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Death After Death Ch. 102 and 103
🕑 Added 2024-04-01 13:57:01 +0000 UTCCh. 102 - Drinks With Friends
“Well, who wants to be the first to try it?” he asked, gesturing around. There were no volunteers.
“How about you?” he asked the man that had tried to gut him for his water skin only a few minutes ago in an attempt to win him over.
“I will not let you poison me!” the man growled, pacing around the edge of the light like an angry cat.
Simon was fairly sure that if he stayed the night here, that man was going to try to kill him in his sleep. That either meant he’d have to put the man down or make friends with everyone else. Fortunately, the latter was going to be pretty easy since he was the only one here with drinkable water.
“Suit yourself,” Simon said, raising it to his lips and downing it like a shot. It was okay.
It was closer to tap water than bottled water, but he detected no taste of corpses amidst the earthy flavors of sand, and he was sure it would get clearer as it went. That’s what all the videos he’d seen had shown anyway.
“Who’s next,” he said, replacing the cup back under the leaking barrel.
Everyone looked at him skeptically, but as a few people like Torrin came over and investigated the setup, they saw it was just as Simon had promised. The top of the barrel was full of watery mud, and perfectly clear water dripped down into the cup out of the hole in the bottom. That was enough for the man to at least take the chance, and as soon as he pronounced it good enough to drink, a line had formed.
There were 14 people strong enough to move around on their own and a few more who were dragged over with the help of their companions. Soon, everyone was taking turns in a way that was more or less peaceful, one glass of water at a time. It was a celebratory atmosphere, and people thanked whatever gods they believed in as they had their first taste of water in days.
Simon knew that it couldn’t last forever, though, and it didn’t. During their second time through the line, things finally came to an end when the merchant argued his horses should get priority over everyone who had already had a turn.
“Your animals can wait until I’ve had my fill,” said the man who’d attacked Simon earlier. “I will not wait in line behind a mere beast of burden.”
“You aren’t the one that makes the rules,” Simon remarked, not bothering to draw his weapon.
“And you are?” the other man Raged, lifting his scimitar high into the night. “You think this water belongs to you now, that you get to make the rules? Only the strong may dictate, and you—”
Without warning, Torrin drew his blade, beheading the other man on the spot and sheathing his blade before the corpse even fell to its knees and began to bleed out into the sand. He smiled ruefully.
“That is quite enough of that,” Torrin answered, with a crooked smile. “Now, whose turn is it. I am thirsty and grow weary of waiting.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Simon said softly, unsure if he should draw his own sword or not. “I would have been perfectly content to knock him down a peg or two again. The people that are the thirstiest need to—”
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Torrin said. “I don’t disagree with what the Aganian was saying at all; I simply do not wish to see this small miracle destroyed before I have drunk my fill. Normally, I would claim it for myself and charge all of your obols for the privilege of drinking my water, but tonight, I am feeling generous, especially to you, my good Simon. You have saved my life, so all of us shall take turns, and if the trader wishes to give his cups to the horses, I do not mind at all.”
Simon looked at the man and found the humor from earlier entirely evaporated. In Torrin’s eyes, there was only a cold emptiness now, and Simon wondered what it was he was saving here.
For a moment, everyone froze as they regarded the two of them glaring at each other from opposite sides of the circle of light cast by the lantern. Simon didn’t want to kill this man, and he certainly didn’t want to do it with magic that would make it very obvious to everyone else what he’d done, but he wasn’t about to bow to a bully, either.
Instead, he leaned very slightly against the barrel, making it tilt precipitously from where it stood on the large rock. “The horses are dying just like men, and I say they drink next.”
Despite what he’d said, the merchant didn’t move any closer with his bucket. He could feel the tension between Simon and Torrin as clearly as anyone else.
“Do you know how much horses drink?” Torrin asked. “It could take all night. What about everyone else?”
“Then it takes all night. Anyone else who is dying may go first, of course,” Simon said. “But don’t forget it was the merchant who brought the barrel that is saving your life. He deserves consideration for that.”
Torrin weighed his options for another minute, noting just how precariously everything was balanced. To Simon, he seemed more than confident that he could kill any challengers, but he didn’t seem at all sure that he could stop Simon before he pushed his tiny miracle off the ledge it sat on, which would almost certainly smash it to ruin.
Finally, he said, “Fine, I will take a short nap, and when I wake up, I will cut down anyone who tries to stop me from slaking my thirst. Do you understand?”
Simon nodded, but even when the other man wandered off into the darkness, he didn’t let his guard down. He was well aware that Torrin could sneak up behind him.
He didn’t, though. Despite the sleepless night, Simon saw to it that everyone drank their fill and no one with two legs or four died on his watch.
Unfortunately, that meant that by the time the sun rose, he was exhausted. He’d eventually gotten the other men to fetch more water when the barrel had started to slow down, but he was unwilling to trust his life to any of them. The merchant was a coward, Torrin was a killer, and everyone else obviously had their own separate agendas.
Though at first, he had thought he might have found a kindred spirit in the Torrin, as soon as the man had decided he wasn’t going to die, he’d become someone else entirely. In the end, his only real choice was to walk away.
So that’s what he did. Some small, petty part of him wanted to smash the barrel as he left, but with a yawn, he decided to let them fight over it. He wasn’t here to be their mother. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was here for. Maybe he’d fucked the whole thing up, and he was supposed to purify the oasis.
Honestly, it probably was, he realized, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t particularly interested in helping these people any more than he already had, and he probably wouldn’t feel any better about it next time. It wasn’t until he got to the top of the dune he was very slowly scaling that he realized why, either.
Not one of them had said thank you. “Thank you, Simon, for saving our lives. Thank you for keeping us from dying from dehydration,” he said in a mocking tone. “Thank you for giving us more petty bullshit to fight over.”
He was even more annoyed when he got to the top of the dune and realized there was no portal waiting for him in this damn arch. He took a deep breath to resist yelling in frustration. He’d been so sure it would be here, both because there was nowhere else for it to be and because Helades liked putting them in unlikely places.
“Did she really bury it?” he wondered as he scuffed the sand with his toe and saw that the building the arch was attached to did indeed go down into the sand.
He could just use more earth magic to move it and see, but somehow, that didn’t strike him as quite right. Sometimes, he felt like he was relying on magic too much in all this. It had its place, but given the costs… well, there had to be other ways.
Simon took a long look at the oasis he’d just come from and began to worry that portal was actually hiding in the back of the merchant’s wagon or maybe even one of the man’s other empty water barrels.
He resisted the urge to go down and check, though. Going back down there would mean killing Torrin, and he had no wish to murder more people if he didn’t have to. Much like magic, he felt like that had become his go-to answer, and he was fairly certain that when you got too comfortable killing people, you were the bad guy.
So, before he walked back down the dune, he resolved to carefully check every other direction. He didn’t find anything, of course. He knew he wouldn’t, but when he spit around, there was a door right behind him in the arch he’d just left.
“Son of a bitch,” he shouted, checking both sides of the thing. On the east side toward the oasis, there was still no door, but on the west was a wooden door just like you could find in any tavern in the land.
“God, not another tavern,” Simon said with a shiver. “Anything but that.”
Well, maybe not anything, he thought to himself. That castle and the haunted house sucked pretty bad too.
Honestly, he didn’t know what he hoped for, so instead, he just opened the door. And he found something quite quaint.
On the other side of the door was a little crossroads town somewhere in the north. The streets were mud, and the low fences were stacked rocks topped with gnarled hedges. There was an inn, but as he stepped out into the chilly air of the street and shut the door behind him before anyone realized he’d been standing in a desert, he realized he’d come out the door to the bakery, which had a nice homey feel about it.
For just a moment, Treena came to mind, but even as the nostalgia of her perfect loaves threatened to overwhelm him, a yawn tore its way out of his body, and he decided that despite what he’d said earlier, the inn was looking like a pretty solid idea.
Simon looked back and forth down the roads several more times, and after he found no evidence of zombies or wars, he decided that was exactly what he was going to do. He walked across the street into the establishment, and for the price of a single silver coin, he procured himself a bed and meals for three nights. He was going to relax and recover for a bit if this level let him.
He’d been on a tear for so long he was having trouble keeping all the details straight, and he wanted to lay out some of these details to the mirror before he found out what was on level 30 or even what it was he was going to have to do here. First, though, he decided to stop by the bar and grab a pint. The desert was thirsty business, and a beer or two would make sleep come much quicker in one of these lumpy in beds.
Ch. 103 - You Look Familiar
Simon slept the day away. He luxuriated in the feeling of having his armor off for the first time in days, and despite how much he hated looking at his chubby body when he was stripped down to his boxers, he wouldn’t have enjoyed those scratchy linen sheets anymore if they were made of silk.
It was only when the sun was close to setting that he finally decided to stop being lazy and get his act together. He made his way downstairs without his armor or his sword and inquired about where a man might be able to get a bath. He would need to do some laundry tomorrow to get the salt and the sand out of his clothes, and he would definitely need to take a whetstone to his weapons sometime after that before he went to the next level because the rust spotting was growing worse.
Still, all of that could wait until he’d wasted a few coppers on a nice hot soak. While he was in the bathhouse, he learned he was in the town of Esmiran and that he was somewhere to the east of Mietere.
The only time he’d heard the name of that city before, he was dealing with that locust-leech storm at Millen’s farm. He wondered if that meant he was close or not but decided not to ask.
He was definitely in another country or region, though. People’s skin was slightly darker than he was used to, and their clothes were just a little bit different from his. When one of the other men mentioned that he looked like a sailor, Simon laughed and said, “I haven’t spent much time on a ship since Abrese.”
That got him some dark looks, and though no one explained, Simon quickly found himself alone after that. He made a mental note not to mention random places he’d been without understanding why the populace might hate them.
Fortunately, nothing bad came of it, and as he reentered the inn, he found no lynch mobs waiting for him. Instead, he ordered a beer and some food and listened more than he talked as he waited for his food to arrive.
All in all, he would have called the fare in this place only decent. The meat was too stringy, the bread was too coarse, but the beer was decent enough. He didn’t complain, though. At least it was new, and the part of him that feared he’d be stuck eating that same wedge of cheese and loaf of bread forever. So that was okay.
It was only later when he had joined some strangers in a friendly game of dice, that they arrived. Simon had been on a winning streak and managed to win almost a whole silver coin after seven straight rounds of guessing whether the dice would come up even or odds.
Normally, that wouldn’t have been much money to him, but his coin purse was getting pretty low. He might have only been on this run for a few weeks, but he’d been to a lot of places in that time, and traveling was a lot more expensive than just hanging out in a single town and getting to know the locals for a year or two.
So, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything but the growing pile of coppers that were the stakes, and he didn’t even notice the strangers and their white robes come in until the bar went silent.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” the proprietor asked. “We don’t want no trouble.”
“Peace, brother,” the apparent leader of the group said, raising a leather-gloved hand to show he was unarmed. “We only seek heretics. The worthy and the righteous have nothing to hide.”
This gave Benjamin pause as he looked over the 6 men and women who wore white cloaks and robes that did little to hide their armor and weapons. Only the one wearing gray from head to toe seemed unarmed, but that probably just meant that they were even more trouble.
Suddenly, he felt naked without his sword, and he cursed himself for being in this common room with nothing but a dagger now that these weirdos were here. It smelled like trouble. This was almost certainly the reason he was here, which seemed strange, given that he’d been here for almost a day. Things usually happened quicker than that.
Still, he didn’t let that distract him as he tried to feign disinterest while he studied these strangers and tried to determine what the threat was going to be. The leader walked slowly around the room, studying each face one at a time, and even the men who seemed most likely to bluster or pick a fight over something like this were quiet and still.
They know what’s going on here, even if I don’t, Simon thought to himself. That, as much as the cool deliberation that was going on, was enough to keep him right where he was even as the man slowly made his way across the bar toward him.
Simon was certain he’d be picked out of the crowd for whatever aura it was he had about him. He’d been told so many times, but that didn’t happen. Instead, only a few people before him, the man reached out and grabbed a hooded woman sitting by the other side of the fire and pulled her to her feet.
“Here you are, Carelyn,” the man smiled cruelly. “Did you really think you could hide from us so—”
He stopped speaking as she lashed out with a knife instead of words, but it didn’t penetrate the chainmail that was hidden underneath the man’s robes, and he only smirked as he twisted her arm so hard that she dropped the knife even as he started to drag her off.
“No! No!!!” she screamed. “I’m not going back. You can’t make me!”
“No, you’re not,” the cult leader agreed. “That bridge has been burned.”
Some small part of Simon breathed a sigh of relief right then. He’d been sure this dude had some mystical power to seek out people like Simon, but in the end, this was just some wacky cult thing. These guys were here to collect some runaway. Now, things fell into place a little more.
He wasn’t exactly about to let that happen, though, and even as the group began to condense and move toward the door, he got up and followed them outside. One of the men he was playing dice with shook his head almost imperceptibly, urging Simon not to, while the other just smiled. He was obviously looking forward to taking Simon’s money as soon as these men struck him down, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.
“There’s no point in resisting us, Carelyn,” Simon heard the leader say as soon as he stepped outside, “The auguries were quite clear. You could have been one of the chosen, but now you are hopelessly tainted by this… can I help you?”
The man’s focus shifted to Simon as soon as he stepped out of the front door. The front yard of the inn was full of horses and men, and the group’s size had almost doubled to 10 warriors in white, but Simon still wasn’t concerned.
“If the lady doesn’t want to go with you, then you’re not taking her anywhere,” he said simply.
“Oh?” the leader of the group smiled as his men began to fan out. It was clear to Simon that they knew what they were doing, unlike most of the people he’d fought on other levels. “Those are big words, but unless you go right back inside, I’m afraid my men are going to have to dirty their weapons on—”
“Oonbetit,” Simon muttered, using a word of force to knock everyone in front of him backward except the girl as he walked forward and grabbed her by the arm.
That was enough to knock most of them off their feet, including the leader. Simon’s eyes weren’t on him, though. One of the other men, a younger warrior to the leader’s left, looked familiar to Simon somehow. He had no idea who the man was or where he might have seen him, but neither that uncertainty nor the fact that Simon had just knocked him off his feet was enough to shake the look of recognition on his face.
He’d clearly done something to piss that guy off. Before Simon could figure out what that was, though, the leader of these zealots was back on his feet. Simon had expected to knock some sense into them with that, but it wasn’t fear in the other man’s eyes. It was hunger. “Allying with actual warlocks now, Carelyn,” the man growled, drawing his sword. “Now things finally make sense.”
“I…” Carelyn started speaking, but Simon already knew what she was going to say. He could see it in the fear in her eyes even before she shook free of his grip. “I’m not… I would never…”
She backed away, and once she was a few feet from Simon, she turned and ran, but he didn’t take it personally. He’d known from the moment he started using magic no one was going to be on his team. That’s just the way it was. He needed to be pitted against a literal zombie apocalypse for people to think he was the good guy, and apparently, religious zealots didn’t rise to that level.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Simon said, not yet drawing his dagger. “If you just leave now, we can…”
“Oonbetit,” he barked for a second time as the three of the soldiers broke from their ranks and began to chase down the girl.
Strangely, though, nothing happened. Simon was still processing that and wondering what he did wrong when their leader yelled out, “Don’t worry about her; she won’t get far. We have a higher calling now. We must cleanse this warlock.”
Between the level of confidence in the man’s eyes and the way his magic had fizzled, Simon knew he should run. He might have, too, if he had any idea where it was he was supposed to run to.
If he did, though, they’d just go after that woman again, and he wasn’t about to trade his life for hers. Even if they killed him, he would buy her the time she needed to get away. He could always come back here. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the way.
He could do that a lot easier if he had his sword, though, he thought to himself as he pulled his dagger and dropped into a fighting stance.
No weapon, no armor, and apparently no magic was really going to limit his options, though.
“Gervuul Meiren,” he said, trying one more time as the men came cautiously closer.
Simon felt the words come to life as he pronounced them as always, and he felt the power flow out of him, but for some reason, instead of the torrent of fire he visualized, only a few sparks appeared.
“Rage as much as you like,” the other man taunted at that. “As long as we have a whisperer here, your tricks are useless!”
Simon had no idea what this asshole was talking about, but as soon as he and his men charged Simon, he no longer had time to think about it. Instead, he made a fighting retreat from the village square until he could use the wall of the inn to keep one of his flanks safe.
It was a losing battle, though. Not only was he nearly defenseless, but he wasn’t as strong or as fast as he would like to be, so without magic, he was pretty much screwed. It took only a couple of minutes to realize that the person in gray, who stayed close to them but well behind the line of combat, was to blame for that. They were the whisperer, whatever that was, and if he wanted the power to take these weirdos down, that was the person he had to take down.
He could have done it, too, if he had a bow. Sadly, he didn’t. So, he was going to have to improvise.
Comments
Immortal ZoDD
lumpy in beds -> lumpy inn beds
GrinBean
It's either there's some sort of anti-words for neutralizing average words, or they're simply able to cancel out his magic somehow just by whispering same words at the same time? Or something. Either way thanks for two chapters. As always intriguing plot developments.
