“Did that guy come in alone?” I asked Bomo.
“He alone,” Bomo rumbled. “He always alone. He here a lot. Usually in Bitches room.”
“What are we going to do?” Donut asked. “Should we get him?”
“No,” I said. “You go ahead and look in Bitches and Penis Parade. But be careful.”
The man at the counter appeared to be drunk. He was missing his right hand. He should have chosen a race like Katia’s, something that would’ve allowed him to regrow a limb. He clutched a drink with his left.
I leaned in and said to The Sledge, “Watch Donut carefully. There might be a woman in here who wants to hurt her. She’ll fill you in on the details.” I turned to Bomo. “Stay with me. This guy is much more dangerous than he looks. Even with only one hand.”
I approached and sat down next to the man, keeping him more than an arm’s length away.
“Hello, Frank,” I said. “It’s been a while. You look like shit.”
Frank was drunk. Very drunk. He looked as if he was sprouting from the bar. I examined his properties.
Crawler #324,119. “Frank Q.”
Level 17.
Race: Night Elf.
Class: Blood Assassin.
Only level 17? He was seriously lagging behind.
I didn’t know what a blood assassin was, but a night elf was much like a dark elf or a drow from so many games and stories. His rough face was still recognizable in elf form. His skin glowed dark purple in the lights of the club, reminding me of an eggplant. He’d lost his spiked shoulder pads and battle axe. He now wore a flowing, black jacket. He still sported the Seahawks beanie on his head, though now he had long, black hair. It looked out of place above his dark elf countenance. Fanged incisors peeked out from his lips.
The man’s eyes were heavy with deep rings underneath them. It didn’t appear as if he’d slept in ages. He smelled, too, of an odd mix of perfume and stale alcohol.
“Carl?” he said, looking up. He didn’t have a speech bubble over his head. He tried to draw it using his stump, and the spell failed. The badger-headed bartender, with practiced ease, drew it for him. “Carl, is that really you? What the hell is a primal? You still look human. Where’s your cat?”
“She’s here,” I said. “Where’s your wife?”
“Dunno,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since the end of the second floor. She’s around, though. I can see her on my interface. Don’t talk so much. I think she blocked me. Bitch. But I’m glad you’re here. They say you come here sometimes. Now I can get my revenge.”
I tensed. This was either an elaborate trap, or the man had completely self-destructed and was now just talking shit. Based on his low level, I assumed the latter, but I prepared myself.
“You haven’t seen her since the second floor? So right after our appearance on the Maestro’s show?”
He nodded. “And I know you haven’t seen her either, because you’re both still alive. We got into a fight. About you and your cat. My plan after that was to sit at a bar just like this and wait for the end. But I got kicked out of the saferoom an hour before the second floor collapsed, and I wandered into the stairwell. When I got to race selection, that tentacled asshole told me Maggie had already chosen her race and class and left.”
“What did she pick?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Is soul-sucking bitch a class?” He grunted at his own joke. “It probably is. I don’t even remember picking this body. I was so drunk. I think he picked it for me.”
This conversation was not going the way I had expected. “But you made it through the third floor, obviously.”
“Yup. Met up with some folks. Maggie used to tell me I was the William Shakespeare of lies. A damn virtuoso. That’s why we got a divorce. But you know what?” He raised his stump, like he was pointing a finger. Bomo lifted his arm, lightning quick, but I waved him away. “Sometimes the truth is worse. I told them the truth, and they ditched me at the end of the floor. I didn’t want to go down. But I’m a coward, and I did what cowards do. I followed the easiest path, and I descended. Stupid. I landed on a train with a bunch of new folks. But they didn’t want anything to do with me, either. These skulls make it hard for people to trust you. Got off at station 101, saw the Desperado Club, and I haven’t left the station since. Gonna be brave this time. And more drunk.”
He pulled out what I first thought was a cigarette, but then I recognized it as one of the highly-addictive blitz sticks. It smelled like patchouli. I still had one in my own inventory. When smoked, the drugs could permanently increase your intelligence, but there were unspecified side effects.
“And,” he added after taking a long drag. “I’m going to do what Maggie hasn’t. I’m going to avenge Yvette.”
Yvette was his teenaged daughter. The one who Maggie had inexplicably choked to death after they’d tripped my dynamite trap.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked. I tensed, ready to jump into action. I had no idea where he was going, and that made me nervous.
“I’m going to give you a present,” he said. “That is how I will avenge my daughter.”
He pulled an item from his inventory. Since he didn’t have a right hand, the small, metal item clattered onto the bar. Bomo leaped between us, pushing me back. Several cretin bodyguards I hadn’t even noticed were suddenly surrounding us, arms raised.
Frank cackled with drunken amusement. “You guys sure are jumpy tonight. Are you really this much of a pussy, Carl? I’m not going to hurt you. Not physically. My fightin’ days are over. My revenge will be via a different means.”
He sat back, leaving the object on the bar. It was a magical ring. Green glass with a red jewel. It glowed with enchantment. I kept my eyes on Frank.
“You see, Maggie, she’s more hot-headed than I am. She wants to fucking kill you and your cat. It’s not your fault. I know that. You defended yourself. You did the same thing I would’ve done if the situations were reversed. But Mags, she don’t see it that way. She’s more biblical with her thirst for vengeance.”
“What is that?” I asked, indicating the ring.
He pushed it forward with his stump. “It’s yours, now. Got it in a legendary box right after we got in the dungeon. It ruined us. Now I’m giving it to you. That’s my revenge. You’re going to take it, because you’d be stupid not to. A jeweler in one of those big towns on the last floor offered me 300,000 gold for it.” He laughed. “It’s like winning the lottery. Of course you take the money if you win. But it ends up ruining you. That’s what this did to us, and that’s what this will do to you. That’s my revenge. It’s all I have left to offer. And it’s all I want. Knowing what happened isn’t enough. You need to understand. You need to feel it. You look down on me. I can see it. But you don’t understand. Fuck you, Carl. Take the ring.”
The dude wasn’t making sense. I looked closely at the ring, examining its properties.
Enchanted Night Wyrm’s Ring of Divine Suffering.
Oooh, that’s scary sounding.
For the discerning Crawler Killer, this magical ring can be one of the most formidable items in the dungeon. If utilized properly, this ring’s wielder can grow exponentially in strength, especially on the deeper floors. But beware. If poorly wielded, this ring will kill you quicker than an exploding rage elemental. Either way, this ring imparts one of the dungeon’s most highly sought-after skills.
The wearer of this ring receives the following benefits:
+5% to all stats.
The Marked for Death Skill
I reached over and picked up the ring. I had to hold it in my hand before I could read the description of the Marked for Death skill.