SIXTEEN: HELP II

Lars pointed at the wooden desk smack dab in the center of the square. “You have got to be shitting me.”

The rest of the square outside the temple—the only stone building Lars had seen so far in Dungeon—was completely empty. No people. No other stands or villagers peddling their goods and wares. No fences, no games of chance played atop chicken crates. Nothing but a simple wooden desk with a sign above it that displayed a single four letter word.

“Takes away the immersion being empty like this, but is a Beta,” Finn observed. “Probably haven’t gotten around to rendering this part of the campaign yet. I’m guessing the main part of the questline doesn’t involve the temple.”

“Dear god.” Lars rubbed his eyes. “Not that, kid. I’m talking about the damn desk!”

The right corner of Biscuit’s mouth curled up into a smirk. If her eyes hadn't been black as coal, her companions may have even noticed that she rolled them.

“Right. It is a bit direct, I guess.”

“Direct?!” Lars leaned his head back to read the letters on the sign. “It literally says Help. It’s a fucking Help Desk.”

“Ha!” Finn grinned. “Well, I’ll be. That it is my gnome friend. That it is.”

“You know I’m not really a gnome, kid.”

“Eh. Jury is still out there, big guy. But this is the place we’ve been looking for, so let’s see if we can get some answers.”

“And some healing.” Lars hesitated. “Kid?”

“Yes, Lars.”

“Can you—I mean, would you… please pick me up so I can"—he sighed—"see?”

Finn looked down at him and snorted. “It would be my pleasure, my little gnome friend.”

“Again. Not a gnome.”

Once Finn had Lars tucked firmly behind his arm like a feisty one-year-old, the slender orc turned his attention to the young man working the Help Desk. “Good day to you, sir!”

“Good day to you, sir!” The young man beamed back in a voice that rippled with excellent customer service. “My name is Ade D’Playa. How may I assist you today?”

Lars fidgeted against the arm holding him up. “The bozos that made this campaign aren’t exactly shooting for originality, are they?”

“Shush, the adults are speaking,” chided Finn. “Ade, please excuse my child for the rude comment. He’s teething.”

Lars hammered his small fist down on Finn’s arm and kicked his feet. “I am not teeth—”

“Mr. D’Playa,” Finn waved a hand around. “My party and I are in a bit of pickle.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. I will have to open a Help Desk Ticket to assist you, if that is acceptable?”

Lars and Finn shrugged.

“Good.” Ade reached under the desk and pulled out a quill and parchment. He set to writing in a flowing script not unlike the one around Smeagol’s ring. “Ticket is open. Is this query regarding gameplay? Progression? Economy? Lore, perhaps?”

“Gameplay, to start,” Finn said.

Ade wrote on the parchment for a few seconds, then jabbed the tip of the quill down with a flourish. "Ready when you are."

Finn patted Lars on the back like he was burping a child. “Tell him your problem, son.”

Lars grunted as he ripped a titanic fart. If Finn wanted to treat him like a child, he would act like a child. He followed the big rip up with a high-pitched toot.

Finn pinched his nose. "Pew you that stinks! You might have to excuse me for a moment, Ade. I think I need to change young ones' diap—"

"Fine! I'll squawk, kid! Damn! Guy, I have this flashing red light around the outside of my vision and this huge wound on my chest. How do I get it taken care of?”

“Ah, child,” said Ade D’Playa, as he wrote. “This query is easy. Your health is low. You require healing.”

“And how do I get that?”

“From a healer, of course!” beamed Ade, and when he saw Lars was less than amused by the obvious answer, added, “Are either of you a Cleric or a Paladin, perchance?”

“I don’t think so… kid?”

“No,” answered Finn. “At least I’m pretty sure we aren’t. But that leads me to another question.”

“Patience, young orc. I can only handle one Help Desk Ticket at a time. It's the rule.” Ade smiled. “Would either of you happen to be a bard?”

Lars and Finn exchanged a knowing glance. Together, they said, “Yes!”

“Excellent! Which one of you is the bard?”

Lars scratched at the back of his neck. “Me, I think. Our characters kind of got messed up when we loaded in. Races got switched.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed. “But we’re still not really sure about class. We can’t seem to access the menu to check.”

“Menu?” Ade blinked. “I am unfamiliar with this menu. Perhaps you refer to your artificial intelligence? Disregard that, please. I almost got myself into trouble there. Like I said, only one Help Desk ticket at a time. The rules and whatnot.”

"Uh, sure." Lars looked up at Finn with a raised eyebrow. “How do we tell which one of us is the bard—if one of us is the bard?”

“Well,” Finn considered as he set Lars down on the stone square. “A bard would have some kind of musical instrument in their inventory. I guess we’re going to have to check out inventories. Normally, you could just open the menu, but since”—he jerked a clawed thumb towards the desk—“the IT guy here can’t multitask, we’ll have to pull out our gear piece by piece.”

“How do we do that?”

Finn slapped a canvas bag on his hip. “I’m guessing this fanny pack is probably my inventory, so I’m going to start there.”

Lars scanned over his mostly naked body, then frowned. “I don’t have a bag though? What or where is my inventory?”

Biscuit snorted, then trotted forward and nudged Lars in the groin with her nose. She barked, dug a paw in the dirt, then nudged him in the groin again.

“What the hell, Biscuit?” he snapped.

“Haha!” Finn laughed. “I think she’s trying to tell you to check your trunks, Lars.”

“You know, kid?” He said as he rammed his hand down the front of his pants without hesitation. “I hate this place more and more every minute.”

“Yeah, I hear you. You… finding anything in there we can use?”

“I got something you can use right here, kid,” Lars said as he shook a fist inside his pants. He fidgeted with it for a moment, then ripped his hand out to reveal a rotten apple. “Gross! Why would I even have something like this in my inventory?!”

“Starter food, probably. My turn.” Finn opened his fanny pack and pulled out a clear can filled with red liquid. He thrust the can into the air like a trophy, shouted, “A Health Potion!” then cracked the can and downed it in three gulps. A flash of green light shot up from his feet along with several dozen green plus signs. He threw the can on the ground and said, “Looks like I just regenerated some health. You gonna eat that or keep looking at it?”

Lars held up the apple. “What, this?”

“Uh, yeah. It won’t give you much health but it will help.”

“No thanks, kid. I’m good.” Lars tossed the apple down on the ground and Biscuit promptly devoured it. She let out a joyful bark of approval.

Next, Lars dug into his trunks and pulled out a dead rat. He made a face, then threw it on the ground. Biscuit ate it.

Finn checked his inventory again and pulled out a pill bottle. It slipped out of his hand as he tried to shove it back into his fanny pack. Biscuit ate it as soon as it hit the ground.

Lars raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t need those.”

"I hope they don't make her sick," Finn replied. "I couldn't stand to see her get sick."

"Something tells me it ain't gonna bother her much, kid." Lars went in for another round and came out with a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “Score!” he bellowed, then the excitement vanished when a quick grab at the bottom told him it was empty. He checked it for crumbs, rubbed what he could find into his gums like it was the last trace of cocaine, and dropped the plastic on the ground. Biscuit ate it.

Annoyance now in full swing, Lars dug in his pants with reckless abandon. He pulled out another pair of trunks, identical to the ones he was wearing, only a different shade of brown. Biscuit gave those a sniff, but literally turned her nose up at the smell. Then she ate them. “This is turning out to be some serious bullshit, kid. All your stuff made it in, and all I get is sick junk and underpants.”

Half a dozen pieces of silverware from around his apartment followed. Biscuit didn’t even make it far as a tentative sniff with those, because a few of the biggest magpies he had ever seen swooped in and hauled the shiny tableware away in a cacophony of squawks. Then, when the frustration had really taken hold, he pulled out half of a Zebra Cake. Except that he was so beside himself from the bad luck of the draw that he threw into the dirt like the others.

Biscuit ate it before he even made it to his hands and knees.

“No!” he screamed. “I needed that.”

“The last thing you need is more snack cakes,” Finn said with his usual snide. But he still gave Lars a look that bordered the fence between pity and amusement as he watched the poor little gnome search for crumbs.

“Fuck it,” Lars said as he sat down on the ground. “I need a break. You try for a minute.”

Finn shrugged, then reached into his fanny pack and pulled out an axe. “Oh cool! I found my axe!”

Lars hopped to his feet. “You got an axe?!”

“Colloquially, yes.” Finn ran a hand around the long neck, twisted a peg at the top, and gave it a tentative strum. “If you want a technical answer, it's lute.”

“Aha!” said Ade. “A tool of the bard! Excellent!”

“Great,” said Lars, the promise of sweet relief reinvigorating his soul. “Now how does he use that to heal?”

“Heal you?” Ade laughed. “A bard cannot heal in this campaign. The Director finds it... in poor taste.”

Finn cocked his head. “Really? That doesn’t make—”

Lars cut him off. “Then why the hell did you ask if one of us was a bard?!”

“Child—”

“I'm fucking sick and tired of people talking to me like I'm the village idiot with this game stuff. Or like a child. I’m not a damn child! I’m Lars! Lars ‘The Ogre’ Ochre! And you better not forget it!”

“Please calm down, young man,” said Ade, in that velvety tone service workers save for the most Karenest of Karens. “Your bard friend can do better than heal you!”

Lars raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yeah??

"Far better." Ade motioned to the lute. “He can inspire you with song!”

Finn plucked a few strings on the Lute and flashed a wink. “Do you… have any requests? Some Raffi, perhaps?”

“Jesus Christ.” Lars tossed his tiny hands into the hair. “No, I don’t have any damn requests! This game is an absolute nightmare.”

“Pardon me, sirs?” said Ade. “I hate to be intrusive, but it seems I have addressed your query to the best of my ability. May I, to maintain my efficiency coefficient, close this Help Desk Ticket?”

“One minute.” Lars raised a finger. “Let me get this clear. So, I either need to be a Cleric or a Paladin to heal myself, or I have to eat the garbage I find in my underpants?”

“Simply put, but correct, sir!”

“Wonderful,” Lars muttered. “I wonder if I can conjure up another one of those apples? Or a rat, I guess. They can’t be that bad. Shit, I wonder if I can cook stuff here. I bet I can! I spit roasted a porcupine once, only tasted like an expired can of beef stew, and barbecue rat has a certain ring to it. Don’t you think, Finn?"

“Ade?” said Finn, ignoring the questions. “Is there maybe somewhere in town where we can pay for a heal?”

“Why yes, of course! The priestesses at the Temple of Palaestra are always willing to help the sick and wounded… for a meager donation of coin. Do you have any coin, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Finn said, barely even trying to hide his annoyance. “We’d need to check the menu to find out, but you won’t talk to us about it until we close this flipping Help Desk Ticket!”

“Again, young orc, I am unfamiliar with this menu concept.” Ade looked from side to side, almost as if he were checking to see if there was someone waiting in the wings to catch him deviating from protocol. He whispered, “You should really consult with your artificial intelligence regarding such things. Yet since we are clearly skirting the edge of a new economy related query, I might as well be frank. The Director may have my head for this, but... have you checked your wallet, sir?”

“Wallet?”

“Yes, usually one keeps it in their back pocket.” He nodded down to Finn’s fanny pack. “Or perhaps their purse?”

“Quick, kid! Check your purse, you girl!” snapped Lars with a hint of glee.

“Ha ha. Very original, Ogre. And sexist.” Finn reached into his back pocket and pulled out a velcro billfold. “But I keep my wallet in my back pocket like a civilized person.”

“Open it, kid!”

Finn undid the velcro, ripped it open, and flipped it upside down. A few random pills and a condom fell out. “Nothing.”

Lars felt a borderline inappropriate comment about the uselessness of the rubber floating around in his mind, but decided not to say it. “Guess I better check mine. Here’s to hoping mine isn’t a prison wallet.” He looked around to see if the joke had hit home. It didn’t. He sighed, then dug around in his woolen under britches and ripped out a billfold of the simple slim variety. “Nothing. It’s empty. My cards ain't even there.”

“That is unfortunate.” Ade frowned. “May I suggest yet another alternative?”

Lars and Finn shrugged. "Shoot."

“You could always seek a fellow Dungeoneer like yourselves and ask them to join your party.”

“That’s brilliant!” Lars said. “And how do we do that?”

“You simply need to indicate that you are seeking companions for your quest. If another Dungeoneer is interested, they may request to join your party.”

“Cool. And again, how do we do that?”

“By using this!” Ade reached under his desk and pulled out a wooden sign with hand painted letters on it. He handed it to Lars. “Hold it up high, child. You want to make sure it’s visible, especially at your height.”

Lars rolled his eyes, then looked up and read the sign. “Looking for group, huh? Well, it’s simple and to the point. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.”

“Ade,” said Finn, not nearly as confidently as Lars. “Are there... any other Dungeoneers in the area?”

The man behind the Help Desk shook his head with a dead smile not unlike the one you might find on a poorly paid retail worker on Black Friday. “No.”

“I guess that settles that, Lars. We’re going to have to earn some coin, and I only know one way to do that. Ade, you can close this Help Desk Ticket.”

Ade smiled that dead smile again, scribbled a signature at the bottom of the parchment, then rolled it up and stuck it into a leather tube. “Very good, sir! I believe you had another query. May I open another Help Desk Ticket for you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Finn sighed. “But before we get tangled up in that, can I ask you a general question?”

“Since we have already deviated from protocol, I suppose you may.” He leaned in. “But please, keep your voice quiet.”

Finn leaned in to meet him and spoke like he was looking for directions to a street corner in the rough part of town. “Where would a couple of no level numbskulls like us find a quest around here?”

“Why, in the most important building in all of Stranglehold, of course! The Pub!”

“Oh, great!” Finn groaned. “How original?! Another flipping pub start.”