Chapter Eight: At Felendren’s Pad

“Could you pass that? No, not the blue—yeah, the green one. Thanks.”

Felendren didn’t seem so bad; at least Helvetica didn’t think so. It wasn’t like he had any fight in him, certainly not while he was toking on the huge bloodthistle bong. Except that it didn’t look like any bong she’d ever seen in her life. For one, it appeared to be made out of a Burning Crystal—the shard truly took offense to this and continuously shook with rage, producing a strange humming noise. The bong itself burbled constantly with a green-orange fume, and a pair of red eyes glared lazily at nothing. They also seemed to have bloodshot lines running through them.

“Dude, I wish that I had asked that Shara Sunwing chick for extra crispy spider legs,” the wretched blood elf said for the umpteenth time. Apparently he had run out a few days after he’d been banished, something about having a tremendous case of the munchies.

Glancing around the place where she sat, Helvetica realized that he’d gotten a rather cozy setup after being banished. The golden, open-aired, balcony that they sat in had been covered wall-to-wall with ottomans, divans, and big, fluffy pillows. Upon her arrival she had tripped over one of them, in fact, going face-first into their silken embrace after getting lost in the sweetly smelling “fog” that permeated the entire room.

Overall, Felendren looked like every other blood elf that she’d met. He was thin to the point of anorexia, possessed long, floating hair, and glowing eyes. The major exceptions to those similarities, however, appeared in his skin pallor and a total lack of personal hygiene. Being banished apparently had turned his skin grayish and he looked as if he had not washed his clothing in years—it was graying around the edges, frayed, and beginning to breed its very own lint bunnies. Helvetica mused that if this is what got someone banished from blood elf society, a lot of city geeks would be in trouble if they ever joined.

“What did you do that was so bad anyway?”

“Huh?” Felendren stopped gnawing on the pillow in his hand and looked up.

Helvetica sighed. “You were banished, right?”

“No,” he said. “Not that I can remember… Hey, do I know you?”

“Then why are you named Felendren the Banished?”

His face lit up at that. “It’s a band name, dude!” The bong set aside, he stood up—or tried to stand up—the entire affair took several long moments of flailing around, slipping on pillows, and he finally ended up instead perching precariously on the edge of a divan. “Jaxus over yonder plays the drums.” He gestured to a towering, anthropomorphic blob of smoky quartz light with the words “Tainted Mana Wraith” over it. “Exota and Exoma are guitars,” he gestured to some similar entities hanging out near the open edges of the room; they turned and waved when the names were said. “And, of course, I do the vocals.

“Would you like to hear one of my songs? I just wrote it.”

She quickly waved dismissively. “No, no, that’s okay. I’ve had bad experiences with song writers in the past.”

A cold breeze touched the back of her neck preceding the sound of scuffling feet and ringing chain armor that emanated from the stairwell behind them.

“There he is! Get him!”

Surprised, Helvetica turned just in time to see an arrow leap across the room and lodge itself in Felendren with a thunk. The archer seemed familiar, she recognized him as the one who got her mana wyrm.

A sword-wielding blood elf emerged from the smoke at the end of the hall and charged directly for Felndren, while an elf wearing a long red robe started throwing fireballs at Jaxus. More arrows rained down, quickly turning divans and pillows alike into pincushions.

“Oh no, not them again!” the wretched blood elf whined. “Last time they broke one of my bongs. Dude this sucks.”

“Quick! Invite her to the team!”

Skullbreaker has invited you to a team? Do you accept?

When Helvetica clicked Yes a drum-roll sounded and the portraits of three other people appeared in her view: Skullbreaker, Agony, and BubbleHearth.

Somewhere in the distance something died with a scream as Agony—the mage—burned a Mana Wraith to the ground and focused on Felendren. In a matter of moments—arrows, fireballs, and sword strokes—the magic (and bong) addicted, wretched blood elf had been rendered into a pile of ashes and smoke.

Skullbreaker has received [Felendren’s Head].

Agony has received [Felendren’s Head].

BubbleHearth has received [Felendren’s Head].

“Did everyone get the head?” asked Skullbreaker.

Puzzled, Helvetica looted the corpse.

Helvetica has received [Felendren’s Head].

“Everyone’s good,” said someone else in the group. “Thanks Helvetica.”

“Yeah, thanks.” “Thanks everyone!” “See you later, Hel.”

You have been removed from the group.

She looked at the head in her inventory. At least now she had something to return to the Paladin Sunstriker.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention; she turned to see Felendren himself bending down over his own corpse. Normally this would have bemused her, but Helvetica had discovered that in game certain people didn’t stay dead for long. After all, if everyone had to come and kill someone for their head it wasn’t possible if they were already dead.

The matter of one person having four heads, however, still disturbed her.

“Don’t stay dead for long, do you?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I have a pretty quick respawn rate. I just wish they wouldn’t break my stuff when they did that.”

Felendren the Banished has received [Felendren’s Head].

“I need the reward silver for more crispy spider legs,” he said. “The quest is still red to me anyway—it’ll give me mad experience!”

Five heads.

NEXT >> Chapter Nine: Waking Up is Hell

The author Helvetica writes the Helvetica Venture and Hellvetica Chronicles for Vox Ex Machina and proudly supports the works of Kyt Dotson, whose writing includes Mill Avenue Vexations (a gothic webserial featuring cab driver Vex Harrow), Black Hat Magick, and Helljammer and invites you to check out the novel, The Specter in the Spectacles by Kyt Dotson.