I didn’t like the idea of going full murder hobo on a group of mentally ill elves. Still, if this group was targeting innocent NPCs and killing them, then I didn’t hold much sympathy. Plus, they’d tried to kill us twice. If we didn’t take them on now, it was going to just keep happening.
While we were in the middle of our interview, Mordecai had ventured into town and located their headquarters for us. It wasn’t difficult. They had a sign and a trio of city elves out front attempting to talk those passing by to enter and hear “The good news about Apito the Oak Mother.”
They were only two blocks away from the Magistrate’s quarters, situated on a mostly-residential street in a poorer section of town.
When we left the saferoom, a handful of the shambling berserkers remained in the ruins, hanging out nearby. We rushed to the roof of a building and killed from afar. I didn’t want to waste my hob-lobbers unless I had to, so instead I tried tossing a stick of hobgoblin dynamite. I’d never used the upgraded dynamite before, and I was glad I hadn’t tried it while I was on the ground. The sticks were practically mini nukes. I used my upgraded strength to hurl a stick at a shambler a half block away. The resulting explosion knocked me off my feet. The front façade of a distant building collapsed, caving in on itself and filling the street with debris.
I stood and examined the damage, my ears ringing. I’d obliterated the shambler and killed the one behind it. Smoke swirled, dust filling the air.
Uh-oh, I thought.
The dynamite’s power was great, but the sticks were utterly impractical to use in regular fights. Even with my strength, I wasn’t so sure I could toss them far enough to be safe when I wasn’t two stories up.
“My goodness,” Donut said. “You need to be careful with those things, Carl.” She returned to my shoulder. In the distance, a third shambler had turned and was now approaching from another road that wasn’t blocked with rubble.
I wished I had a method of tossing them further. With my xistera, I could toss a hob-lobber four times the distance, but the sticks weren’t shaped properly for the basket. I pulled another hobgoblin dynamite stick out and looked at it.
“Wait, are those the same ones you used for the thing?” Donut asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Three of them.”
“Maybe we should have tested them first,” she said.
“That’s what they’re gonna put on my tombstone.”
“Don’t be silly, Carl. They don’t give us tombstones here.”
I laughed.
“You know it tells me I can’t touch them,” Donut continued, peering down at the white stick. “It says there’s a 75% chance it’ll explode if I try to.”
“Really?” I said. The stick’s stability remained at 80% for me, which meant I could bonk myself on the head with it and nothing would happen.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to touch that stuff unless you have the proper skill. Or you’re desperate. And I thought the goblin dynamite was scary. I wonder if there’s something even higher on the list?” she asked. “What’s the next step above hobgoblin?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if there is one.” My explosives handling and dangerous explosives handling skills had both risen to nine. Both skills increased the yield of the explosions. As it was now, a single stick of hobgoblin dynamite could kill most anything.
No, not everything. I thought of the divine guardian. The country boss from the 12th floor that we’d seen on that brief clip on the recap show. That thing wouldn’t even notice if I’d shoved an entire case of the things down its throat.
Thwump. Donut’s Magic Missile took out the third shambling berserker.
In the distance, the sun sank low. We only had a good two hours of sunlight left, and I needed to use them. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go talk to the elves.”
The sign didn’t announce the building as the headquarters of the 201st Security Group, but as we approached, it was clear that Mordecai’s intelligence was correct. The simple, hand-painted sign over the building held the symbol of a tree with the words Apito Education Center. On my minimap, the building was labeled as a Corrupt Temple. A quick note to Mordecai confirmed that anything labeled “corrupt” meant that mobs could be within.
Three city elves stood out front, each of them holding a stick with an acorn hanging off the end. They were unsuccessfully attempting to hand the sticks to anyone who passed. None wore the uniform shirt. All three wore simple, unadorned brown robes that appeared dirty, as if they spent most of the day gardening.
The building, unfortunately, shared a wall with a residence. About fifteen dwarven kids rushed about the street, laughing and play-fighting. They ranged in age from about five to twelve, and based on the similar manner of their dirty, patched clothing, I guessed they were all siblings, including multiple pairs of twins and triplets. One of the older kids held a stick with a small salamander tied to the end, and he was chasing his brothers and sisters about as they all howled. I think it was supposed to be a mockery of the elves. The stick-wielding kid jabbed the poor hissing salamander toward one of the robed figures. The tiny lizard expelled a single spark of flames at the city elf, who cursed and kicked at the child. Another kid picked up a rock and chucked it at the elf, who in turn raised his hand and cast a spell that reflected the rock back at him. The rock bounced off the kid’s head, who started wailing. His siblings surrounded him, and they all piled inside the house next to the temple.
On the corner at the end of the street stood a pair of stoic village swordsmen. They paid no heed to the disturbance. It must be a regular thing. I checked the position of the sun. We still had a good hour before the guards would disappear for the day.
The stick with the small salamander was left in the middle of the street. The poor lizard was trying to drag himself away. I was going to untie the little guy, but Mongo jumped forward and swallowed the salamander whole, taking half the stick with it.
“Mongo, gross,” I said. “Stop eating stuff you find on the ground.”
The raptor made a face, as if the salamander had tasted foul. He made a retching noise.
“That’s what you get,” I said.
“You need to chew your food, Mongo,” Donut said.
The three city elf NPCs glared at us as we approached. One of them rushed inside.
“Hello Carl,” one of them said. He turned to Donut, sneering. “Disgusting, vile blasphemer.”
“Me?” Donut said. “What did I do?”
I examined the elf.
Salvatore. City Elf. Level 16.
Root Druid.
Temple Recruitment Wand Bearer.
The Wand Bearers are the warm and fuzzy faces of the Apito Education Center, which is the outreach department of the 201st Security Group militia. While oftentimes doubling as door guards, the Wand Bearers are some of the most pious, most indoctrinated, and therefore, the most dangerous members of the silly little cult.
This particular group consists of members of the Magical Ops arm of the 201st. Translation: If you’re gonna dance with these guys, be prepared to deal with all sorts of magical schools.
The second elf was named Carmine, and his description was almost identical, except instead of a Root Druid, it said he was a Wind Mage.
“How do you know our names?” I asked.
Salvatore spit on the ground. “Eat moss and die, apostate. The master told us the Oak Fell and their rotting assistants would come to the city soon, and the final battle for heaven would commence.” He looked down at Donut, snarling. “When you agreed to help that orc, we knew it was you. You even wear the filthy symbol of your blasphemy.”
“What the flying fuck are you talking about?” I asked.