GOD GAMES

“Purrrrr.”

For the longest time, I thought cats liked milk because it tasted sweet to them while offering an easily digestible source of fat.

“Purrrr.”

Now, after several licks, I can say without a doubt that that is far from the whole truth.

“Purrrr.”

Milk is the heavenly concentration of ecstasy, and it is merely the humans lacking ability to realize such a thing. Clearly, when the gods spoke of Ambrosia and Nectar, they were speaking of milk.

“Purrrrr.”

Oh, how blind I was to think I knew of life's happiness.

“Purrrrr.”

“Comrade Quasi, you like milk, yes?”

I shift my head away from such heavenly nectar to glare at the grinning Russian that would dare distract me.

“My blood is being replaced by dopamine. I’m in fucking heaven right now.” I turn my head towards my new favorite human.

“Clay, you may continue the petting.”

“Ok!”

The child places his hand on my back and softly strokes it as though I am being given a massage.

“Purrrr.”

“Oy, Gunna need a refill Oan ma drink!” Cillian asks after he finishes his third bottle.

Brenis shines a glass with a rag. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“I’s hevny.” he burps and then notices his half-eaten stew. Then continues eating it.

“Give him juice in one of the bottles and tell him it's a special wine. He’s too drunk to tell.” Irmgard whispers while holding a glass of tequila over a perfectly clean plate with every fish bone organized and accounted for.

Brenis nods and does just that.

“Special wine tastes a wee weak.” I hear Cillian complain.

When I finally finish my milk and turn to my skewer, I can't help but frown at how full I already feel.

“Borris, you can take my skewer. I’m kinda full now.”

“Da.” Borris grabs my skewer and adds it to the remaining three on his plate.

Finally, I turn to our [Tavern keeper].

“Now, as I was saying. My unique class turned me into a talking cat, which is both good and bad. Good in the sense I have better taste buds than any of you, but bad in the sense I am a cat. Me and my crew here were on a ship that crashed on this island. We are what's left of the survivors. Currently, we’re in need of transport and additional funds.”

Brenis glances at the bag of coins still on the counter. “You seem to not be lacking in funds.”

“For now, yes. But I’d feel more reassured if we had a crate of coins instead of several bags.”

Brenis raises an eyebrow. “Several bags? If you have several bags of coin, then you already have more than everyone else in this bar combined. Hell, most [Captains] don't have as much coin as you have on hand.”

My paw taps the counter while my tail flicks left and right. “Sure, sure. But is it enough coin to buy a ship?”

Brennis frowns. He taps his chin. “Well, you could maybe afford a used Corvette for five hundred trist, but a new one will easily cost you in the thousands. Tens of thousands if you’re looking for a Frigate.”

“I see.”

I stand up and catwalk to the bag on the counter, which elicits a pout from Clay. “How much are the meals and the broken stool going to cost me?” I ask.

Brenis looks at all of the plates and glasses on the counter.

“Well, drinks are a trist each. Bottles are five trist, so that's twenty three. As for the food, the fish and stew are only a trist, and skewers are two per trist. So that's twelve trist rounding down. The stool is going to cost me thirty to replace. That means your total is 65 trist.” He explains coolly.

“Aight.” I lean down and rip open the string on the bag, allowing all the coins to spill on the counter. “Alright, take sixty-five trist, and another two for the information.”

Brenis nods and walks up to the coins, of which there are three types. The coins are all two inches wide. A bland coin of bronze with a ship pictured on it. A green coin with a bigger ship pictured on it. And a twice as thick red coin with an even bigger ship plastered on it.

Brennis looks at all the coins, impressed. “If you’re willing, I have a hecto-trist I’d like to denominate into smaller currency.”

Oh? Perfect.

“Go ahead.”

Brenis leaves and returns with a thick red coin.

Ahh, so the red coins are called hecto-trists. Let's see what he does with the rest.

Brennis begins by taking sixteen of the green coins and then seven of the bronze. He leaves the red coin near our bag.

So, the bronze are worth one trist, the greens are ten trist, and the reds are a hundred trist. Seems simple enough. I wonder if the coins have some other usage other than currency.

“Boriss, put our coins in the bag.”

“Mmm.” Boriss answers with the last skewer in his mouth. The man just roughly ate four thousand calories in a matter of minutes.

“Now, Brenis, who do you recommend I talk to about getting my hands on a ship?”

Brenis grabs the finished plates and places them under the counter. “You’ll probably want to talk to [Head Shipwright] Severus if you want something new. As for something used,” he raises a hand to a board near the entrance to the tavern, “you can post a request for a used ship, or see if someone is looking to sell.”

“Perfect.” I nod and turn to my companions. “If you all are done, let's check the board and head out.

Clay pouts at my decision. “You’re leaving?”

I nod. “Yes, we are. We need to plan and find a place to rest.”

Clay perks up. “You can stay with me and my grandpa! We have extra rooms.”

At his words, the silent grandpa in the corner quickly stands up as though the cane is there just for show. He then rushes to the bar with little use of said cane.

“Apologies, please ignore my grandson. Those extra rooms aren't fit for habitation.” The old man looks at the child urgently, “I hope you had fun today. We should be heading home. It is rather late.” His eyes glance several times at the sword on Irmgards hip while his own hands tighten around his cane.

Clay points, but ends up nodding. Then the kid turns to me and grins, “can I carry you outside, then?”

I snort. “Sure, but let's stop at the board first.”

“Ok!” Clay says happily.

I hop off of my perch and land in the giggling kids arms. I am then carried to the board while Boriss carries Cillians unconscious self.

We arrive at the board and only now does it occur to me that the language in front of me is completely foreign but I’m able to read it.

Painting my ship.

I’ve just gotten a hold of Vermillion Mana Paint and need an experienced [Painter] to apply it to my ship. Level 25+ required.

50 Trist upon completion. Waste of paint will be deducted from pay.

-[Captain] Meregon forthright.

Looking for [Ship Cook]

I am a level 27 [Deft Captain] of a Frigate and am in need of someone with a culinary class to work as a [Ship Cook].

5 Trist per day paid at port. Food and board is fully covered.

-[Deft Captain] Anteros Bridgeform

Clear the corruption from Arbor.

The island of Arbor has a sickness in the center of the island that is killing all living things. Remove or Cure the sickness.

I am offering my Cored Frigate to anyone who is able to successfully clear the corruption.

-[Woodwork Mayor] Centeran Adams.

Clear corruption in the center? If I remember correctly, the center of the island is a massive swamp deadzone. Still, there's a ship on offer…

“Hey, Clay,” I raise a paw at the sign. “What's this about corruption? Do you know the story? The sign looks rather old.”

Clay pouts. The child turns to his grandfather. “Gramps,” the kid points at the rather aged sign. “What is the story about this?”

The grandfather sighs. “It's an old story, but this town used to be extraordinarily prosperous a good eighty years ago. The island produced thick Arborean trees with many in the island's center having fully formed cores. But then, something crashed in the center of the island that created a storm of decay which killed everyone and everything near the center. Afterwards, a lake of decay sprouted up and has kept a good half of the island uninhabited.”

“Huh, and nobody has tried to figure out what happened?” I ask.

“Many have tried, but none were able to get anywhere near the center thanks to the environment. I imagine a specialized high-level team would be capable of such a task, but such a team wouldn’t do so for merely a Cored Frigate.”

Don’t mimicus have the ability to adapt to their environment? If the only thing stopping people is the environment, I might be able to solve the problem, or at-least figure out what is causing the problem and sell that information.

“Do you know if this request and reward is still available?”

The old man shrugs. “Maybe. You’d have to speak with the [Mayor] and ask.”

“I think I just might. Clay, let's go outside.”

When we exit the tavern, I hop off of Clay and climb up on Boriss’s shoulder that isn't carrying a bag of potatoes.

“By the way,” I look at the old man, “You’ve been staring at my companions sword the entire time. I don't suppose there is a reason for it?”

The old man grimaces while taking what would normally looks like an old man leaning on his cane, but is actually the stance of someone ready to cut. To my surprise, Irmgard subconcously places a hand on her sword and Boriss’s muscles tense up.

Good instincts.

“Why do you carry such a blade?” the old man asks wearily.

“Because it's good quality.” I answer. “Some guy dressed in a fancy black suit recently dropped it. So I picked it up.”

The old man raises an eyebrow as though everything coming out of my mouth is complete bullshit.

Just as the tension rises a bit higher, a [Guard] rushes to us. “Myers, take your grandson home.” The man then looks at us. “You all should go somewhere safe too.”

“Garis, right? What exactly is happening?” Myers asks the [Guard].

“We found seventeen unconscious bodies tied up in a shed. All of them have been robbed.”

Fuck! How were they found so fast? Boriss made sure to tie them up real good.

Myers looks at me and my group and then shifts his gaze back to the [Guard].

“These robbers, do we know what they look like?” Myers asks.

The [Guard] shakes his head. “No. One of the Victims is a Raven [Captain] [Bounty hunter] who mentioned something about a cat, but he seemed to be confused. Anyway, get home and stay away from dark alleys. I have to warn more people.”

The [Guard] enters the tavern and begins yelling inside.

The old man seems to relax as he stares at us warily. He glances at the sword on Irmgards hip several times, and then glances at Clay. He releases a sigh. “If you four can behave, I have two extra rooms in my home where you can stay the night.”

“Yay!” Clay squeals in happiness and extends his arms towards me.

Damn. If I wasn’t nearly ten thousand years old and a great judge of character, I would think the old man is planning to lock us in his room and call the [Guards].

“We accept.” I hop off Boriss shoulder and land in Clay's arms.