A—former—professional game exploiter who went by Rod Stroker. Known for always naming his invariably well-endowed female characters something to do with smelly fish. He probably thought it was clever…
Rod, currently playing a stunning blonde by the name of Countess Pescado Podrido De La Cruz, studied Darren, his character’s expression neutral.
How the devil had the man taken over Twin Lanterns? NPCs with the Ruler class or equivalent could respawn, so the previous ruler of Twin Lanterns would be back? Certainly, there were mechanics in the game that allowed players to conquer, but to have achieved one before the game even launched? And Rod of all people? His success was built on the backs of others, not by any actual intelligence of his own…
“Countess,” Tarlia began, removing the chest with the Swashbuckler’s Ensemble, “I present you with one of the rarest collections in all the Isles. Painstakingly found and… collected.”
“Yes, yes,” Rod said, his character’s voice silky and seductive despite the impatience, “well done for collecting that. Why have you brought these chumps into my court?”
Tarlia gave a half-bow. “Your Ladyship, these are two of the people who helped obtain the Swashbuckler’s Ensemble. They wished to meet the venerated Countess who would receive this Legendary ensemble, and knowing your magnanimity, I saw no reason to deny them their wish.”
Rod snorted. “Peasants wishing to kiss the feet of the mighty.”
Darren bowed deeply. “Indeed, a mighty honour, Your Ladyship,” he said, aiming for some kind of neutral English accent. “It’s a privilege to stand before such beauty and power. Word has travelled the ocean of your greatness, and I said to myself, ‘Darien, before you die, you must see what true power looks like.’”
He caught Tarlia staring at him from the corner of his eye. She’d be confused as hell right now at his change of tack. Hopefully, she didn’t give anything away.
The arse-kissing did the trick with Rod, pampering his ego enough to waylay suspicions.
For now…
The man always had loved sycophants.
“And a coconut companion?” Rod asked, his voice uncomfortably beautiful.
“Yes, Your Ladyship,” Darren said before Wilson could speak up. “I rescued him from a tribe of feral coconuts and have been trying to train him to assist me with crafting. Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to teach him to talk either.”
“Huh,” Rod said. “Sounds useless, but I’ll take it.” He leaned forward, his character’s feminine face curving into a wicked leer.
Darren stiffened. “My apologies, Your Ladyship, he’s not available.”
The smile slid off Rod’s face. “And just how’re you going to stop me?”
That… was unfortunately an excellent question.
“Guards,” Rod said, “throw him in the dungeon.”
“Wait!” Darren yelled, his mind racing.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The Countess raised a hand, and the clank and armour and creak of leather stilled.
Darren licked his lips. Far out, this was so much more stressful when his literal life was on the line… “This coconut isn’t a great learner, but on the island I found him, there were plenty more, and they have access to grenades, which was why I was hoping to train this one in crafting. That hasn’t worked, but…”
He let the hint hang in the air. The cocotribesmen were the first race he’d seen with grenades. Would it be enough of a lure for the greedy gamer?
“You’re offering to do a fetch quest for them?”
Darren nodded. “Exactly. I will go get a lovely bunch of coconuts for you.”
“So you can run away as soon as you leave here.”
It took everything in Darren not to roll his eyes. Just send a few guards, you moron… I’m level 5 for crying out loud.
“I am but a lowly level 5, Your Ladyship,” Darren said instead. “I wouldn’t dare run from you. But if it would put your mind at ease, I would be honoured to guide one of your elite squads to the island.”
Ron leaned back on his throne, rubbing his chin as he studied Darren.
It was hard for Darren to imagine that the beauty in front of him was actually an overweight, sweaty man with thinning, greasy black hair who lived in his mother’s basement in war-torn America. But here they were.
“You will go with an expedition to this island,” Ron said at last. “I have a fully crewed frigate available with space for… guests.”
“Your Ladyship,” Tarlia said slowly, “it appears I’m not needed any longer for this meeting. May I be excused to return to my shop?”
Ron waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. My numnuts of a butler will give you your gold. And don’t for a second think I don’t know that you way overcharged me for them. I’m not stupid.”
Weeeell…
Tarlia gave Darren a slight nod, then left, her footfalls echoing through the large chamber.
Ron returned his attention to Darren and spoke to the guards, “Throw him in a cell while you lot prepare the ship. Bring the coconut to me. It will stay here to make sure you behave.”
“Don’t talk,” Darren hissed out the side of his mouth to Wilson, hoping that Ron wouldn’t see or hear him.
Then Wilson was yanked from his shoulder, and rough hands pulled Darren’s arms back while shackles clicked around his wrists. Darren ground his teeth, cursing himself for chasing a stupid outfit—that he still really wanted—instead of keeping his head down and going after his quest.
His situation was already up turd creek and unlikely to get much worse, so he quickly inspected Ron, earning a glare from the man. He was probably gonna pay for that.
<<<<>>>>
Pescado Podrido De La Cruz
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Level: 20
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HP: 1,040
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Class: Warrior (Prestige: Assassin)
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Status: Interloper
You are insufficient level to see more information on Pescado Podrido De La Cruz.
<<<<>>>>
Warrior. Typical Ron. All brawn, no brains. But the prestige class was concerning. Was that how he put away the previous ruler of the island? Some kind of skill that allowed the permanent assassination of Ruling Class NPCs?
It did also explain why he would now go for a light armour outfit like the Swashbuckler’s Ensemble over heavy plate.
The burly guards shunted Darren out of the throne room and through the winding stone hallways of the fort.
He fumed, too weak to do a damn thing. While this was hardly the first time he’d been arrested in a game—or even the first time by another player—it was definitely the first time with only one life and his very existence on the line.
And now he was cut off from Wilson and Samantha. He wasn’t concerned about Samantha, she could clearly take care of herself. Wilson, however, was a major concern. Who knew what the sick bastard would do to him?
Not for the first time, he wished that the game system allowed NPCs to communicate via the party interface. It only allowed players to chat. Though maybe once players started adding NPCs to their parties, that would change.
They reached a dungeon that reeked of coppery blood and mould. The guards shoved him into an iron-barred cage with a few wisps of straw on the floor—more for soaking up blood than for comfort, he figured—a thin mattress, and a bucket still half full of piss and turds.
The door clanged shut, and a bolt locked into place.
With a frustrated sigh, Darren opened his quest and looked at the timer. Just under eight days to get out of here, rescue Wilson, complete the quest, and choose an ultra-rare class.
“Alright, Darren,” he muttered, “time to put that exploiter brain to good use…”
End of Part I