Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 11

Tyfus sat down next to me breathing hard like a dog in heat. What little hair he had was messy and disturbingly clotted. He looked at me with tired, milky eyes, reaching out a hand towards my shoulder to steady himself,

“Frank,” he began.

I swiped his hand away and he hit the soft grass nose-first. The gnome got up and reached for the log I was sitting on. 

“Rude.”

“Those dirty little hands of yours were in gods know what places. Did you even wash ‘em?”

“Sure, I did,” he grinned. Tyfus pointed over the fire in the middle of the circle of logs and stumps we were sitting on, towards a large fish-eyed slater leaning against a palm tree and dozing off.

“In that guy’s mouth.”

“That’s disgusting, gnome. Just—”

“Don’t judge,” he said, holding up a drunken finger. “We’re not supposed to judge here.”

“Maybe we should,” I muttered tearing out another piece of meat from the bird roasting over the crackling fire.

Nighttime was surprisingly quieter than the rest of the day in the Peacespeaker’s Abbey. Most denizens went to bed early, probably too drunk and too tired from all the physical activity. Only a few roamed about, lazily spurring fires and lighting torches across the whole area. Some others were washing their clothes in the streams, chatting, singing, or whistling softly. There was an orc just swirling in place and humming and a satyr watching him from atop one of the trees while molesting himself. Luckily, the darkness made it difficult to see all the little things going on around the place, but still, it did truly look peaceful. In a way.

I had found a nice spot near one of the fires surrounded by logs and tree stumps. A human lady had set up the roast but sleep caught up to her before the bird was done. I helped myself to it.

“I really like this place, Frank,” Tyfus said. “I can see myself living here, really.”

“Yeah? Didn’t you say you needed adventure?”

“Right!” he yelled. “Adventure! I do need it. But what’s the hurry, you know? We can adventure a week from now, too.”

“Don’t forget why we’re here, gnome.” Just as I said the words, I felt movement behind me.

I turned quickly to realize it was Snowdog. He tapped me on the shoulder once, then sat down on the tree stump to my right. Moss spread where his ass touched the dead wood and tiny flowers spurted from it.

“Enjoying the food, Frank?”

“It’s good.”

“And you, gnome? You’ve embraced our ways rather quickly, haven’t you?”

“They’re good ways!” Tyfus said. “I agree with them wholeheartedly!”

“Yes, that is good, but your friend Frank here doesn’t agree with us. What do you make of this?”

Tyfus laughed as he shook his head.

“This guy? He’s one miserable prick, my friend. Always out looking for trouble and making everyone’s life difficult. And let me tell you something else, he has everything a Sankta Varathian would want. He’s got three clubs in the city, enough gold to bathe in it, women, fame, and he’s Nergat’s best friend, believe it or not. The two—” I elbowed the gnome in the nose, and he fell over backwards.

“Motherf—”

“I have quest,” I hissed through my teeth. Snowdog had no reaction to either Tyfus’ words or my response.

“Bah,” the mage waved me away after he got back on the log.

 An elf woman approached Snowdog from behind and softly lowered her hand on his neck, then whispered in his long-pointed ear.

He smiled.

“Not tonight, I want to talk to my new friends here. May you seed and sow aplenty, love.”

The elf nodded at us and even bowed a little before she walked off into the darkness. Tyfus watched her go with a gaping mouth. 

            “You have it good here, though, Snowdog,” the gnome said, checking his nose for damage.

The master of the abbey smiled and nodded but there was something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but since I had met the old fellow, he felt disturbingly sincere up to that point. My persuasion skill did nothing against him which meant he was out of my league, so I had no help from the Deeproot.

 Was he actually unhappy? Was this all a big old house of cards and deep down he was just as miserable as the next guy? Probably, I thought. Most people were miserable in one way or the other. Those that weren’t had either gone insane or were too dangerous to fuck with. Or both.

“So,” I said, not wanting to scratch an itch on the Tidewalker as some called him, “Your mother was a Spellmonger.”

“She was?” Tyfus barked.

“Hmm, yes,” Snowdog said, nodding. “What was it? Some hundred or so years ago she walked into the Redmaw and never came back.”

“Damn, that’s rough,” the gnome said seriously.

“It was. But it made me into what I am today. Or at least what I was to Sankta Varath. I spent the next century drowning my sorrow and confusion in the blood of others.”

His orange eyes reflected the flickering fire, and expression grew heavy with old memories.

“At first, I tried to learn what happened so I scoured every library, dungeon, tomb, and place of worship I could find. I killed more mages, liches, and librarians than I can count, but found nothing. After fifty years of this, I simply continued the killing, having mostly given up on any answers. I just killed because that’s what I did.”

“I know the feeling,” I said, licking my fingers from the bird. The meat had been delicious and just as salty as I liked. I pulled free my pipe and lit it.

Snowdog continued as I inhaled deeply.

“Yes, I can sense it in you, Frank.”

“Everyone with half a nose can sense Frank,” Tyfus quipped to which Snowdog laughed.

“Your friend truly hates the waters, doesn’t he?”

I puffed on my pipe, ignoring them both. The insults left me cold.

“But you learned about her role in the end, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, shaking his head. “I had learned about the device you have absorbed within you and the power it offered. Of course, I learned about the price you paid for that power, too.”

Snowdog snorted looking at me the way a father looked at a troubled child.

“Why didn’t you go after it? You could have been the Spellmonger,” I said. “Fuck, you could have been the Spellmonger,” I repeated, realizing the meaning of those words fully. “You could have spared me a lot of trouble, Snowdog.”

He only grinned at that.

“By then I was a different man. It had been a century of mindless slaughter, Frank. And for what? For the prospect of more? What if I had found it and gone to Hell myself? That wouldn’t have brought back my mother nor all the people I killed. No, my friend. I’m sorry it has found you. It truly isn’t a great destiny, but it’s your burden to bear. Besides, by then I was on a different course. I had left Sankta Varath finally free of the hate I harbored all those years. Finally free of him.”

There was a hundred things I wanted to ask and even more curses to spurt, but the only thing I heard was his last word.

“Him?”

“Yes, Frank. Him, the Catan on the throne.”

“The King?” Tyfus asked with a quizzical look.

“What did he have to do with anything?” I asked.

Snowdog leaned back and searched for something, then found a dirty mug. He summoned a small splash of water and cleaned before heading over to the nearest barrel. He looked at me the entire time with a knowing smile that annoyed the shit out of me. Once he filled it with wine, he sat back down.

“The King is a singler, Frank.” I

let out an unvoluntary sigh. I had heard that theory a dozen times and never from the mouth of someone who knew how to wipe their own ass. The king only leveled a single skill, and that skill must have been persuasion so he could convince everyone he was king. They, of course, forget that he came from the Catan bloodline that stretched back thousands of years, that we knew his father and mother, and that they paraded their little prince through the streets a hundred times.

“Bullshit!” Tyfus snapped.

Snowdog took a big gulp of wine and grinned, enjoying our reaction for one reason or the other.

“A persuasion singler, I wager?” I said with a flat tone.

“Yes, exactly,” Snowdog said, then continued to stare at us.

“And you were under his spell?”

“Everyone is.”

“But nobody can do anything? None of the Three of Steel, none of the nobles, the King’s Guard. Shit, not even the mages of the Arcane Abbey? We’re all clueless? Come on, Snowdog,” I finally said.

“See this?” He extended a hand towards me and pointed at one of three rings on his left hand. It was a heavy silver ring with no jewels, just some runic symbols carved into it. The ring looked dirty and old.

“You know what that item is? It’s called the Listener. Had to pry it from a level 75 silverhand lich. One of the toughest fights in my life. It makes you immune to the persuasion skill, no matter the level.”

“No!” Tyfus snapped.

“Then why didn’t you tell the others? Why didn’t you say anything to—”

“Shieldmother? I have, Frank. I told her and I told Blacksmile, too. I even gave her the ring so she would see for herself.”

“Did she?”

Snowdog nodded with a sad smile.

“She did, but she didn’t care, my friends. Shieldmother doesn’t worry about things like lineage or who rules what. She only cares for war. Varians only believe in violence. That’s their only god.”

“And I guess Blacksmile didn’t even try.”

“No, no he didn’t.” Snowdog said. The third of the Three of Steel, Blacksmile was also knows as the King’s Lapdog. He never left his side so it was no wonder he didn’t believe Snowdog.

“And now? Does Shieldmother still know?”

“I don’t think so. She’s been around Winford Catan for too long. By now, he has convinced her it was all a dream.”

It sounded way out there and awfully convenient, too, but in the grand scheme of things, it mattered little. I still had to go to Hell, whether the king was a regular king, a singler, or three goblins in a suit.

“How much for the ring?” Tyfus asked and Snowdog laughed.

“I’ll take everything in the Steelheart Kingdom, gnome.”

“Bah,” the mage waved him away.

“Where does the whole meditation thing fit in, Snowdog?” I finally asked. “Is there something you learned about my class that I don’t know?”

“The screams you hear, Frank. Where do you think they come from?”

“I don’t know? Hell? Isn’t that the whole thing? The souls from Hell are angry or something and they want me to go down there and set them free?”

“Have you ever truly listened to them?”

“Fuck no. All they do is scream.”

“I want to tell you a story, Frank, and I need you to keep an open mind, alright?”

I turned toward him and leaned into the trunk I was leaning against.

“I’m here so might as well listen. But hold on,” I said, got up quickly, and found a mug near the barrel of wine. Just as I raised it, the mug filled up with water by itself and when I looked at Snowdog, I noticed his fingers moving slightly to cast the cleaning spell. I filled it up in the barrel and sat back down next to him.

“Alright, shoot.”

Snowdog smiled again and took a sip himself.

“There was once a king who had three sons. His eldest was a great speaker and his successor, so when he came of age, the king gave him half his palace to live in and everything was good. The second son was a great warrior, respected by the king’s army, so he the king gave him a great castle and the city walls to defend him, and that was good, too. The youngest, however was troubled. Always staying out late with the worst of the city. Word soon spread that he was a drunkard and a failure, so the king didn’t want him close. He gave him a small piece of land in the hills outside the city. After a while, the youngest son returned to the city. He claimed wolves were attacking his land and the people and asked for help, so the king sent workers to build a great wooden palisade around his land. This was good for some time, but soon the youngest son returned. He claimed that brigands attacked his land, took the farmers’ crops and burnt their palisade. The king was frustrated, but still willing to help his son, sent a portion of his guard to his land and more builders to erect a fortress. This was good for a while. But his son came back for a third time.

“Spoiled brat!” Tyfus snapped.

Snowdog smiled politely and continued.

“This time he claimed trolls attacked his walls. They had united with the brigands and the wolves somehow and were attacking his land almost every night. The king sent his army out to face them. He sent out more workers, resources, and machinery, leaving his own city almost defenseless. This worked for a while again, but the king soon realized he had stretched his powers thin. All he worried about was his youngest son’s land, leaving his own city in a state of disrepair.”

“Wasn’t it easier to just call his son back to the city?” I asked.

“But his son is troublesome, remember, Frank?” Snowdog said and winked.

“Sounds to me it’s more trouble keeping him out than—”

I got where he was going with it finally.

“I want to teach you to hear them. To understand them. You cannot fight that which is inevitable, Frank.”

“Depends on how big of a fireball you can muster, if you’d ask me,” Tyfus said with his eyes half-closed.

We both ignored him.

Snowdog slapped his legs and got up.

“Sleep on it, Frank. There is much to gain from what I can teach you. I was too young to help my mother, later I was too angry to learn it myself. It’s not too late for you. Now sleep well, may you seed and sow aplenty, my friend.”

“Aye,” I muttered, watching him walk off into the darkness.

“What do you think?” I asked Tyfus, but the gnome was already asleep.

I sighed and finished my wine, then walked over to where Wolf was sleeping and leaned my head against his belly, folding my arms over my chest and staring at the starry night sky.

I slept surprisingly well that night and woke to something rubbing against my crotch. As my vision cleared, I saw a satyr sitting in my lap and grinning at me. I softly pushed the little fellow off me, to which he cooed like a hungry infant, his ears drooping. I didn’t have it my heart to kick him for the transgression, instead I pushed him away again, and made my way to the stream to wash my face. I snacked on a couple of dry crispy crickets, and made my way to the temple.

I found Snowdog at the top of the stairs picking meat from a raw fish with his fingers.

“Morning,” I said and Snowdog met me with a nod and a smile.

“How long will this take you reckon?”

“As long as you want, Frank.”

“I’ve never meditated and to be honest, I don’t really believe in it either.”

“You don’t have to believe in things for them to work.”

“What if I do it wrong?” He crushed the rest of the fish, skin, head, bones and all into a ball then swallowed it.

“You can’t do it wrong.”

“You don’t really know me that well,” I muttered.

“Come,” he said, turning toward the temple entrance and leading me inside. I followed him to where he had meditated the day before.

“Sit and close your eyes, Frank.”

I did as he said, sitting cross-legged onto the cold floor, and was immediately uncomfortable, but I didn’t say anything.

“I want you to listen to yourself breathe. When thoughts come your way, and they will, simply tell them it’s alright, but then shift your focus back to your breath.”

“Alright.”

“Good. Now stay like that. Don’t get up, don’t open your eyes. If you feel uncomfortable, stay with that discomfort, but focus on your breathing again.”

“Alright,” I said again, already becoming nervous about the whole thing.

“And how long—”

“Don’t worry about time, Frank. Just listen to your breathing. I will be back later.”

“What about the souls? What if they start to scream into my mind?”

“Remember the story, Frank. Listen to them. Don’t fight it, but instead allow for it to happen. If you black out, you’re safe here.”

“Safe,” I muttered. “Fine.”

There was no answer. I opened one eye to see if Snowdog was still there, but he was already gone.

“Fuck it, alright. Meditate, Frank. Go!”

I tried to do as Snowdog said, focusing on my breathing, but that lasted about two seconds before I had to gasp for air. I tried again and again, but instead of focusing on my breathing, my mind wandered to the troubles ahead. Was I wasting time? What the hell was I even doing sitting here? I should have been practicing or doing some dungeons or…

Breathe.

I did again as he said and focused. One second, two seconds, three seconds. And then the thoughts returned. How much could I level in the early stages of Hell before I reached the more dangerous parts? Was there even a difficulty curve in Hell or would I just have to face everything at once?

“Fuck, I need to focus on my breathing. Go.”

One second, two seconds…but my thoughts came back almost instantly. What about Fey? How was she handling the Midnight Bounties? Was Nergat respecting our deal? I sure as fuck hoped so, otherwise I’d have to go to war with the orcs when I returned.

If I returned.

“Breathe,” I muttered, becoming angry with myself.

I managed to string together five whole seconds or so before more thoughts seeped into my mind. For some reason, I thought of Papa and the Borough’s Kids. I wondered what had happened to that old geezer. Was he still alive? I bet all that anger and hate kept him going up until now. I should have looked for him so I could feed my boot to…

“Breathe, gods damn it, Frank. Just breathe.”

I felt my leg go numb slowly so I focused on that instead of my breathing for a while. I shifted a few times until it felt okay-ish. Then I thought about the king and the whole singler situation. I remembered the Pilgrims talking about singlers. Those were outcasts from their fanatic clan who leveled a single skill and were then forced to keep leveling it so they could help the order, which meant the king himself was a Pilgrim.

I snorted at that. What a stupid notion. Just as I snorted I realized I hadn’t been focusing on my breathing. At all.

“Alright, now we do it.”

On my next attempt, I sort of strung together more than ten seconds. My mind was truly focused for a bit and as I realized I was focused on my breathing for that long, well, I began to congratulate myself, once again losing focus. Still, it was progress. It was something.

“Come on, you can do it.”

Just as I tried to refocus, I could feel the tug of the souls. First it came as a soft whisper but then grew louder by the moment. I clenched my teeth and fists.

“Here it goes,” I muttered.

It didn’t take long for the whispers to turn to screams and I could feel the now familiar sensation of losing my grip on my senses and body.

[WARNING: Souls begging for the Everdark 334/1000]

[DESCRIPTION: More souls wish for the Everdark with every passing day, month, and year. Spellmonger, you can ignore a whisper, but can you turn deaf to the wailing cries of a thousand souls?]

There it was, the quest and the loud mindless wailing. I had almost already given up and let the thing just pass through me as I did before, but then I braced for it.

“Go! Scream! Let me hear it all!”

The screams had become almost unbearable. Nothing seemed different, nothing seemed changed. Snowdog must have been full of shit just as I expected. I put my hands on my ears and curled up, feeling the pain of it all burst through me.

“Fuck!” I yelled, shaking my head.

My whole body trembled, but that was only background to the agony. I clenched my teeth and fists harder, trying to remember Snowdog’s words. I had to try, I had to make it work.

“Let me hear it! What do you want?”

Suddenly, between the wails and the screams, between the coarse unintelligible mumbling and the deafening screeches, there was a single word.

“Ship.”

“Ship! What ship?” I yelled, but the word was drowned in the cacophony of tortured voices. Then, just as they had come, the voices disappeared, and I opened my eyes.

I was sweating profusely and breathing hard.

“What the fuck,” I mumbled. “What ship? What the hell was that?”

Only then did I realize the notification in my Deeproot.

[You have received 2,000 experience points toward your SPELLMONGER CLASS]

[SPELLMONGER CLASS EXPERIENCE: 19, 390/23,000]

[You have gained +1 to your INTELLECT stat]

“Huh, will you look at that.”

“Progress?” Snowdog asked, startling me.

“How long where you standing there?”

“I just arrived. It’s noon. You should eat something.”

“Noon? How…it’s been five hours?”

“Something like that, yes.”

I got up but almost fell over, realizing my legs were numb like rocks. Snowdog helped me to my feet.

“What the hell does ‘ship’ mean?” I asked.

“Ship?”

I looked at him, slowly realizing how silly the question sounded. He couldn’t have any answers.

“Forget it.”

“Something happened, didn’t it?”

“Aye,” I said as we made our way outside.

Snowdog stopped and grabbed me by the arm. He smiled like an urchin who found a barely eaten pie in the trash behind Otok’s Bakery.

“Gods, that was quick. I knew it would work but on the first attempt? I didn’t think you’d get anything out of it for at least a couple weeks.”

“Weeks?” I snapped.

“Never mind. This is good. Very good indeed. You don’t have to tell me anything, Frank. For now, eat and continue your meditation. Then—”

Snowdog seemed reluctant to continue, which worried me somewhat. He wasn’t one to shy away from the truth.

“What?”

“I don’t want to judge, Frank.”

“What?”

“You really should take a bath, my friend.”