The Mayor of Noobtown (Noobtown, #1)

by Ryan Rimmel

“First off, what can I call you, because it's sure as hell is not going to be master.” “I cannot give you my true name. You may call me Sir,” he responded. “So Shart it is,” I stated, “Shart, what did you do to me?” “What’s a shart?” he asked, struggling harder to remove himself from the tree, still quite unsuccessfully. “You are a Shart,

“If you don’t accept the quest,” stated Shart, “I’ll be stuck here forever.” “I could leave you in the tree, then,” I offered. “Please no. All I can see is that rock and I already hate it,” replied the demon, his struggles beginning for a few moments before finally stopping, “Fuck you, rock.”

“This is going to hurt,” I informed him as I adjusted myself down into a batter’s stance. “Well, I think that if you were to use the root over there as leverage,” started Shart. He was right; that probably would have worked. I used an alternative method of striking him about the head until he finally, on the sixth swing, broke free. He landed with a groan, “why did you do that.” “I said it was going to hurt; I didn’t say it had to,” I replied.

Shart had recovered more hit points, of course, but still had multiple injuries that were preventing him from healing well. I couldn’t count on him operating like a deadly chew toy again. He was really more of a busted squeaker toy, or a whiny ass toddler. An ugly whiny ass toddler.

I walked over to the wolf, “I’m going to skin the wolf now that I have a knife.” “What’s your skinning skill?” asked Shart. “Untrained.” “I’ll be over there,” gestured the demon, as he walked over to a nearby tree and collapsed again. Twenty minutes later, I walked over to where Shart sat, fanning himself with a leaf. “Wow, that went as well as I expected,” he stated, “How did you get fur in your teeth and do we need to bury that?” “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I spent some time finding a hidden spot and leaving Shart awake as a sentinel. Not that he really slept, per se. He kind of just rested a bit, with a really foul look on his face. Kind of like a constipated baby monkey.

I had grabbed the goblin’s shield and both short swords, as well as my other dagger. I found a few other daggers in the inn while we waited. I was festooned with weapons now. I had a veritable plethora of death dealing pieces. I was so heavily armed the TSA might have even stopped me.

“I don’t know what the force is, but it sounds stupid,” replied the demon, “It’s a curse. You have to grab that thing and throttle it with your magical powers. Think of it more like a goblin’s throat instead of your fragile dick. You want to grab that thing and choke it death, not give it a casual wank.”

They reminded me more of a certain electric rodent. By the way, electric rodents are pikadelicious.

Wasps hate everyone everywhere, but especially when their nest smashes into him.

All I knew was that my package was heavy. I’d love to make a joke about my package, but the crushing weight of my massive package was no joke.

You have learned about the Language of Wolves. You are proficient due to your Lore skill. It was a Ruff day.

“I could use some help right now,” I called out to my dipshit demon. “You got this,” replied a voice that sounded like it was coming out of a barrel nearby, “I believe in you!” Growling, I pulled myself up with my right arm, flipping onto the top of the stairs. The goblins on the staircase were still trying to right their balance and reorganize. A dagger would be a poor choice to deal with their shields, so I cast around for a larger weapon. I spotted a barrel and one of my swords. Grabbing the barrel, I lobbed it at the third goblin in the line. The barrel was half empty and half full of worthless garbage, but it hit with enough force that the goblin was knocked off the stairs and down to the courtyard below. As the barrel continued to fly into the courtyard, I heard a little demon voice, growing fainter as the barrel flew further away. “You son of a bitch.” “You got this!” I called after him, “I believe in you!”