by Deck Davis
CHAPTER 9
The creature watched Tripp through eyes that, though squinting, glowed with the heat of burning brimstone. Its hate for him was so strong that even hate was too soft a word. It wanted to destroy his body and devour his soul, then defecate his spiritual innards into the darkest reaches of the cosmos where they would never be seen again.
Luckily, it was as tall as his knee.
Of all the beasts he imagined could sneak up on him on the plains of Godden’s Reach, this wasn’t the worst his mind could have come up with.
If a frog and a dragon had a one-night stand that resulted in a baby, and if that poor kid had inherited the froggy side of its genes, the creature facing Tripp would be the product.
It was a squat, scaly thing as tall as Tripp’s knee, a toad that had been given the gift of dragon wings without the power of flight. Its swollen belly made him think that it couldn’t run quickly.
Frorarg
Lvl: 2
HP: [IIIII]
“Careful, Tripp. This might not go the way you want it to,” said Bee.
“It’s hardly worth shaking over. What’s it going to do, bite my ass or something? It’s EXP fodder. Y’know, the kind of creature they put here for newbies to level up on. A waddling, growling, sack of experience points.”
“I warned you. On your orcish head be it. And I apologize in advance if I get a little weird when you fight.”
“Huh?”
Bee floated away from him instead of answering, leaving Tripp alone with the creature.
He held his bone dagger, and he edged toward the creature.
The frorarg hissed, curling out its tongue toward him, but not making a move of its own.
It figured; low-level critters usually just stood there and took your hits. There was no sense in the game being too difficult too soon.
He swung his dagger at it…and missed worse than a drunk guy swinging his bat at a professional-level pitch.
“Hell I’m slow.”
“Yup,” said Bee.
He guessed that came with the orc territory.
The frorarg leapt up, flapped its wings, and took flight for just a few yards before landing on the ground again. It opened its mouth.
It was then that Tripp saw something burning at the back of its throat.
“Oh, hell!”
The frorarg spat a ball of fire at him. No bigger than a coin, but orange and hot, and pelted out at the speed of a cannonball.
It hit him in the chest and burned out on his steel armor.
“You call that an attack?”
Bee floated over to him now, her gold face set in a glare. There was something different about her.
“Kill it!” she shouted in a voice so strong that it surprised him. “Crush your enemy, see it fall at your feet, hear the lamentation of its women!”
“Woah, Bee, it’s just grind fodder. Calm down.”
“Come on…tear its wings off! Cleave it in two! I want to see blood!”
The frorarg spat another fireball, this time catching Tripp on the part of his neck that his armor didn’t cover. Pain burned over his skin, but it was concentrated, like someone had pressed a burning match against him.
He swung at the creature, but again it fluttered out of the range of his bone dagger.
“It’s like I’m swiping through treacle. Guess this is what you get for being an orc, right?”
“Murder it! Gut its belly, pull its-”
“We’re going to have to talk about your attitude later, Bee. First, my little fat frog friend, you’re going to stand still like a good low-level critter should, and-”
It spat at him again, but this time he’d seen it open its mouth, he’d noticed the burning in its throat.
He turned so that the fire flew by him.
This was no good. He might have orc strength but he didn’t have speed, and this dance could go on all night.
What was he supposed to do?
Then he had it.
The frorarg opened its mouth. Tripp charged at it, this time not going for a finessed dagger strike but instead he just grabbed it, and as the frorarg took flight, he caught its wing.
He pulled it closer to him, and then the creature struggled as he held it in his grasp.
“You’re a fire guy, huh?” said Tripp. “I have something you’ll enjoy.”
Holding the agitated frorarg, he walked over to the stream and threw it in. As soon as it hit the water it began to scream, and smoke hissed out and drifted over the stream bank.
The frorarg struggled for a second, and then went limp in the stream, sinking to the depths where it lay on the silt base.
Tripp wiped sweat from his forehead. “Rory and I used to go chasing frogs as kids. It never happened like that before.”
You have leveled up to level 2!
- HP Increased
-Manus Increased
- 5 lootpoints gained
Please choose a stat to add [1] attribute point to:
Power [1]
Mind [1]
Technique [1]
It was no surprise that he’d leveled up already. Levelling systems were usually scaled, meaning it started out easy and you leveled up thick and fast, but the tougher you got, the longer it took to level up.
Now that he was level 2, he had a stat point to spend.
This was where things got tricky, because it was where the sensible side of him took over. And he hated when that happened.
Sometimes, when he played games, Tripp spent his skillpoints like a penny-pincher handing over a dollar, always weighing what he’d get for one thing versus another, resulting in a phenomenon called analysis-paralysis.
Eventually, he usually weighed things up so much that in the end he just wanted to carry on with the damn game and he just thought screw it.
He didn’t know how long he was going to be in Soulboxe, though. He wanted to make the most of everything, and that meant not wasting his early level-ups blindly throwing stat points around.
That aside, the game felt so realistic it might as well have been real life. His choices would actually mean something here, and as an orc, he was already at a disadvantage.
“Hey, Bee, you got a second?”
Bee swirled over, squinted at the frorarg in the stream. “I told you to rip it apart. Smash it. This is all wrong…there’s no blood, no entrails, no smashed bones.”
“It’s dead and I leveled up from it, what more do you want?”
“I want action! Death or glory, that kind of thing.”
“I want a new digitized friend. One who’s sane.”
Bee swooped low and frowned. “So I want to feel a little thrill. That’s why some people come to game worlds like this, right? To feel things they can’t feel in real life? Escape into something impossible? If you’re going to experience new things in a game world, why not be a new person, too?”
“That’s what you’re looking for? Escape?” he said.
“I don’t know yet, Tripp. Same as you, I guess; we both want something from this game that we weren’t getting outside of it.”
“Is there an outside of the game for you?”
“Sure; there’s a place we go when we aren’t with players. It’s as boring as watching blood dry, though.”
“We’ll see plenty of action, don’t worry. Do you at least have any quotes that will help me? I mean, I’m no scholar, but Sun Tzu is renowned for his wisdom, yeah? Not for getting a hard-on over blood and guts.”
“Hmm. How about this; the greatest victor is that which requires no battle.”
“That’s more like it!”
“Pity that’s its horsecrap. The greatest victory is one where you completely, utterly destroy your opponent, loot his things, burn his town to the ground, and make a throne out of his bones.”
“Yeah, well, I’m getting round to that. First, I need to level up.”
“Ooh, that’s exciting. Put your point into power. The power attribute governs anything combat relate
d, and it’ll make it easier to kill stuff.”
He’d thought about that. When faced with choosing what kind of character to play – in effect what kind of person to become while in the game – who didn’t consider brute force, at least for a second?
There was something very orcish about getting better battle armor, maybe pumping enough stats into power to be able to use a warhammer the size of a Sherman tank.
“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s kinda what people expect, right? ‘Oh, there goes the orc with his giant sword and tiny brain.’ I’m going to have to socialize with people and NPCs at some point, and they’re already gonna take one look at me with my orc body and armor and they’ll start backing away.”
“You mean because you’re an orc and they’ll either hate you or be scared of you?” said Bee.
“I know that the game lore says that orcs are more civilized here than usual, but still…”
“So? If anyone looks at you funny, then you knock their teeth out and then grind them into powder. Then you say sorry and you become friends and –this is the best part - one night, you invite them to your house for a meal. But here’s the thing, Tripp; you cook them a stew. In that stew, you pour in the ground teeth that you-”
He blinked at her. “You are just not right in the head, you know that? You’ve got screws rolling round your orb brain.”
Bee rolled her eyes. “Okay, what about the mind skillset?”
“Mind governs a bunch of stuff, yeah? Your ability to use spells, how much mana you can hold to power those spells, that kind of thing. I think it covers things like your charisma, too.”
“Boring things,” said Bee. “Unless you become a destructive mage.”
He’d considered that – who wouldn’t? Advancing as a mage opened up some of the most ridiculously awesome powers in the game. It also gave you access to the mage guild, and you could eventually rank your mage into a specialism, like arch-sorcerer and blood mage, that kind of thing.
As much as he’d like to shoot fireballs out of his ass, he was thinking about something else.
“The technique skill branch covers professions,” he said. “So, take my armorer skill – I can improve it by practicing it. But if I level up my technique skill branch, that’ll be like sticking a turbo engine on my armorer skill.”
“Hammering metal? Fixing leather? Do you really want to do that?”
“You’re thinking of it all wrong, Bee. It’s not about that; it’s about creation. Taking a bunch of scrap and using my skills to turn it into a new suit of armor, or a sword.”
“I prefer destruction,” said Bee. “I like walks by the stream, gorgeous valley views, and lots and lots of destruction.”
“I don’t want to play my orc character the way people expect. Yeah, this feels good! People think of orcs and they think brawn, broken English, giant swords, empty heads.”
“And you want what?”
“Imagine an orc crafter. A master armorer, an expert in steel work. Someone who creates such badass weapons and armor that people have no choice but to just suck it up and play nice with him. And give him tons of gold, of course.”
“It takes time to become a master, Tripp.”
“I have lots of it. Don’t look so glum, this’ll be exciting! I’ll need to find materials to practice with, and that means travelling.”
“So, we’ll still see stuff? Still get into fights?” said Bee.
“From what I’ve heard about Soulboxe, you’ll find yourself up to the sword hilt in guts even if you’re out picking flowers.”
Bee swooped in a circle. “Then let’s get our asses into gear, orc.”
With that in mind, Tripp spent his first attribute point on the technique skillset, and notification text was cast in front of him.
Technique increased to [2]!
- Manus increased by 25%
-Crafting skill improve 10% quicker
The notification text grew hazy and disappeared. Tripp was about to start planning his next steps when a bell chimed in his ear and another message appeared.
The text for this was so large that it was almost reaching up to the clouds.
Message from Boxe5
CHAPTER 10
“A gift from a god,” said Bee. “Lucky you.”
Tripp read the words again, still struggling to get used to the idea of Boxe talking to him. Here’s a present for you, Boxe’s message read, bonus skill gained!
Bonus Skill: Underlay
Level: Nickel 1
A craftsman can look at materials and structures and see what lies underneath; how the pieces come together, and what each one does. More importantly, how they might be used in other things.
In order to improve this skill, you need to experiment a little! Take stuff apart and break things. Y’know, have fun!
Bonus: Wastage reduced by 20% when breaking down raw materials
Need: Material Deconstructor Mallet
Restrictions: As a Nickel, you can only see the underlay of simple structures and materials
Related skillsets: builder, armorer, mender, tinker
He was happy he’d made the right choice now. Not only would throwing points into his technique skillset give him more manus and let him use his skills for longer, but it let him learn faster, too.
The biggest bonus was getting a new skill…and Underlay was a beauty!
He needed to test it out. Given that Soulboxe was a game of exploration, it made sense that much of it was intuitive, allowing players to avoid looking at menu tutorials that would pull them from immersion.
All he needed to do was to look at the stream and think about his underlay skill, and text floated up showing that a manus point had been taken away.
Next, dark blue light spread out over a meter of the stream.
Underlay Analysis
- Silt
- Twigs
- Frorarg (deceased)
- Scuttle fish
- Trout
- Bronze coin
To anyone else, it might have looked like just a bunch of stuff you’d normally find in a stream – minus the dead frog dragon, of course.
Tripp saw an opportunity. His underlay skill could tell him what was hidden, which meant that in places like dungeons, he’d be able to seek out the treasure and ignore traps.
Who knew what kind of stuff would be buried in Godden’s Reach?
Even now, he could walk by the stream and keep casting Underlay, and who knew, maybe he’d find a rare gem hidden on the stream bed or something. Or he could cast it on the ground and see if anything was buried, using it as a Soulboxe version of a metal detector.
Course, it had cost him 1/50 manus to check a meter of this stream, and he knew that manus recovered with time, the rate of which depended on your race and technique level.
He was happy with things for now. In the stream, the bronze coin detected by the underlay was highlighted in a yellow light.
He picked it up and added it to his inventory – his very first coin!
After levelling up and learning the Underlay skill, he was still where he’d started; he needed something to drink if he was going to carry on.
Bee floated over to him now. “Underlay, huh? That’s a cool skill. It’s not rare, but certainly uncommon.”
“Doesn’t everyone get it when they put their first point into technique?”
She shook her face inside the orb. “Boxe5 feeds data from guide orbs, and he uses it to program progression paths for people based on their choices. You learned the armorer skill and then you used your skill point on technique, so he must have decided that underlay made sense for you.”
“Exploration and choice.”
“That’s it. You paid for the Dynamic Questing package, which means that Boxe5 will watch what you do and say and he’ll alter certain things to suit your play-through. Or to hamper it, depending on how much of an ass he feels like in the morning.”
“Do mornings even have any meaning to a semi-sentient
AI?”
“Time is a void leading into endless darkness. That’s what he always says.”
“Nice guy. Glad I have a deity like him up there watching my every move.”
“Funny, when people think of gods,” said Bee, “They think of them as being up. But Boxe5 isn’t up, he’s around. Invisible, no weight or form, but watching everything.”
“And if he’s in a bad mood, he’s going to make my Soulboxe life difficult, right?”
“He’s always watching, Tripp. Always ready to throw up a new complication, a new way of dying, a new form of excruciating pain to inflict on you, the kind that makes you scream and scream and scream. Nothing to worry about, though. Oh, I almost forgot. I found some flint! Over here, come check it out.”
Tripp followed Bee to the flint, and he added a few pieces of dark rock to his inventory. Next, he crossed the plains to a grouping of trees, gathered twigs from the ground and snapped off a few of the thinner branches. Finally, he stuffed some dry grass in his inventory bag and snapped bark from the tree.
He set all of this down near the stream so he wouldn’t have to keep walking back and forth.
While he arranged the bark and grass on the ground, Bee hovered over him.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t get to town before nightfall and I know how things go to hell when it gets dark in Soulboxe. So, I’m taking a hint from my caveman ancestors and I’m starting a fire.”
“You know how to do that?”
“My dad used to take me and my older brother, Rory, camping when we were little. The first thing Rory did was take out his bow and set up targets on the trees, since Mom wouldn’t let him practice with it at home. He used to pretend the targets were Mr. Hugill and Ms. Gladys, teachers he hated. I stayed with Dad; I was glued to what he told me. He taught me all kinds of stuff.”
“That’s sweet. My maker taught me things, too, but not in a way you might call ‘experiencing’ it. Were your trips happy memories?”
