Illegal Alien in a MMO World

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped as we exited the Temple wearing new illusions.

I really didn’t, but neither Gael nor Roxi, especially not Roxi, were willing to let it go. Apparently I had stopped responding to them or my surroundings sometime before we had reached the Temple and it along with my dead gaze had scared them.

Thankfully now that we were back on the street and exposed to potentially unwanted attention, they allowed it to drop.

Even three women that perfectly blended in, clothes and all, with the rest of the city might draw the wrong attention if they were openly quarreling in the streets. I had improved my illusions from earlier using the various city folk we had seen on our way in as references for our new disguises.

We were once again following our experienced guide as we now headed to the docks. Roxi had exchanged information with the local clergy and now it was Gael’s turn to connect with her local contacts. I’d almost feel useless given that I had no ready sources of intelligence to plumb, if not for the fact that the entire exercise so far had been dependent on my illusions to avoid detection and capture.

My mood was quickly picking up again and there was a lightness in my step that almost felt like walking downhill.

As we made our way to the docks, I came to the shocking discovery that the city was not as flat as I had first thought. It took me more than a block to realise that we were somehow, despite all previous impressions of the city’s topography, going ever so slightly downhill. 

Maybe an inch or half inch every couple yards or so.

All said by the time we reached the docks we’d probably only descended a few feet. Probably just enough to allow rainfall to drain away, running out to sea and preventing the city from sinking into the mud and forming a new brackish marsh.

I was still feeling better and maybe that could be attributed to the smell of salty sea air that was just starting to beat back the city stench. The sea air was however ever so slightly tainted by the smell of rotting fish guts. Can’t win everything, I guess.

Anyway… Adding to my improving mood was my excitement for our next destination. 

Gael’s contacts, as she had explained during breakfast, could be found in a dive bar of a tavern that was run out of a retired Joret naval ship down at the docks called the Red Fall. Popular with sailors from the Republic and other non-pag territories the tavern apparently used its status as a docked ship to avoid tavern and ale taxes via loopholes meant to shield merchant cargo that wasn’t going to be unloaded and traded from local taxation.

On approach it was clear the Red Fall hadn’t sailed for some time with most of its rigging stripped away aside from a pair of flags flying proud and below the waterline the hull was fouled beyond belief with barnacles, algae and growing sea grasses. 

Looking back and noticing our appraisal of the ship, Gael identified the flags as the Republic Standard of Joret and its naval variant.

“It might no longer be an in-service naval vessel, but the captain and what’s left of its crew all served on it before both they and the ship were retired. And despite emigrating here, they’re still diehard patriots and fly those flags both out of pride and to draw in others from the Republic and its allies. Helps alleviate the homesickness I bet,” she explained. 

“It also draws in a lot of anti-pag crowd given Joret’s long standing rivalry with the Empire,” she added in a quieter voice. “Which if the Duchess’s suspicions are correct, might make a big difference.”

Holding out an arm to halt us, Gael stopped before the ship’s gangplank below a painted wood sign depicting a falling red oak leaf.

“Keep the illusions up and don’t say anything once we’re inside,” she hissed under her breath. “The tavern’s target audience is hardly a secret, there will be Pag spies or informants watching and listening.”

Nodding ever so slightly in agreement, I made a show of straightening my illusionary dress.

It made sense, the Patriot Republic back home loved to slip spies into places and groups that criticized or opposed them, sometimes coercing good folks into becoming informants via threats to their families. They’d ignore them for weeks or months as they collected names until they were ready to raid, arrest or just summarily execute anyone involved. It allowed them to root out critics and potential dissidents, while sowing fear and distrust that keep people from gathering any sort of numbers that could spark an uprising or threaten their authority.

And the Patriot Republic was neither the first or the only regime to use such tactics and I doubted they would be the last. As we crossed the gangplank and descended the stairs into the dim subdeck, I couldn’t help but think of the similarities between what I’d heard of the Pags and what I’d grown up under. Hopefully this time I could do more than just scurrying about avoiding the boot.

Stopping again in front of me and knocking me out of my thoughts, Gael scanned the dim lantern lit tavern floor before striding off towards the bar with us following in her wake. 

And dim did describe it.

There were no windows or open hatches to let in sunlight or fresh air, thin tendrils of smoke rose from lanterns and the pipes of smoking patrons to pool against the low ceiling, making the space feel even darker. While Gael and I were perfectly fine moving about down here, the ceiling was low and Roxi with her seven plus feet of Amazonian height was forced to move about hunched over bent and almost crouching to avoid banging her head on the ceiling or its supports. 

I could feel the slight strain of maintaining her illusion increase as it struggled to maintain itself and compensate for discrepancies her actions caused. And there were eyes upon us. Letting it fail would be a terrible idea I thought as I fed it more mana. Strain and stress pulled at me.

I wanted a drink.

The atmosphere inside reflected the smokey darkness, there were no bards, musicians or sea shanties at this time of day and instead of boisterous drunken conversation there was quiet whispering over tankards and suspicious stares aimed our way. Whispering that fell quiet almost as soon as we stepped into the room.

I needed a drink.

I’d even settle for the harsh spirits from back home. Fermented solution of corn syrup in water that was then distilled in an old fuel tank, still hints of gasoline in the taste despite all past batches that were distilled prior using that very same tank.

Unperturbed by the silence or hostile silence, the former mercenary stepped up to the bar and placed a silver coin on the bar’s counter. In a firm, rumbling voice, she ordered something called a Warcity’s Shadow with bloodied feet.

Were Roxi and I ordering separately? Or not at all?

Pausing what he was doing at her words, the bartender gave Gael a hard stare only for her to meet his eyes and stare right back. Seconds passed with neither budging. Then breaking eye contact the bartender’s eyes flickered between Roxi and I before he turned and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him.

Placing a steel goblet on the bar, he poured into it a dark liquor that smelt of fruit. Next a ceramic jar was pulled from underneath the bar and a waxed cork lid removed revealing a thick semi congealed red liquid. Moving again, the man brought forward a large iron coin gripped in a set of tongs and dunked it in the jar’s contents before releasing the red coated coin into the goblet with a small splash.

“Pig’s blood,” the bartender said gruffly, answering Roxi and I’s stares. Bile bubbled in my gut as I flinched. I needed a drink. “I take it that’s not your thing, I’ll pour you the house swill.”

“No need,” replied Gael, passing some coin across the bar before she drained her goblet in one long draw. Spitting the coin into her hand, she pocketed it before gesturing for us to follow.

“One moment!” Reaching across the bar I grabbed the bottle the dark liquor had come in and then meeting the bartender's eyes I deposited one silver coin after another onto the bar until he nodded.

Cradling the bottle like it was my first born, I turned ignoring the scolding looks and followed Gael back out and into the streets.