Tipid grunted. “This one gives a 2% constitution bump for the next race. You’re fine. Don’t eat the peanuts, though.”
I took a sip. It was delicious. I received a notification about the constitution buff.
“I don’t know who Menerva is,” Tipid continued. “She might’ve been a season before my time. But I do remember watching Herot during my time as a game guide.” He paused and then tapped the bar thoughtfully. “Wasn’t one of mine, but I remember that season. Was a lot like you. Little fucker was a real thorn in the side of...” He started thinking. “I can’t remember who was running that season. Maybe the orcs. Anyway, I would trust anything that little lizard says. Smart bugger. Always had a giant crowd of NPCs with ’em. You gotta find a way to talk to them directly if you can. War mages are evil fuckers. It’s possible they’re working together, but more likely they’ll use you to clear out that floor and will kill the lot of you to take it all for themselves. That war mage also mentioned shadow mimics. That’s probably the true problem. Dealing with those guys is gonna be a real chore.”
“Isn’t that what Mordecai really is on this floor?”
“Yep, but it’s glitching out. It’s impossible for him to be both a changeling and a shadow mimic. Changelings can’t even touch mimics. And shadow mimics don’t get the skills of those they copy, so it’s just plain broken. But it also means there might be one or two of those running around this floor. So be careful.”
I nodded.
Imani, Chris, and Elle entered the bar with a newcomer in tow. This was a tall, thin human with flowing robes. Afleshmancer. Imani just hired him as a mercenary, and the plan was to keep him hidden in their guild until he was needed.
Onstage, the skeleton guy with the pope hat finished his song.
“That was ‘White Wedding’ as sung by the Minister of Blood-Letting. Next up is Tipid... Oh. Next up is Tipid singing ‘Love Shack’ by the B-52s.”
Tipid stood. “Okay, I can’t sing, so this isn’t going to work. But if my theory is correct, a gauge will appear above me when I sing. If that happens, then we know the guild is here.”
Donut started shouting loud encouragement as Tipid moved to the stage, then took the microphone from the skeleton man. He turned to face us and bowed, and the song started.
He was correct. He could not sing. But sure enough, a magical gauge going from red to yellow to green appeared over him, kinda similar to the gauge on theGuitar Herogame. It never left the red.
I groaned. I could already see where this was going.
There was polite applause when he was done, and he returned to his spot at the bar. Donut came rushing up.
“That was fantastic!” she exclaimed. “I love that song! You did such a great job! Even the evil pope guy liked it! What was that needle thingy! How do I get one of those?”
Prepotente also approached. He was drinking one of his sodas with the striped straw, sipping loudly. The bartender glared at him. “Excellent performance,” he said.
“Yeah, so,” Tipid said. He grabbed the stapled-together binder off the counter and slid it over. It was the book one used to pick songs for karaoke. “There’s a secret mark on a handful of songs. If you pick the right song, it’ll engage the entrance sequence for the guild. If you can get through the entire song with your needle in the green, you will gain access.” He paused.“Only those who get the green needle the whole time will be able to enter. So if you want in, you gotta sing.”
“Great,” I said.
Donut was bouncing up and down. She moved to the binder. “This is great! What an amazing way to have a secret door! It’s just like with bard magic. How do we find the songs! It’s too bad it’s only from the stupid 1980s. Isn’t everyone from that era dead already?” She gasped. “Wait, are there any Whitney Houston songs?” She gasped a second time, even louder. “Celine Dion! What about Celine Dion?”
“I’m pretty sure Celine Dion got famous in the 90s,” I said.
“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. She did the song for that one movie where that lady let her homeless boyfriend drown.” Her eyes got big. “Stevie Nicks! Was she in the 1980s?”
I laughed. “I’m pretty sure she had some 80s hits, yes.”
“Celine Dion first charted in Canada in 1981,” Prepotente said. “But that was in French. She didn’t chart in the United States, and in English, until 1990 with herUnisonalbum. It’s not likely there are any of her songs in that binder, but it is worth a look. Carl, what type of music do you like anyway?”
“Don’t even ask,” Donut said. “It’s quite embarrassing.”
“How in the hell do you know all that about Celine Dion?” I asked.
“I know a lot of things, Carl,” Prepotente said. He left his empty soda glass on the counter and pulled a second one out. This one smelled distinctly like grape. He started sipping loudly. “That’s what happens when you’re intelligent. You know things.”
“That’s not intelligence,” I said. “That’s?—”
“Hey! You! No outside drinks!” the bartender said.
I quickly covered my ears. I didn’t do it fast enough. Prepotente screamed right next to my face, causing Donut to yowl, Tipid to say “What the hell?” and the gremlin to fall back. The kappa onstage paused her song and shot a glare our way.
“Okay, goat boy,” the gremlin said, irritated, as he pulled himself up. “Drink it outside!”