Chapter 81: Time to Be a Hero!

The Good Inn hadn't treated Wynnie with much respect for several years. They were our competition for nightlife, food, and drinks. It was easy to think of them as rivals.

Yet they'd been a safe haven for us, too. After the first run-in with the pirates, The Good Inn took us in, helped us bathe, and let me get away from everything long enough to settle down and gain some perspective. 

But there was something more important at stake. Anyone who's worked in the service industry knows that no amount of rivalry can come between the bond of kinship that comes from experiencing how a crazy shift feels. Few other professions can truly understand the intense pressure that comes from high expectations, minimal autonomy, and brutal time crunches. Maximal stress for minimal stakes. The anxiety-to-importance ratio was off the charts.

At least my bartending experience helped me handle tense situations with Zenlike calm. Yes, this was an emergency, but that didn’t mean I was going to freak out about it. To me, this was like handling the next ticket on the rail while in the weeds.

We needed to save The Good Inn.

We needed to protect their staff and guests.

Then, we needed to save the town.

Easy peasy. No sweat. We’d finish the job and then relax with a shift drink at the end of the day, exhausted but satisfied, our relationships closer for the effort. And it wasn’t just that I knew what to do in a crisis—I was doing it, legs pumping with only minor protest as I ran up the winding hill.

Lady Talia quickly charged past me. "Come on! Move it! They're filled with innocent guests!"

All that hard work I’d put into training suddenly felt like it’d been a waste. The steep hikes up and down the path to the training beach made me cocky. Running uphill after drinking had me feeling humble again.

Lady Talia was right, too. They had a huge staff, and more than twice as many rooms, too. Dozens of innocent lives were in danger, and I was lumbering up at a wheezing trot as though that were good enough.

Or, heck, maybe I was saving my strength. Strategy.

I pushed on, trying to pick up my pace. Air felt thick and muggy in my lungs. The cool breeze moved the smoke around but didn't clear it. If anything, it just made it feel dense and suffocating. It stirred up all my worst memories of living on the West Coast during fire season.

My chest burned. My legs ached. My whole body was tense and sore from practicing with blades and then putting them to use during an adrenaline-fueled rush earlier in the night.

The liquid fire of moonshine coursing through my veins certainly wasn't helping. My first few steps had been confident, but I was flagging quickly.

"Help! Help us!"

Only the cries of people in danger kept me moving. I desperately wanted a drink to cool my fiery throat, but all I had was moonshine, and I knew that wouldn't help.

Not that it stopped me. A quick pause, a short sip, and I was right as rain.

Backsplash from the bottle hit me on the lip. Cool and refreshing. I reached out with my tongue to lap it up.

To my surprise, it didn't burn like the rest of the liquid. It was completely tasteless, aside from a mineral edge.

Another droplet hit me on the cheek. Then one slapped me on the hand.

I slowed, confused. "Hey! What the heck? Why is water falling from the sky?"

"Drew, I'm getting all wet," Shivai whined. "Everywhere. You did this to me with your kisses."

Wynnie stopped, huffing and puffing, bent over and wheezing with her hands on her knees. She shook her head and gasped to catch her breath.

"No… no, it's… it's rain."

"Rain? You're joking." I believed it, but I also didn't, you know? "How do you know?"

Wynnie stopped panting and looked at me like I was a big old dummy. "Because—" she pointed up "—it's rain."

More droplets fell, faster and harder. It was by no means a deluge, but I'd be soaked if I spent much time outside in it. The rain clung to my clothes, making them press against my skin. My hair matted down, and rivulets of fresh water swept away the day's sweat, dirt, and lingering traces of orc blood.

It felt oddly symbolic. Washing away my sins. Giving me a fresh start.

"This ought to help keep the fire at bay at The Good Inn!" Shivai said.

Oh. Yeah. And that. Less metaphorical, more tangible. Maybe that last swig was a bad idea. It was putting my head in the clouds instead of in the present reality where it needed to be.

"And with all this rain, I should have a lot to work with for my ice magic!"

Oh yeah. That too. Was my Intelligence score lower than I thought? Or was this a Wisdom thing? Or maybe I wasn't playing a TTRPG at all and this was a Bethesda game, where you could down a bottle of alcohol in a second and watch your thinking stats drop accordingly.

Even if that were the case, I doubted my charisma would get a boost to compensate. This was my nightmare. I’d gotten drunk right when things mattered the most. Justified it to myself. Allowed someone else’s bad suggestion to steer me off course.

The fumes from my breath were probably flammable, for goodness’ sakes.

Maybe another sip…

"Come on, you guys! What are you waiting for!" Lady Talia had stopped fifty yards ahead to scold us. We'd earned it. "Wynnie, get your chub—" she paused, apparently reconsidering, "—get up here and put out this fire!"

"Not chubby, just merrily plump," Wynnie muttered under her breath.

For some things, it seemed there was a nearly direct cultural analog. Either that, or a whole lot of coincidences.

Something boomed. Unfamiliar voices cried out.

"Aiyee!"

Another explosion rang out ahead of us. Splinters of burning wood blasted out from a window, and a billowing gout of flame and black soot belched from the building. More screaming came from within.

My legs turned beneath me, suddenly filled with energy again. Something about the mortal danger of innocent people had me going. The other two weren't far behind me. We actually started gaining on Lady Talia.

A third explosion, then a fourth.

"That's a lot of backdraft," I gasped.

"Actually, I think that's a lot of goblin dynamite." Lady Talia was just a few paces ahead now, sword drawn. "That stuff is dangerous no matter who holds it. It's worst when wielded by goblins, though."

"Why is that?" I couldn't hide my puzzlement. "Because there's some racial bonus to it?"

It was her turn to look puzzled. "What? No. What's your obsession with race, anyway?" She shook her head disapprovingly. "It's most dangerous when held by a goblin because goblins aren't afraid to use it!"

Finally, we were close enough to see what was happening. The inn was partially engulfed in flames. The increasing rain did little to slow the conflagration. Most of it evaporated into steam before it touched down. Even from dozens of paces back, I could feel the heat radiating off it like the world's worst bonfire.

People poured out from inside, climbing through windows, running out through doors. A few looked singed but mostly unharmed.

But I knew that the fire wasn't the real danger. It was the smoke that got you. People were more likely to suffocate than burn, and I had no idea how to do anything about that.

Far off in the distance, four figures stood with their arms crossed. One of them in particular caught my attention. He was hulking and enormous—nearly eight feet tall, and corded with bunched-up muscle. In the reflection of the firelight, I could see raindrops spattering off his bald head, his front lit orange to show off intricate tribal tattoos.

"Damn. He's a badass."

I tried to mutter it so only I could hear, but Wynnie and Shivai concurred audibly.

Two of the figures next to him were much shorter. They couldn't have been more than three feet tall each, and their long pointed ears and oddly proportioned bodies reminded me simultaneously of children and nursing home patients. One of them held a small rod in its hand. A flicker of fire sparked a wick, and the little goblin lobbed it in the direction of The Good Inn.

A boom sounded a few seconds later. The explosion went off a little to the left of the building, missing any critical infrastructure. Unless you counted the stables as critical infrastructure.

The horses probably thought it qualified. If they were still alive, I'm sure they'd have plenty to complain about.

The last figure was difficult to make out. Not just because it was night, but because they were obscured by a thick hood that kept their face in shadow. Long, dark robes hung heavy around a well-built body. The fabric seemed to slide down the figure like running water, but black as the night sea.

Super dramatic, basically. 

I was getting a lay of the land, quickly piecing together a plan. We could save this place, but we'd need to act fast.

I was just about to bark out orders when Lady Talia stiffened. She threw her hands out to stop all of us and hissed a warning.

"Look out ahead. That figure is bad news."

I nodded. "He's huge! That guy looks like he could choke me out one-handed."

"And he's definitely a Goliath," Shivai agreed.

"Is that the Dreaded Pirate Robertson?" Wynnie asked.

"Yes, but that's not who we need to worry about." Lady Talia pointed at the hooded figure next to the big one. "He is."

The robed figure slowly pulled back its hood. He looked… familiar?

His features were by now recognizable. The hint of scales on skin. A deep, greenish blue hue. Webbed ears, and the narrow, dark lines on his neck that I took to be gills.

“Um,” I mumbled, hoping I was wrong. “Is that one of Freya’s crew?”