project strength.
"Gareth, you look wounded. I think I know a thing about healing magics. Do you want me to try and heal you up?" John asked, knowing that only a fool would refuse free healthcare. He thought to himself, 'Sure, I should probably work on myself first, but maybe healing him would be better for my long-term survival.'
Gareth looked at John with amazement and vigorously shook his head. John stood on still-shaky legs, steadied by the patron who had nearly choked him out earlier. 'I guess when someone offers to help the guy that gets you beer, you kinda have to treat that person nicely too,' he mused.
As John shuffled over to his patient and held his hands over Gareth's wounds, Gareth looked up and spoke in a hushed voice. "You couldn't have done this a few minutes ago?"
John whispered back, "I mean, I was kinda busy at the time. If you prefer, next time I'll just wait for the thugs to finish up with you first and see what I can do later. Sound good?"
"No ma'am. Far be it from me to tell the Miss how to do her job. But just... try not to kill me in the process, will ya?" Gareth smiled a weary but good-natured smile.
Feeling the need to mark the occasion of using blood magic, John said the first thing that came to mind. "Blood of life, flow strong in this man." He felt a sharp, stinging pain in his finger as the small cut appeared. The sensation was more intense than a normal cut, as if his very essence was being drawn out through that tiny wound. A single drop of blood formed, gleaming an unnaturally bright red in the tavern's dim light.
As the drop fell onto Gareth's wounds, John experienced a rush of sensations. He could feel a connection forming between himself and Gareth, almost as if their circulatory systems had become intertwined. The pain in his finger intensified, spreading up his arm and throughout his body. It wasn't an agonizing pain, but rather a dull, persistent ache that seemed to reach into every cell. His vision took on a reddish tint, and he could swear he saw faint, crimson threads connecting his body to Gareth's. He felt his own energy draining, a gradual weakening that corresponded with the healing of Gareth's wounds. It was as if John's very life force was being siphoned off to fuel the healing process. He looked at his health and mana bar, and while his health had gone down another point, his mana hadn't actually changed at all.
Despite the discomfort, there was also an exhilarating aspect to using the Blood Magic. John felt powerful, almost godlike, as he watched Gareth's injuries close before his eyes. He could sense the flow of blood within Gareth's body, could almost taste the iron on his tongue.
As the healing progressed, John began to feel lightheaded. The room seemed to spin slightly, and he had to concentrate to maintain his focus. He noticed his breathing had become shallow and rapid, his heart racing as if he'd just run a marathon. When the process was complete, John felt a sudden snap as the connection between him and Gareth was severed. The reddish tint faded from his vision, and the sensation of power ebbed away, leaving him feeling mentally drained and slightly nauseous. The cut on his finger throbbed, a reminder of the price paid for such powerful magic. But much like the wounds, a moment latter it was just a fleeting memory.
Even as John stepped back, he could still feel echoes of the connection, like phantom limb sensations. He felt both exhausted and oddly invigorated, as if he'd tapped into something primal and profound. In fact, as he looked at his own health, he saw it too had increased a slight amount. It was only one point more than he had spent to use such powers, but something truly was better than nothing. His own gradual loss of health had even halted from healing another.
As John finished working his blood magic, the tavern grew tense and quiet. The air within the establishment seemed to thicken with a palpable sense of anticipation. The patrons and employees eyed John with a mixture of awe and fear, their gazes locked onto the macabre scene unfolding before them.
When he finished, Gareth stood up and John stepped back. John turned to look into the eyes of the local patrons, a cheery smile on his lips. He felt like a new man. He did good things...great things tonight, and he was glad it was finally over. He honestly didn’t know what to expect. He kind of expected cheers, free drinks, maybe a few pats on the back. Heck, he even half expected a few "Hey, I have a pain in my shoulder, could you heal me too?".
What he didn't expect was that their eyes would meet his with a mixture of pure unadulterated hatred and fear.
Which was exactly the kind of reaction he was hoping to avoid.
Gareth stood up abruptly, his eyes locking onto John's still-bleeding gut wound. For a chilling moment, John could have sworn he saw a flicker of something dark and predatory in Gareth's gaze, as if he were contemplating how to make the injury more severe, more lethal. Gareth's hand moved to his own face, fingers probing where his wounds had been, his expression a mask of conflicting emotions.
Suddenly, Gareth's eyes snapped back to John's, boring into him with an intensity that made John's breath catch in his throat. One second of that penetrating stare felt like an eternity. Two seconds stretched into an agonizing epoch. Five seconds left John feeling stripped bare, vulnerable in a way he'd never experienced before. When John tried to look away, uncomfortable with the extended eye contact, Gareth gently but firmly grasped his face, keeping their gazes locked. There was no real threat in the touch, but John sensed that breaking away would be a mistake. It was only because of this man's words that the patrons hadn't already killed him, and there was no way he was getting back out of the room before they finished what they started moments prior.
Ten seconds passed, feeling like an eternity. John fidgeted nervously, acutely aware of the hostile tavern patrons surrounding them. Getting closer to them. Waiting for Gareth to throw John to the wolves. He hated being the center of such intense attention, especially after performing what he thought was a helpful act.
Finally, Gareth spoke, his tone cautious and tinged with bewilderment. "I'm only going to ask this once...friend." The last word was spat out like a curse, laden with threat and suspicion. "Why did you heal me?"
John's heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming that his very survival hinged on this moment. He knew, with bone-deep certainty, that honesty was his only lifeline in a sea of hostility. He had to be sincere, vulnerable, and above all, he couldn't look away from Gareth's piercing gaze.
"Gareth, I'm sorry if I did something wrong," John began, his voice quavering with genuine fear. "But you were hurt, and I'm kinda new to this power thing and since I could help you I did..." He could see in Gareth's eyes, feel in the increasing pressure of his grip, that these words weren't enough. Panic began to set in, his vision blurring with tears of desperation. "I'm sorry. I hate bullies and they were being mean to you and I'm new to wherever this is and I didn't mean to do anything and you're scaring me and..."
Gareth's hands shook as he nearly yelled the next word. "WHY?"
The sudden outburst startled John, causing him to flinch involuntarily. His eyes widened in shock, tears welling in his eyes. The raw emotion in Gareth's voice – a mix of desperation, confusion, and barely contained anger – hit John like a physical blow.
John's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to understand why his act of healing had provoked such an intense reaction. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline surge making him acutely aware of every sensation – the sting of his own wounds, the trembling of Gareth's hands on his face, the oppressive silence that had fallen over the tavern following Gareth's shout.
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For a moment, John was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. The fear of saying the wrong thing, of somehow making the situation worse, paralyzed him.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, John managed to stammer out, "I... I just wanted to help. I didn't know... I'm sorry. Please, I don't understand what I've done wrong." A tear streamed down his cheek.
John stood there, emotionally raw and physically vulnerable, hoping that his sincerity would be enough to convince Gareth and prevent any further hostility from the tavern's patrons. He was acutely aware of his precarious position – wounded, outnumbered, and surrounded by people who seemed to view his act of kindness with suspicion and fear. Gareth's eyes darted back and forth between his own as Gareth seemed to be searching for something underneath it all.
After more seconds passed, John felt the pressure on his face lessen, and a few seconds later Gareth used his thumb to wipe away the wetness. He sighed dejectedly. "You’re telling the truth, aren’t ya? You really have no idea."
"No idea of what" John asked.
"Go. Go upstairs to the third room on the left. The door is open. It's not much, but the drunk room is yours tonight."
He was a bit taken aback and looked at him. It took a few moments of breathing to calm himself and it was even halfway successful. "I don't understand. If I'm a problem-"
"You said you're new here, yes? Well, know that the streets are not safe for you. Just....just go upstairs and we'll talk about it a little later. Go rest, do whatever you do to heal yourself and come back down in a few hours. We'll have dinner and can talk about it then." Gareth put a hand on his back and gently pushed him towards the stairs.
"But I don't have any money to pay for a room." John reached for his pocket and produced nothing but lint.
"I said it's the drunk room.” Gareth rebutted. “There are 3 beds, so you might have company in the morning, but it's free. And I'll make sure that you're safe. And I'm sorry about my reaction. But we'll talk about it later."
John started to protest again but soon felt his stomach gurgle. He put his hand on it, and a simple touch made the wound throb again. As if that wasn’t enough, the events from the day started to make him very weary. It took a moment for John to even contemplate going upstairs before Gareth pointed at one of the girls. “Get her upstairs” he ordered her. She looked unwillingly to even be near John, but did as instructed and harshly pushed him towards the stairs.
As they got to the room, the tavern girl opened the door and made sure John went inside. She stayed by the door and watched him sit on the bed. "Least you could do is keep yer blood off tha sheets." she half hissed at John.
"Hey, I'm sorry to ask, but what did I do?" John was still a bit confused. "Is healing folks a bad thing? Or is it something with how I did it?"
She scoffed at her. "Crimson's call witch. Are ya daft?"
"Sure. Let's go with daft." John said with deadpan enthusiasm. He moved towards the bed and winced at the sharp pain that went up his belly.
"Mage blasted witches" She looked at John ominously and made a threatening stabbing motion. Then she slammed the door shut behind her. John heard a click from a key and realized this was one of those rooms that locked from the outside.
"God what a bitch." he said to himself as he looked down at his wound. “Alright first order of business, let's get this fixed.” He was feeling surprisingly good, considering he had been stabbed relatively recently. He looked at his health bar and noticed that his health was stable at about 10%. It sure didn't feel like it to him so he spent a few moments using magic to heal himself. Once that was done, John started to feel almost instantly better. He looked at the door, saw one of the beds and moved it to block the door closed. He dusted his hands as he admired his handy work. "Hopefully that'll help me wake up if they try to come in and hurt me"
Next he spent a few moments checking his system interface. He pulled open his character sheet and saw a glowing button called Battle Journal. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it appeared to fit perfectly in between a few other options on the line. He clicked on it and regretted his decision immediately.
Battle Journal: Alleyway Ambush Entry 1: Enforcer encounter Date: 5th of Frostfall Battle Combatants: Enforcers x 5, Gareth, Elena Objective complete: Defeat the thugs and survive Post Battle Rewards:
* Experience gained for defeating an enemy
* Loot has been added to your inventory
* Proficiency in Gory Armaments gained. New proficiency: 2%
* Continue to increase your proficiency to advance your Tier
* You have leveled up.
* Attributes Added: Endurance +1, Intelligence +3, Charisma +1, Beauty +2, Magical Resistance +2
* Free points +2. Please allocate attribute points.
Summary: Encountered 5 thugs while in a dark alleyway. Utilized Gory Armaments once. Sustained minor injuries but successfully defeated all opponents. Swung 5 times at opponents, 3 times with arms, once with tail Hit/Miss Ratio: 75% hit rate for John, 49.295 hit rate for Enforcers Angle of attacks: Gory Armaments at 180°, Gory Armaments at 164.859°, Gory Armaments at… Detailed Movements: 18 steps taken by John moving 3 meters from initial spot after battle initiated, 34 steps taken by Enforcers moving 14 meters from initial spots Weather Conditions: Clear night, Temperature of 62.6°F/17°C Length of battle: 2 minutes and 23 seconds Damage Taken/Dealt: 175 HP damage dealt, 48 HP damage taken Critical Hit percentages: 20% Critical Hits by John, 10% by Enforcers Random Bonuses: +5% Damage due to adrenaline surge, -3% accuracy due to darkness
The list of random information seemed to keep going. John had to mentally scroll through three or four pages before he found the information ceased coming. Tier differentials, Irrelevant statistics, background noise levels, blood pressure and body temperature, respiration rate, and a bunch of other things.
“Ok first off, minor damage? I was freaking impaled!” John mumbled to himself. “Second, while I get this might be good for some people I doubt I’ll ever need to know how much my hair moved, or…” He stopped scrolling and paused a bit dumbfounded at one of the options. “Ok, what in the fresh hell?” He spoke out incredulously. “Why would I ever need to have a blink counter?” He looked at the entry below it. “Sweat volume of .2 Liters? Ok, that’s disgusting. Aroma is described as pungent, intense and primal and pheromones increased by 8.43%? Nope. Don’t want to know.”
His eyes started to glaze over as he tried to make sense of the barrage of numbers and technical details. All he wanted was a clear picture of the battle, not an exhaustive data dump.
With a frustrated sigh, he changed the menu settings and started tweaking the system a bit. He disabled most of the unnecessary notifications and irrelevant data points, opting for a more streamlined log. He also hid most of the options figuring he could un-hide anything he needed later.
“All I really want are notifications of leveling, notifications of experience gained, proficiency gains, and loot.” he said. Once it was done, his log looked a lot cleaner. Certainly more simple to read.
Post Battle Rewards
* Experience gained for defeating an enemy, Loot has been added to your inventory
* Experience gained for defeating an enemy, Loot has been added to your inventory
* Proficiency in Gory Armaments gained. New proficiency: 2%. Continue to increase your proficiency to advance your Tier.
* You have leveled up. Please allocate attribute points.
“Alright. Now to see what leveling up gave. I get my class level stat bonuses on level up. So for every level, I’ll get one to Endurance and Charisma, three to intelligence, and two to Beauty and Magic Resist.” He scratched his chin and blew his hair out of his eyes. It fell right back. His tail swished behind him and he felt it rub against his leg and scratched an itchy spot.
When all was said and done, his Physical stats were 6 in Strength, 7 in Dexterity, 8 in Endurance, and 2 in Stamina. His mental stats were now 13 in Intelligence, 9 in Charisma, 11 in Beauty and 14 in Magic Resistance and still with a +2 vs blood magic and spells related to blood.
‘Huh. My speed hasn't changed,’ he thought. He took a quick look at his bars to see how they reacted to more stats. ‘So let’s see. With the point in endurance, my health was now at 80 out of 80, my mana was 75 out of 130, and my stamina was 4 out of 20. Looks like I get 10 points out of each stat.’
He mulled over the information a bit. While his intelligence had increased by three, his maximum mana had gone up but current levels hadn’t. "So my increased stats only increase my full capability. That's good to know."
The notification next to attributes blinked again.”Man, knowing I can increase something is great, but I don’t see anywhere I can reset spent points. It’d suck to choose Strength only to find out it’s a wasted point that can’t be undone.” He backed up and looked at the main screen. Just under the makeshift portrait of himself, a small bag appeared. It was also slowly pulsing red. He looked back at the picture of himself and was a bit shocked. “Wait, since when was that there?” It was a crude portrait of a gender-less humanoid, but it was definitely shaped like himself. It even included a tail.
John distinctly remembered that spot was empty when he first looked. ‘Does the sheet just add shit when I get it?’ he thought to himself. He mentally clicked on the portrait but nothing happened. Then he mentally clicked on the other new thing, the bag, and saw that he had some sort of inventory.
A background image of a bag appeared in his vision and inside of it were several blank squares. One one of the squares there was a small dagger. In another square there was a piece of folded paper. At the bottom a small number said 17c.
He pulled out the dagger. A replica of the dagger that had been stuck in his belly appeared in his hands and he immediately recoiled from it. Solely because of the unexpected nature of it appearing. And definitely not because of the phantom pain that appeared in his abdomen when he saw it. He quickly put it back in his inventory by mentally putting the dagger back in the bag. The dagger leaving his inventory reduced the number of items in it by one, but didn’t reduce the number at the bottom.
John mentally clicked on the number and a small pile of coins appeared in his hands. He played around with the bag and found out some things with trial and error. He could remove the coins in bulk, or individually, or any manner in between. He could make them always appear in his hand, regardless of where the hand was. He could even physically put the hand “in” the bag and let go of the item where it would suddenly disappear. It was kind of like he was a magician. He got up and palmed a coin, making it disappear. He then faked tossing the coin to his other hand and opened his other hand only to have the coin appear there. “Man, Penn and Teller would have a field day!”
He also found out there were some limitations too. He had to be physically touching the coin or item to move it to the inventory. And while he could use his hooves, mouth, tail or hands to move it, just resting it on his chest didn’t work.
He looked at the inventory and then the rest of the room. A smile crept on his face and he started shoving random things into it. The bed, a simple wooden table, a bowl of water, the dresser, a small chest, even his clothes. Anything he could grab he tried to move. He realized quickly he had to be able to hold the item for a few moments before he felt like he could deposit it. But once he could, it was super simple to do it.
Small Items like the table or bowl took the exact same amount of space in his inventory as large items like the bed or wardrobe. He smiled at how cool it all felt. His tail swished happily as he cleaned out the room and he found himself whistling happily.
Not only that, the inventory featured a neat aspect he hadn’t expected. Tabs. He got a new tab as soon as he put clothes in, which opened up a wardrobe tab to his inventory. It seemed to come with its own set space. He could take off his current clothes or he could swap it with something new. Unlike the bowl, he didn’t have to hold onto his clothes to swap them out. He could even take out part of an outfit and put it on. But the outfit had to either be on him, or in his inventory to use it. He also found out that he couldn’t just throw the shirt on the bed and then put it on. But if the shirt was in the wardrobe tab and he wanted it on his chest it would happen in less than a second. He also noted that the bedsheet wouldn’t be considered a piece of clothing unless he wrapped it around himself like a skirt and tied it off. And then it would swap out just like his pants.
The bed and wardrobe also got their own tab. It was labeled “Furniture”. And like his clothes, once all the furniture was out of his inventory, the tab went away. He found he could even mentally place large items like furniture roughly where he wanted it as long as it was within arms reach. Even more awesome was the fact that he was able to mentally drag the bag icon to just under the character outline in his vision. He didn’t even have to open the character sheet to use it.
At one point he grabbed a chair, and put the sheet from the bed over it. He counted to three, removed the sheet with a flourish, and put the chair into his inventory. To anyone else, it looked like the chair disappeared into thin air. Then he bowed and as he did pulled the chair back out of his inventory as if he just hid the chair behind him. He kissed his fingers and pretended to receive flowers and a standing ovation from the nonexistent crowd. “Thank you! I’ll be here all week!” he exclaimed.
John lay back down on the bed, and crossed one leg over his knee. He hummed to himself as his hooves tapped the air. He was smiling from ear to ear. “God, this is so cool” he exclaimed to nobody in particular. “Who needs a moving company when you’ve got inventory slots?”
Finally he took out the note and the smile melted away the further he got.
My esteemed associate,
I trust that this missive finds you in good health and high spirits. I am writing to you today in regards to a rather delicate matter that requires your immediate attention and intervention.
It has come to my attention that our dear friend and esteemed colleague, Gareth Teppenworth has been rather… shall we say… remiss in his obligatory payments towards our mutual interests and endeavors. This, as I'm sure you can understand and appreciate, is a grave and most grievous offense that simply cannot be allowed to go unpunished.
Therefore, I am hereby instructing you to pay our dear friend a most cordial and friendly visit. During this visit, you are to make it abundantly clear to him that any further delinquencies on his part will not be tolerated and will be met with swift and severe retribution.
In order to impress upon him the gravity and seriousness of the situation at hand, I am requesting that you have a friendly chat in order to convince him to see the error of his ways and to rectify this most egregious but assumed accidental oversight on his part.
In addition to the aforementioned obligatory payments, I am requiring that our dear friend make a small investment in insurance for the protection of his establishment and for the continued success of our mutual interests and endeavors. I understand that sometimes times can be difficult so having proper insurance in those times is paramount to success. As such, the amount for the monthly payment shall be 5 gold, and the amount for the insurance shall be 1 platinum.
I am confident that you will rise to this… shall we say… most trying and testing of challenges with the utmost skill, and panache. Rest assured that your efforts and accomplishments in this matter shall not go unnoticed.
Yours in the spirit of true camaraderie and most cordial collaboration,
The Honorable IV
P.S. Do remember to leave a few… shall we say… persuasive… souvenirs as a gentle reminder of the consequences of failing to provide for your community. As good stewards of the community it's our duty to remind people of their civic duties.
John flipped the note over and noticed a crude map on the back. As soon as he saw it, he noticed a small icon that looked like a folded map appeared next to the bag icon. He mentally clicked on it. Instead of a map, words pulsed in his vision for a couple of seconds.
Map Initializing Map Updating Map Updated
Then suddenly a high quality map of the area John was in appeared. It was only as large as the map on the paper but far more detailed. He could see the name of the building he was in, the alleyway he fought the thugs in, and even addresses. But unlike the map drawn on the paper, he could see details. He could see the shingles on the roof, the sidewalk and a few other things. It was as if he had a GPS in sepia tones really zoomed in over his location.
He found out he could even zoom in a fair bit and look at the inn he was staying in. Not every room, but the general layout. He remembered that the upper hallway here had 8 rooms, and in his map he saw 8 rooms but only the one he was in had any detail on it. When he got to his current room he even saw a dot for himself.
He read the note a few times and wondered where it came from. Nothing gave that away. So he put the map back in his inventory and saw that with some practice he could even preview the items in there, including a brief overview of the contents of the letter.
He put his head down on the pillow and his tail started to hurt from being uncomfortably squished. "So Gareth has a problem with the mob" he thought to himself as he corrected by rolling onto his belly.
He was met with an unexpected, sharp pain in his chest. He winced, feeling the sudden pinch that made him instinctively roll back onto his side. “OW! He yelped, the discomfort lingering. It felt like a sensitive part of his body had been pinched under him causing a sharp stinging. The sensation had caught him off guard. He gingerly touched his chest, the tenderness surprising him. ‘Holy shit, so that’s what it feels like?’ he thought to himself. ‘Never thought that I’d have empathy instead of sympathy when my wife did that!’
After a few minutes the unpleasant situation went away. He put his arm under the pillow and suddenly realized how good lying on a bed felt. He closed his eyes and before he even realized what was going on, sleep took him.