Ser Patrick Pent
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035 The Naked Bard
🕑 Added 2024-01-30 19:25:54 +0000 UTCI walked into the Naked Bard, one hour later than Nicola had suggested.
I’d taken a hot bath and changed into a set of soft, clean linens. Vizhima had actual plumbing!. . . which was nice, though it seemed to work via monster cores in a way I couldn’t understand.
No showers, sadly, though I’d take what I could get. The hot bath helped soothe my nerves and renew my confidence. Not the best of buffs, but I needed whatever courage I could muster.
The interior of the Naked Bard reeked of spilled beer and wood smoke, befitting of a tavern of its stature. Old floorboards creaked beneath my boots, sprinkled with a mix of herbs and lavender to help combat the smells. Dust motes drifted about the air, made visible by the light from core-powered lamps.
A few patrons occupied the tavern, creating a palpable din loud enough to be heard from outside. I navigated around the squat circular tables until I found an empty corner just waiting to be filled.
A barmaid scurried up to me in a frilly skirt, blouse, and a cutesy apron stained in grease.
“Can I take your order, sir?” she asked, nonplussed at the sight of my long ears.
“Yes,” I said. “Um, I’ll have a virgin mojito . . .” Then I froze, because what kind of menu did taverns serve anyway?
“A virgin mojito?” the maid said, curling her lip. She backed away a few steps to put distance between us. “We don’t brew those here. And if you get handsy with any of the girls, they are obliged to knife you in the gut.”
“Not that kind of virgin, lady! I mean a cocktail. A cocktail!”
Her scowl worsened.
Oh, god. “What about beer then? That should be common enough.”
“We serve ale and wine.”
“Ah, yes! Ale. Good, ol’ ale. I’ll have a glass of it.”
My stomach tossed at the thought. I was that one guy who nursed a bottle of water while everyone else did shots, mostly because I never got many chances to party. I wouldn’t call myself a teetotaler, but I was as close as one could get.
However, I’d resolved to live life to the fullest this time around, so bring on the beer, okay? Bring an entire keg if you need to, baby. I’m going to drink!
The barmaid strutted away and returned a short moment later with a frothing tankard of ale. I eyed the horrible liquid, sighed, and took a tentative sip.
It . . . wasn’t half bad. Much better than I’d anticipated. I could see myself ordering another couple, assuming I stayed long enough.
Now armed with a drink of my own, I studied the other patrons in the bar.
The vast majority of them were definitely rankers, what with their arrogant mannerisms, and the way they drank while decked out in full gear.
A party of three sat at the table nearest to me, whispering beneath their breath. Each of them dressed lightly, in dark clothes and boots with a hood over their heads.
They hadn’t looked up since my entry, but my gut told me that I would be in for a rude surprise if I thought they weren’t conscious of their surroundings.
One of them dug a hand into his cloak and tossed a coin purse onto the table. Another opened it, and a large sum of silver gleamed in the lamplight. The third glared at me from beneath his cowl.
I turned away so fast that I almost snapped my neck.
A balding man in a comically large suit of armor yelled at a barmaid for a second serving of beer. An olive-skinned woman sat opposite him, dressed in robes straight out of a Shaolin temple. They argued over a map between them, getting heated as time progressed.
More people entered the tavern. A dashing, blonde man brought up the rear, flanked by three companions. He looked sophisticated, with his long nose and strong chin—the kind of man who could easily star as the titular character in a Bond movie.
His soft robes shimmered in the light, and his entire entourage dressed just as stylishly as if they’d gone straight from a fashion magazine to a stroll down the street.
One of the quartet bore black hair, tousled just enough to be classy and messy at the same time. He pulled seats out for the rest of his companions, starting with the blonde.
A second man with luscious dark locks signaled a barmaid, leaving the third whose hair was dyed purple—purple of all colors—to interact with their leader.
I ordered a second drink before they could catch me staring.
A masked dancer glided out from beyond a side room, dressed in clothes that somehow made her look more obscene than a fully naked woman. Her bare belly sparkled with sweat, revealing a pierced navel that achieved the same effect as cleavage.
She gyrated her hips and spun into the blonde man’s lap, only to end up shoved flat on her ass.
Ouch.
Undeterred, she continued over to a new table that featured a plastered redhead, if the way he sat with face planted was any indication. Her attempts to rouse him proved unsuccessful, so she finally settled on a brick of a man, adorned with chalk and dreadlocks. This one wasted no time in grabbing her waist and setting her on his lap.
A shiver ran up my spine like that of prey caught in headlights, and true enough, the three hooded men from earlier looked my way. Their hooded faces made their expressions difficult to tell, but their body language was anything but cordial.
One of them tapped a long finger on the table and kept his gaze pointed at me. The rest kept staring while they whispered, unbothered that they had been caught in the act.
Oh, god. Vizhima didn’t have a supremacist problem, did it? If all three were planning to jump me because of my race, then I better prepare to start swinging first.
I activated [Identify], hiding behind the pretense of taking another sip.
City Adventurer LVL 16.
City Adventurer LVL 17.
City Adventurer LVL 20.
All three were stronger than me?!
Hey! It seems you are afraid.
+1 has been added to all stats!
Thanks for pointing out the obvious, dickhead. I didn’t need that notification.
The man in the overlarge armor slammed his fist on the table. A nearby tankard toppled, spilling beer over the map.
The olive-skinned woman fell silent, and then she decked him, faster than I could follow. Half the man’s HP vanished in an instant. She dragged him out of the building by the face, leaving the stained map on the table. No one so much as batted an eyelash.
What the heck was this place?
Another use of [Identify] put the female Monk at level 24 and the armored man at level 19.
Shouldn’t I be chasing after her? She was the strongest ranker I had seen, outside of Nana. But, what about the blonde man?
I turned his way.
City Adventurer LVL 25.
Oh, fuck yes. He looked a little too vain for my liking, but he was probably more approachable than the woman who could half a person’s health in one punch.
The other four members of his party all ranked in the low twenties, which was pretty good as far as I could tell. I needed to join their crew. This was my last chance to gain strong allies and possibly earn spirit orbs.
I took a long pull from my tankard and rose to my feet. A handful of sweet, soft, flesh crashed into me, forcing me back to my seat.
“Hey there, handsome,” the dancer purred, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Can I interest you in a discussion about the Sisters of Lust?” She raised my mug to her cloth mask and downed the rest of the drink.
“Nicola?” I choked.
Nicola blinked at me with hazy golden eyes. The haze cleared. “Damien?!” She sprang upright like she had been shocked. “What the hell? We promised to meet up earlier.”
“I had some trouble settling in . . .” I took in her bold attire, and then I forced my eyes away from her chest. “What are you doing anyway?”
“You wouldn’t understand!” she spluttered.
“I’m not sure I want to . . .” Then, I noticed the way she stumbled on her feet and the lack of focus in her eyes. “Don’t tell me . . . you’re drunk? Would you like to sit?”
I rose before she could evade me and helped her into the next stool from mine. Nicola rubbed her arms, looking close to tears.
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, clenching my fists. “Is anyone making you do this?”
“No, it’s not that. This is all voluntary.” She looked away, increasing the tempo of her rubbing. “I told you that I was attuned to Pleasure, yeah? What I failed to mention is that I am also Born of the affinity. I get a power boost anytime I’m, uh . . .”
“Horny?”
“Aroused.” She rolled her eyes. “It evokes a temporary high . . . enough to help me forget . . .”
“You voluntarily put up with . . . this . . . for a few minutes of reprieve?”
Nicola frowned. “I don't. I enjoy it. Pays good money too.” She hung her head. “But, yeah, I’d have been better off taking the night shift at the temple. My brethren turned me down, however. They are very strict about not proselytizing when off duty.”
I signaled the barmaid for another mug of ale. I had a feeling I would need it for the rest of the conversation.
“So, what was it that you wanted to forget?” I asked, watching the frilly skirt swish as the barmaid left to fetch my order.
Something about the current Nicola messed with my inhibitions, and not in a good way.
My question opened the floodgates Nicola had erstwhile barricaded. She sobbed into her hands, sounding like a broken violin. “It’s Ben. After we met with Ezin, he announced his plan. He’s quitting the guild and dissolving our party.”
“He’s done working in Skeelie?”
“He’s done being an adventurer. He left the city a few hours ago. ‘Says he intends to rejoin his parents on their farm in Avillac.” She pulled off her face mask and blew her nose on it.
She wasn’t a pretty crier, which was kinda comforting considering how alluring she looked every other time.
“That’s sad to hear,” I said. “Ben did seem out of it after the fight, but I didn’t expect him to flare up this quickly. I guess mental health is more important than chasing after numbers.”
“He should have talked things over with me,” Nicola said. “We were a team. That’s what friends are for.” She paused to snort, wiping her nose on the makeshift handkerchief. “I can’t count the amount of times Ben helped pull me out of a bad headspace. He didn’t even give me a chance to reciprocate.”
I felt that, but mostly because I had grown up telling Mom all that bothered me. However, when she reached the end, she didn’t try to share. I sometimes wondered if things would have turned out differently if I’d taken the time to ask mum about her wellbeing.
I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going down that road again.
“I’m so lost, Damien,” Nicola said, leaning into my shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I need to keep working, for the sake of my family. But, Ben and I have been together since we were teenagers. I can’t imagine starting all over again.”
“You’re a pretty good mage, Nicola. I doubt there’s anyone who wouldn’t want you in their party. For that matter—”
“Empty words, Damien. But, thank you. Most female rankers want nothing to do with me, and the men only want one thing.” She whimpered. “Not that I blame them. The combination of tentacles and my . . . peculiarities tend to attract the worst and repulse the best.”
“Hey, none of that sounds like they are within your control.”
“I know. But, Ben was different. He didn’t care about any of that and didn’t try to take advantage.” She huddled into herself. “Sure, I enjoy a good romp now and then, but I prefer a team that sees my worth as a ranker and not as a warm bosom to hold at night.” Her eyes misted over again. “Ben . . .”
Ugh. I would take ten Nicolas as long as I got the spirit orbs, but I felt like a douchebag for trying to poach her while she was at her lowest.
The blonde Adonis tossed us a curious glance from over his table.
Yes, you, asshole. You are the one I want.
Nicola turned her golden eyes on me again and my inhibitions threatened to leak out of my ears. She took my fingers up in hers and laced them together.
“Hey,” she said, “I know this may sound weird. But, wanna get out of here together? Put all that elven flexibility to the test?”
A new group strode into the tavern, interrupting my choking fit.
They consisted of three men and a woman, all rankers going by their gear, and young enough that the oldest of them didn't look too far off from twenty. The tavern patrons sat straighter the moment they entered. All fracas and merriment petered to a stop.
The four newcomers headed for the bar at the side of the tavern without so much as a glance at the rest of the patrons. Two of them seemed related, sporting the tanned skin and brown hair that many of the city residents shared. Their long robes identified them as casters, straight from a mission too, considering the grime.
The sole woman in their party hijacked a barstool and barked an order to the barkeep. She twisted her lips into an ugly sneer at something that offended her. Her blond hair cascaded around her shoulders in braids but did nothing to complement her crooked nose which looked like it had been reset more times than she could count.
She exuded the mannerisms of a predator, definitely the leader of the pack. That thought died, however, as my eyes fell on the final member of the party: a raven-haired man of short height, dressed in leather armor.
Unlike the rest of his gang, he didn’t radiate malice by virtue of merely existing. Hell, had I been distracted, I wouldn’t have noticed him among them. And, that was what made him scarier.
Ever since my specialization, I’d come to recognize the subtle signs that denoted one as a ranker. For some, like Tybalt, it was the way they walked like they owned the world. And, for others, like Nana, it lay in weary wisdom. All rankers too exuded a small aura, the weight of their presence on the fabric of reality. This guy possessed none of that, yet his gear revealed he couldn’t be anything but.
“Byron,” Nicola whispered, following my gaze. “He’s the leader of Red Wyrm, the most popular adventuring party this side of Bargheria. Don't be fooled by their youthfulness, they are pretty strong.” She looked like she wanted to say more but caught herself.
I used [Identify] on Byron.
City Adventurer LVL 25.
And, then on his blonde partner:
City Adventurer LVL 24.
The blonde stiffened. She sprang off her barstool like she’d been burned and glared around the room. “Who?!”
Byron’s blue eyes narrowed in his face. “What’s wrong, Beelith?”
“Someone used a discernment skill on me,” she hissed.
Byron frowned. He closed his eyes.
A chill wind roared within the tavern, frosting the exterior of my tankard. The tables cracked with ice.
Byron’s blue eyes shone a frosty color, augmented by three simple words spoken to the rest of the room. “Who did it?”
The [Scaredy-cat] notification dinged in the corner of my vision.
I was fucked.
