by Jason Krew
Beyond them was a town nestled in a bend of the river. Further beyond that was another forest, this one darker and more thickly treed than the one he had passed through, a blanket that covered mountains so tall they cast a shadow over the plains. A column of smoke appeared over the hills to Roger's left, and he wondered at its origin.
'Where are we, Soph?'
The creature appeared to his right. 'You know,' he started. 'You can assign voice commands to certain functions. For example, try saying, 'Map.''
'Oh. True.' Guess that was covered in the tutorial, too. Man that was really going to keep biting him in the ass, wasn't it?
'Map, please.' A piece of weathered parchment materialized in the air before him, and he snatched it up and unfurled it. He scanned it with a degree of fascination, tracing his finger over the names of various locations. Many of them were blanked out. Undiscovered territory, perhaps?
It wasn't as big as he had first thought. If he was reading it right, beyond those mountains was the ocean. 'Ah, found Heathcliff.' He tapped the map with his index finger. 'If we're here, then,' his finger moved left, 'these are the Cerulean Plains. Huh.' Made sense. 'So that town must be... River's Bend.'
Simple enough. He was staring at the little dot that was the town he could see in the valley below.
'We'll start there,' he said. Having a destination renewed his enthusiasm. 'So uhh.' He looked at Soph. 'How do I put the map away?'
'Map away.'
'Really?'
'You know...' Soph started. His arms were folded, and Roger couldn't be sure but he was really starting to believe the little guy was pissed at him. 'You can just ask me and I can change any voice command to one of your choosing.'
Roger nodded. That made things easier. 'We'll keep it as it is for now,' he said.
'As you wish.'
They left Heathcliff and its woods behind them, and wandered into the grassy blue sea.
Chapter VI - Part 3
The village of River's bend was an interesting one. Little more than a shanty wooden town, it was peopled by the most rustic folk that Roger had ever seen. Truly medieval looking people. Half the town sat atop the water, a series of wooden buildings and jetties, where little fishing boats gently rocked in the current, secured to wooden pillars with ropes.
The inn here smelled of what Roger could only describe as fish. It was still amazing to him that he could smell at all. He wondered if it was his perception inside the world that caused it, or was his body, sleeping inside the pod, the thing being exposed to the stimuli? He glanced down at his hands and feet. How was he even moving this virtual body?
He had many questions, of course, but the urge to explore overrode any philosophical inclination. That, and the thoughts just made him plain uncomfortable. The inn was essentially empty, most likely because it was still daytime. There was one fellow slumped in a corner by himself, weathered hand still wrapped around the handle of his tankard.
The job board was next to him, and Roger approached it, hoping the man wouldn't awaken. He did. With a splutter he lifted his head, and eyed Roger with a bloodshot gaze, the whites hidden by a thousand criss-crossing blood vessels, a sickening detail that filled Roger with dread.
'Ah, adventurer.' His voice was croaky dry. 'Sit a minute and listen to the tale of a disgraced sailor.'
It was the last thing Roger wanted to do, but when had he ever been good at saying no? He sat into the seat opposite the man, and leaned back as the man gestured wildly with his unfinished drink.
'They called him Murgannon,' said the man, running his hand through a shock of iron grey hair. 'He swam the seas, they said, before man first appeared in Fantalia. Before the kingdom of Iridyll was drowned and regurgitated by the wrathful tides. Before dragons, before the hydra climbed atop the roof of the world. Before Poseidon himself made his lair in the belly of Atlantis. Yea, Murgannon was old even then.'
Roger's distaste for the man was briefly forgotten, for his words had piqued his curiosity.
'Aye,' said the sailor, pointing at Roger with an unsteady finger. 'I know a man with the wanderlust when I see him. T'was the selfsame vigor that drove me to hunt the beast. To assemble a crew and chase him around the Grand Circle of the world.'
His free hand dug into the grains of the wooden tabletop. 'So imagine my surprise, and the fire that burned in my heart when I saw the beast. T'was a shadow, it was. The shadow of a mountain, it passed aft our starboard and the very ocean shook and roiled in its wake. I was on it from the get, even as the craven among my men clutched their idols and invoked gods from every corner of Fantalia.'
Roger had forgotten about the job board. Soph sat by his elbow, legs splayed and big shiny beetle eyes transfixed on the story teller. The man slammed his tankard on the table with a sudden flourish, and beer splattered the table.
'Three days! Three days we harried him. We knew he needed air, and while we chased him he was denied this need, unable to take what he needed for a deep dive. I would not lose him to the depths. I waited for the inevitable clash, when his patience would wear out and he would seek to challenge our mighty vessel. On the fourth day the sky began to darken, and storms even the saltiest bastards had never witnessed thrashed our ship. Some of the men said it was He who called the heavens down upon us.'
'But my girl, the Indefatigable, held firm. Built by dwarven shipmakers she was, in the very rock bastion of Durmfang itself. I had to sell my soul to build her, but it was a fair trade, for she was my spirit reborn. And for three days we thought her a match for that beast, crewed by the brave men and the right captain.'
He paused, and his eyes glazed over. No matter how theatrically convincing, Roger could not separate that cynical part of himself that held back from the experience. That saw the hand of a human programmer everywhere. The man settled his eyes on Roger, and for a second he felt doubt. There was almost something in there. Something alive.
'That final night was the bitterest. The storm lit up the night sky brighter than fairest day. Ridden with a dozen harpoons, the beast could not escape, but neither would he relent. Perhaps he finally grew tired of the game, or mayhap it was desperation that saw him turn, and the waves surge before our stern.'
'I'll never forget, long as I live.' His eyes did not stray from Roger's, who found himself unable to look away. 'He rose from the spray, his body aglow from lightning conjured from Poseidon's very trident. Every scar and every wound, from every tangle in the inky blackness. The torn and scarred hide of the defier of empires. But it was not the beasts flesh that stays with me to this day, but its eyes. They were eyes that had seen hell, glowing red orbs as wide and tall as a man. They spoke to me. They looked through me and I knew then I was not worthy to share his oceans.'
'My girl, the Indefatigable was split asunder, and my men with her. I was thrown into the roiling storm, and waves as high as towers carried me away like leaves on the wind. I woke up on the shores by Altissia, where the currents wash up the lost and forgotten, with no ship, no men, and no glory.'
His eyes were not fixated on anything in the room. He was elsewhere now, in a place far away. 'The storms battered the coast for weeks to come. Cities were wiped from the maps. Many died. And I was cursed. I found myself capable of only two things. Fishing, and drinking. And so these skills brought me here, where I wait for the end of my life, and when the nights come I dream of my ship, my men, and the red wrath of Murgannon.' He held his tankard aloft. 'To fishing, and drinking,' he proclaimed, and then collapsed upon the table, unconscious.
Chapter VI - Part 4
Roger waited a full minute, unsure what to make of the situation. Soph looked between him and the man, clearly feeling quite the same. It soon became apparent that the man was asleep. Quiet as a mouse, Roger slipped from his seat. He approached the job board.
'Ugh,' he said, under his breath. 'More of the same.' Kill this. Fetch that. Collect these. There was one that caught his eye, however. It was another kill quest, but there was something interesti
ng about it.
'Thief, manipulator, slaver, sell sword and bandit captain, Rayne Ristretti. Bring me his head.' Roger plucked it off the board. 'Follow the smoke, it says.'
'Simple enough,' said Sopherus. The little fellow seemed intrigued. 'Do you think you're strong enough for this one? The recommended level is 10.' Roger scowled, but he had a point.
'I'll just head there, scope the place out.' Maybe he could team up with someone. He took one last look at the poor fellow with the strange tale, then headed out the door. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen.
They left River Bend, but Roger followed the river as it wound south, following the smoke. Little crabs patrolled the shore, ducking between the reeds as Roger approached. Then there were the red ones.
The first one made Roger yelp, and he scattered into the grass. The creature waited for a moment, large eyes swiveling left to right at the end of their stalks. They gave Roger the creeps. Sopherus's laughter made him flush. The little green lizard was on his back, clutching his belly with his legs kicking.
'Knock it off,' said Roger. 'You're my pet. I'm not gonna be laughed at by my pet.'
Sopherus wiped at his eye with a tiny scaled finger. 'Sorry, it's just -' another peal of laughter rocked his little belly, and with that Roger got up and stalked towards the water. 'Where are you going?' Soph called after him.
Roger, seething, rolled up his sleeves, and the creepy little crab came scuttling up to him with a clickity-clickity-click. His first punch thundered into the creature's carapace, right between its stalks and... nothing happened. He felt its claw chomp down on his arm before he saw the red flash, and he flinched.
His attack had done nothing. It skittered towards him, and this time he aimed a shot at its eye. This attack was greeted with red colored damage, but not much, though the stalk retracted back into the creature's shell. Roger slipped away from the creature's retaliatory swipe. His second swing missed, but the third managed to clip the other eye. It, too, retreated back into the main body.
'You blinded it,' shouted Soph. The creature turned on the spot, six legs kicking up sand as it held its claws aloft in defense. Roger watched and waited, looking for the opening he would need.
All enemies have a weakness.
The creature turned its back, and it was then he ran up and kicked it square in the hind. It flipped on its back, claws and legs waving wildly and Roger shuddered. That writhing mass of appendages filled him with a strange kind of dread that he hadn't felt since he saw his first spider.
He swallowed, and with a loud yell, drove his fist into the soft, yellow underbelly of the giant red crab. His fist cracked the creatures underside and yellow sparks flashed in his face as the creature died. Sopherus sucked up the loot, a pair of stalks and a claw, and belched.
'Nice one,' said the little guy, and Roger let out a satisfied grunt. There were more of these red ones, up and down the shore, and he found it rather easy to tip them over and strike them in their unarmored belly. Before he knew it, he was level six.
Soon enough he could see the town in question. The river passed right by it, and the smoke seemed to be coming from somewhere in the center of town. He froze. There were people there. Not players. No, these were enemies. Bandits. They looked tough, too.
It was no matter. There had to be other players in here. The quest reward was too good to pass up, and place was easy to find. There was a little sign out the front, but the letters on it had been scratched out, and it was unreadable.
He steeled himself for what was ahead, and slipped into the town unnoticed. The alleyways provided great cover, and he found it easy to evade the patrols within. They weren't really looking too hard, in fact they looked rather bored. They spoke to one another, laughed at each others jokes. Roger watched as one of the men walked over to the wall, and dropped the front of his trousers.
He's taking a leak?
'Where do you think this Rayne, is?' he whispered. Soph was sat on a discarded barrel, watching the patrol pass.
'You're asking me for help?'
'Nah,' said Roger, voice dripping with sarcasm. 'I'm asking the barrel.'
Soph looked down, then back up at Roger. 'Well,' he started, looking sheepish, 'I'd say somewhere in the middle, in the most protected area of the town.'
Roger had thought as much. 'Okay,' he said. 'We'll make our way there.' Roger started off down the alley, taking advantage of the plentiful cover provided. The town was made of a yellow limestone, and the surfaces were coarse. There were plenty of boxes and barrels and planks of wood, and the buildings were at least a head taller than he.
'Do you know this place?' he asked.
'Unh,' said Soph nodding. 'Sandcliff. It was abandoned a while ago, and all the bandits in the area fight over it.'
'And do you know anything about this Rayne character?' He slipped into a small alcove as another pair of bandits sauntered past. Soph waited until they were in the clear.
'Nothing,' he said. 'There's a new notorious bandit on the wanted list every few months.'
Roger slipped across a courtyard with a broken fountain, and into another alleyway ahead. There was a bandit at the very end, standing with his back to them. He wore a cruel sword on his hip, and there were tattoos all over his back.
Roger held his breath, and crouched down by a stack of crates. Sopherus whispered into his ear, and he nearly jumped.
'I wish you'd stop doing that,' he hissed.
'Sorry.' Soph looked doubtful.
'What is it?'
'Well.' Soph was fidgeting. 'Would you like to learn about sneak attacks?'
Roger stared at the creature. Am I the reason he's so nervous?
He waited for Soph to meet his eyes, and nodded.
Soph's face lit up, and he took to the air with a trill. 'Okay, so you know how an important part of combat is finding weak spots?' He waited for Roger's assent. 'Well, then you should also know that if you take an enemy by surprise, you can do up to five times the damage!'
Five times? That was significant. If he could sneak up behind these guys, he could even the playing field.
He mashed his fists together. 'Let's go.'
The bandit was relatively stationary, never wandering more than a few paces. He hummed a tune to himself. Doo-doo-do-do-do-do-dooo. His humming masked Roger's footsteps, who approached akin to a house cat stalking a mouse.
His nerves rose until he was sure half of Fantalia could hear his heart beating, and he raised his fist. An involuntary intake of breath caused the bandit to stiffen. Roger panicked, and struck him in the cheek as hard as he could before his foe could comprehend the situation. There was a satisfying crunch, and the bandit twisted and fell, eyes rolling into the back of his head. There was no color, no gold or red flash to accompany his strike.
One hit, one kill. The bandit tried to rise, then collapsed, and his body began to fade. Roger couldn't believe it. He looked down at his right hand, the little chinks in the gauntlet that his blow had caused. Then a cry rang out, and every bandit in the area was after him. He looked around the clearing, mouth agape. A second passed. Two. Three.
'Let's go,' cried Soph. Roger tucked his tail and ran.
What had once been a boon, tall buildings and plenty of obstacles to hide behind, now became a death trap. It was a labyrinth, ushering him into tiny passages with a dozen things to avoid. He tripped over the stack of crates he had hidden behind moments ago, and they fell to pieces.
He could hear the cries of the enemy behind him. The only advantage was that they had to chase him in a single file. He entered the previous courtyard, and ran face first into another bandit patrol. He fell to his butt, and the bandit he had bumped into staggered backwards. He scrambled to his feet and raced off, and a set of yells followed him down the street.
They hounded him, and everywhere he went more bandits followed until there was the equivalent of a small army hot on his heels. He disappeared down yet another lane, this one barely wider than shoulder-width, and stoppe
d dead in his tracks. They had cornered him. They filed down the end of the lane towards him, and as he went to turn back, saw his escape route blocked by the rest.
He started to feel sick. 'It's just a game,' he said to himself. 'Just a game. It's just a game.' He couldn't breathe properly. His chest felt tight, and he clutched at it. He was getting dizzy, but a persistent tugging on his hand kept him awake. What was that? Oh, Soph. What did he want? Such an inappropriate time.
'Omen,' squeaked Soph. 'Roman.' Roger's vision swam, and he narrowed his eyes. 'Roger!'
Oh.
'The roof.'
