by J. J. Lorden
Over time he’d learned how to fix himself when this happened. Carson had an emotional toolbox for times like this and being all alone and isolated, he could use the one tool that always worked, his universal rage siphon.
It started with bending his knees just slightly, curling his toes in, flexing his calves, tensing his quads, balling his fists, then his core, and on up, until every muscle from forehead to toes was clenched.
Then he was feeling his emotional turmoil, remembering the pain of teeth and claws, allowing it to fuel the building tension until his whole body was vibrating with contained rage–then he filled his lungs and unleashed it all in a bloodthirsty bellow.
The scream was long and primal, and as his air drained, the anger and frustration leaked out with it. When he petered out, lungs utterly vacated, face shaking and burning hot, he sucked air and released his whole body in a huge sigh. Relief washed over him in a physical wave.
Everything tingled pleasantly, his feet felt solid on the ground, rustling in the trees tickled his ears, and his mind floated on tranquil clouds of nothing.
Life was good, breathing was fantastic, there was no problem here, just an interesting situation. For six or eight breaths he relished the blissful blankness before his mind reoriented on the situation.
There was also no way he was willing to give up the Silver Equilibrium bonus for a reroll. He paused to wonder about that.
Could he reroll, or was this his permanent avatar?
It was an important question; Kuora didn’t seem to be set up for people to reroll avatars. The avatar-creation process was intense and going into it blind was a part of what made it powerful. Yeah, this is probably my only ticket to the game. One person, one avatar. That sounds like Erramir.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Even if he could, he still wouldn’t want to change anything except his starting gear, and that wasn’t an option. He just needed to find his friends; they could cover him until he figured out how to get his magical mojo up and running.
He returned to reflecting on the Equilibrium bonus. Its one downside was requiring a ton more experience, but the eight extra attribute points per level made for some compelling math–math that he’d been sure to work out before locking it in.
At level 5, he would have the same stats as a standard level 10 or 11 player. This assumed there wasn’t an attribute point bonus at level ten, which wasn’t uncommon. If so, his math was slightly off, but that was largely irrelevant. He’d get there too, and get the same bonus, maybe even a bigger bonus because of his Silver Equilibrium.
Whatever the case, he’d spent a significant amount of time thinking this through. In so doing, he’d hit on another realization that, if true, would make him a seriously broken avatar. Broken as in ridiculously over-powered, not meaning cracked.
The power of mobs was typically matched to the power of players with an equivalent level, so a level 5 wild boar would be roughly an equal match for a level 5 player. As players bolstered their attributes with equipment, same level fights typically favored players.
As you went up in levels, you fought higher-level creatures. A stronger foe logically awarded more experience for a higher level of difficulty. This was important, as the total experience needed to advance increased with each level gained.
Carson reasoned that he should be able to hunt level ten and eleven creatures at level 5 and get those bigger experience-point chunks. As long as the system didn’t penalize those gains for Equilibrium players, the larger gain per kill should offset the extra 80% needed per level.
More, if killing creatures five or six levels above his own rewarded at least 81% more experience than those of his level, he could actually level faster than someone offing creatures of the same level. That thought made his toes tingle.
His level would also be deceptive. Other players and the inhabitants of Kuora could easily underestimate him and pick fights they had no chance of winning. Carson was actually looking forward to the first creep, leveled in the mid-teens, that tried to jump his level 10 avatar. That punk was getting pounded.
All of these thoughts added up to a whole pile of awesome.
Yeah... definitely broken. I just need to get out of these damn woods.
The other things he’d managed to acquire coming out of character creation were a spellbook and a unique race-restricted quest.
The race-restricted quest was titled The Only Cold Case, and it was marked with an Elven Ascendency tag. After he’d read it, his gamer instincts had sounded the alarm; for sure the quest was a white rabbit.
White rabbits were wormhole quests. They were nearly impossible, insanely long chain-quests that sent you wandering all over creation to complete. Almost nobody finished them. But Carson did–he finished them all.
Usually, the payoff didn’t justify the effort. Most rewards tended to be things like a magical fishing pole with +20 damage to fish, or a loincloth of ferocity that doubled your attack when it was your only equipped clothing item, or a pet squirrel that could mimic like a parrot.
I’m gonna miss Rocky, he thought of his squirrel, it was actually incredibly useful as a distraction.
Most white rabbit quest rewards were novelty items that were worth little more than bragging rights–essentially trophies to his dogged determination. However, not every white rabbit was like that–there were rare exceptions. And the exceptions justified the effort required to complete a hundred white rabbits, particularly if you just enjoyed them, like Carson did.
The Only Cold Case was an investigation quest and felt like one of the exceptions. Apparently, more than a thousand years ago, someone had betrayed the sovereigns of the Pergothian Empire. How they were betrayed was left vague, but it had somehow resulted in the death of the queen.
The Dragon King had believed the treachery was committed by a member of the Ascendant Council of Elves. He’d never discovered the truth, but because of his suspicion the Ascendent Council lost its favored status with the King and his Empire.
This resulted in massive upheaval and finger-pointing amongst the council members, which spilled into an Elven civil war and the end of the Ascendant Council.
The quest also implied that the betrayal had triggered a sudden end to the Pergothian Empire. When the dust settled, the elves had become reclusive, living in isolated pockets, and Kuora had essentially fallen into a Dark Age for almost two thousand years.
Details in the quest dialogue were slim, and it had no clear starting point, but its success condition was simply stated: ‘Solve the mystery and restore good faith with the Empire.’
“I’m gonna unravel a two-thousand-year-old mystery.” Carson spoke with confidence, actually believing that he would solve the mystery and complete the quest.
And he could do this for one simple reason–if it couldn’t be done, the quest wouldn’t exist.
Creating his avatar without losing the quest had required significant fiddling with his racial mix. It was only after locking in his final build that the silver Elven Ascendency tag had appeared. An inspection of the tag opened an oddly detailed explanation. He pulled it up.
Elven Ascendency Quest—Quest Bearer Qualifications: Elf with a heritage including no less than three of the Elven races. No one Elven bloodline may represent a majority. When combined, the quest bearer’s Elven heritage must represent a minimum of seventy-five-percent and a maximum of eighty-five percent of their lineage. Further, quest bearer’s non-Elven lineage may include only ancestry descendant of those loyal to the Pergothian Empire.
It was a strange pre-qualifier, and he could only guess it had something to do with ensuring impartiality on the part of the quest holder.
Whatever the purpose, he’d managed to get the exclusive quest and was looking forward to jumping into it. First, though, he needed to get out of this grove without dying. That brought him to the last item he’d received, a spellbook. More specifically, an empty spellbook.
Empty spellbooks were worse than useless in a fight. Since he had
no bag or pouch or reality bending storage ring, the thing always occupied one hand.
In a panic, he’d thrown it at one of the wolves during the last attack only to watch it disappear mid-flight and reappear in his hand. That was infuriating... and kind of cool at the same time.
The book looked like a well-loved, leather-bound journal.
It was about a half-inch thick, and its spine had the flexible quality of being well-traveled. The leather cover was battered and scratched to the point that the wear looked uniform, its corners were faded and soft from creasing, and the leather around the edges was bent inward partially covering the paper. Inside, the pages were pristine.
He flipped through it now, wondering how spells got captured. Maybe there’s a hidden spell, Carson thought.
He went through the whole book–there wasn’t.
He closed the book. “Well, you’re officially the most crap-tastically horrible melee weapon ever.”
He chuckled. Someone had to and given his current predicament, it was kind of funny in a dark way. Feeling playful, he decided to roll with it.
With a twisted grin, Carson held the book up and spoke to it, formally instilling his words with real intensity, “I thus deem you, Melee Weapon, Kuora’s most ineffective weapon for Kuora’s most ineffective mage. May you long fail in providing me any capacity to chop, stab, or slice anything that wants to eat me.” He finished with a wry smile then mimicked cheering crowd noise.
After a moment, and with considerably less vigor, he added, “At least until I get some damn magic.”
A notification icon chimed in the corner of his vision and started flashing. “Well, hello there.” He opened it.
Naming Ritual Executed—Name: Melee Weapon
Melee Weapon has changed from linked to soulbound.
Melee Weapon is a uniquely named weapon.
Melee Weapon is dormant. (You should probably wake it up. Maybe then you’ll stop dying all the time.)
He looked at the book, and then back at the text. “Ink, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s kind of sick.” Carson tilted a look toward the sky. “I know you can hear me, buddy. You’re one twisted dude, poking a guy right after he died... twice.” There was, predictably, no response from the QI.
In truth, the sarcasm of the comment didn’t sound like Ink at all. His sense of humor was dry with a Zen riddle flavor. Irreverence just seemed beneath him. Huh, maybe Ink isn’t the only QI running this show.
Carson considered the text for a moment. “Well at least I’ve got something to do now.” He looked back at the book, then held it up again. “Activate!”
He lowered the book, tilted his brow, and waited for a long moment. When nothing happened, he raised it again. “Go-go gadget spell book!”
He smiled and sighed. “Couldn’t be that easy.” He really had no idea if activating the book would even help. Would activating provide spells or would learning spells activate the book? Or was it something completely different?
His character was supposed to burn things up with fireballs or impale them with spikes of ice, or at the very least throw some kind of pure magic attack. Basically, he’d settle for any type of magic attack that did anything at all.
“Ahhhh,” he breathed out. “Okay, what else have we got here?”
At least his starting area was nice. Particularly now that he knew it was magically shielded and he was safe inside. He knew this because the second time, the chase had ended just a couple steps shy of the barrier.
When the wolves took him down, his upper body fell within the safe area, causing several of the beasts to bounce off, whining at the pain of being blocked.
Unfortunately for Carson, the sight of the wolves rebounding off an invisible boundary had caused his mind to lockup. For maybe three seconds, he’d gone mentally blank and didn’t pull his legs through. His situational awareness had returned an instant before a whole pack of claws and teeth dug into his legs.
Then another condition had reclaimed his mind–screaming horror.
Fortunately, it was over pretty fast. Damn health bar drained faster than free whisky at an Irish wedding.
Nothing to do about it now, he thought as his attention was drawn by the feel of torn fabric under his fingertips. Looking down, he saw that the pack of wolves had done a real number on his pants.
The rough spun clothing now resembled a loosely arranged skirt of ribbons. “Looks like I’m braving new fashion territory,” he said lifting a knee through the curtain of shredded cloth.
“Ok, I’m getting nowhere. Need another tool.” He sat on the ground cross-legged. “I’m going to sit right here, in my little bubble of love, and meditate on finding Err and Val. Who knows, maybe the spell for fireball will just… come to me.”
He smiled. “It’d feel pretty damn good to have roast wolf on the menu tonight.”
Breathing deeply, Carson dropped into the familiar rhythm, pushing his exhalations to be just slightly longer than his inhalations while training his heart and breath to a bio-resonance. Soon, calm suffused his mind again.
After a time, mind clear and body relaxed, his gaze drifted around the small crystal-clear pond. His bright, unagitated mind saw the beauty of the clearing in a fresh light, picking up on details he’d previously missed, all through the testing lens of locating his friends.
Appreciating the fantastic variety and health of the trees around the edge of the clearing, he noticed a subtle shadow. Maybe it was the approaching dawn; the shift from pale moonlight to a warmer glow that revealed the previously unseen detail. Or maybe he’d just overlooked it, but it was clear now.
There was a break in the barrier woods on the far side of the pond.
Carson stood and picked his way around the pond. Halfway there, his wolf-ravaged pants snagged on a branch, and with a feeble rip, the last few threads holding the waist together gave out.
And like a monster truck emerging through the long drying strips of a car wash, he stepped right out of them. “What the!?” He spun back to see the shredded former clothing hang on the slender limb for a second, and then drop into a pile on the ground.
“Well, shit.” Carson looked down and confirmed what the cool air had already revealed. “It looks like indestructible underwear isn’t a thing here. Chaste young maidens beware, there’s a deadly snake loose in the woods.” He chuckled at himself, again.
Smiling, he grabbed up the bundle of rags, figuring that maybe he could fix them later. Although when he looked at the mass, he doubted it, but he hung onto them anyhow. When you had nothing, even a bundle of rags could prove useful.
Reaching the break in the tree line, he was thrilled to find that it was indeed the start of another path. The entrance was narrow and went back just a few feet before turning sharply to the right.
He glanced back into the clearing, and looking at the pond, realized he was damn thirsty–dying twice in one day could have that effect.
Taking a few steps back, he knelt and began to hungrily slurp water. It tasted wonderful. A bottle of Himalayan glacial melt had nothing on this pond.
When his thirst was quenched, he stood, and a small green bar appeared in the upper left of his vision. Below it was a winged foot icon. With a groan of understanding, he mentally queried the icon.
Swift Water: +30% movement speed for 24 hours.
“Well, Fuck a duck.” He glared at the pond. “Bet I could outrun some wolves with a thirty-percent speed buff.”
“Alright. I get it.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I take it all back, Ink. Carson needs to slow the eff down and pay attention.”
Swift Water buff or not, he still didn’t fancy tempting the wolf path again. Hopefully, this hidden trail would prove to be a less deadly option. Ruined pants in one hand and spellbook in the other, Carson stepped through the gap and warily began down the path.
Before going far, he felt himself pass through the invisible barrier for the first time. He stopped to look. There wasn’t any visible demarcation
, but even passing a hand through he could feel the subtle shift. That would have been nice to feel the first time. I might have caught a clue.
Knowing he was beyond the safety of the grove, Carson headed down the path with his senses on high alert. He walked on like this for a while, and there was little change in the adjacent forest. Then he reached a fork in the trail.
One path was clearly more well used. Figuring his odds of finding others was better down that trail, he chose it and continued.
A bit farther on, the dense surrounding foliage opened up, and rays of sunlight pierced the forest roof in a couple of spots. Looking up, he was shocked by the height of the canopy here. There were few lower branches, and he could see at least two hundred feet up before his view was blocked.
The trees were bigger than anything he’d ever seen. Monstrous oaks, elms, and maples were easily recognizable. Some trees had smooth black bark he didn’t recognize, and many others looked familiar, but he couldn’t place their names. His pace had slowed, and now he stopped, peering up in awe at the majestic sight.
“Oi, naked boy! Stop eyeballing my forest,” a male voice, rich and commanding, lashed at him from the canopy.
It startled Carson, but less so than perhaps it should have. “Woah. Okay, no problem. Although, that’s not very funny. Eyeballing your forest? Who says that? On that point, who are you?”
Carson had an idea that the voice was probably a guard or a scout of some kind. He wasn’t entirely surprised to be found by a scout on this well-worn trail. To some extent, he was actually glad to hear another voice after having such a horrible start. The man’s tone wasn’t threatening either. That helped ease his concern.
“Don’t worry about who I am. You’re in my forest, so I’ll be getting my questions answered first. This seems additionally logical, since I’m the only one with sense enough to have pants on. I doubt a man lacking even this basic foresight could manage to pose relevant questions.”
The voice chuckled quietly. “Heh, no damn pants.” Carson moved his shredded pants wad to cover his private parts. “There’s a smart lad. Now, answer my questions. If I like your answers, I won’t kill you. We can deal with your questions after that.”
