The weather in Tristad this evening was favorable, especially after the dank, damp air and wind IRL. The darkening blue in the west was tinted reddish orange, not obscured by a single cloud. The heat was abated by the breath of a sea breeze coming in from the coastal lands of the nagas.
The city center had been cleaned up for the city council elections: the streets and square before the temple of Nergal had been swept clean by both bots and players with social quests. The building facades were strewn with colorful ribbons, light poles were adorned with flags depicting the crest of the free city of Tristad.
As far as I knew, this was the first time in sandbox history a player had run for city council. Ed explained how Polynucleotide had pulled it off: maximum reputation with the city, all city factions and every individual key character, those like Chief Councilman Whiteacre or Athanasius, head of the merchant guild.
Unfortunately for Big Po, there were very few players with the status of Tristad resident. Those who did had persistently farmed rep with the city via social quests instead of seeking adventure beyond the city walls, and could be counted with your fingers. And there was good reason for that. Reputation with Tristad had a merely tangential relation with that of all the other cities of the Commonwealth. Meanwhile, so-called “Tristad visitors” like me couldn’t take part in the vote. Otherwise the council post could have been handed to Big Po before the vote. I figured Axiom had looked for every possible lever of influence.
I caught Chief Councilman Whiteacre as he was preparing to go home, although the clock said there was still more than an hour before city hall would close. The Councilman, who had a rotating question mark over his head, indicating I could get a reward from him for completing a quest, looked to be in a very big hurry.
“Scyth! What a comfort to see you in good health!” he proclaimed, by the way, with no enthusiasm. “I really hope you aren’t coming to see me. I need to go, I’m in a hurry.”
“Good evening, Councilman! I have great news for you!” I in my turn took the scorpion eye and ogre head from my backpack, setting them at his feet. “I’ve taken care of two problems for the city, Sir!”
“Yeesh, how gross!” Whiteacre winced when he looked closer. “Evil from the depths and Wot’al the cannibal? Excellent! Great! Wonderful, Scyth! Please hold onto them for a second. Come into my office.”
We walked past a goblin, who was making a painting of three late kings having a feast: the human, elf, and dwarf who founded the Commonwealth. We turned down a hallway that smelled of old wood and dust, and, at the end of it, ran into a door. “Peter Whiteacre. Chief Councilman,” said the sign. The Councilman fumbled with his keys, poked one into the lock, threw open the door and invited me in with a gesture:
“Come on, faster honorable Scyth. Drop your trophies in the basket, and I’ll quick count out your reward.”
I stopped next to the wicker basket, which was about the size of a trash can and took a look inside. It was empty. A digital label over the basket told me it was “Indefinite Storage of Material Evidence.” I threw the heavy ogre head in there, but it disappeared approximately halfway to the bottom. Was this some kind of stationary portal? And where did all these heads, claws, eyes and other pieces of “material evidence” go? Ah, who cares?
Tristad City Council mission Dead or Alive: Murkiss completed.
Experience points received: 5000.
Experience points at present level (12): 5390/10100.
Your reputation with the city of Tristad has been increased by 50.
Current reputation: ambivalence.
Tristad City Council’s mission Dead or Alive: Wot’al completed.
Experience points received: 300.
Experience points at present level (12): 5690/10100.
Your reputation with the city of Tristad has been increased by 5.
Current reputation: ambivalence.
I turned around and caught an attentive gaze from Whiteacre. He was holding two bags in his hands and, at first glance, one of them looked heavy and stuffed full.
“Mr. Scyth,” Whiteacre’s tone changed, the first sign of my improved reputation with the city. “Five hundred gold for resolving the problem with the depths scorpion Murkiss. It was a big headache for everyone, especially the miners. The city’s bounty had been raised to twenty-five hundred gold, but as far as I understand, you overcame the monster with the help of your friends. And they, by the way, already turned in their Eyes of Murkiss. How many eyes did that creature have?”
“Lots, Mr. Whiteacre. It was not an easy battle.”
“Oh believe you me, I have some idea. It’s no coincidence the bounty spent so long awaiting its heroes! But allow me to finish up. As I said, I’m in a hurry. Tristad has new visitors arriving today and I have to go brief them. Here’s the reward for the ogre cannibal, as well. He was really wracking the nerves of our farmers and gatherers of rare medicinal herbs. As bad luck would have it, some of our most important herbs grow only in the lands where Wot’al once hunted.”
The bags turned to vapor in my hands as soon as I transferred the gold coins to my bag. I had never felt so rich either here or in the real world.
“You have my humble gratitude for taking an interest in our fair city, Scyth,” the councilman said in parting. “If you keep this up, I might be able to find you some more attractive cases if you’d like to be even more help to the city.”
The Dementors were waiting outside the front door. Crawler said softly:
“Hold out your hand. I’m going to put up the epic. You put it away immediately.”
As soon as I felt the heft of the epic loot in my hand, I put it in my inventory and read its stats:
Bow of Burning Arrows
Epic
Bow.
Damage: 28-42.
Possible effect on hit: spell Burning Arrow, dealing 12 fire damage.
+12% critical damage chance.
Durability: 300/300.
Requires level: 25.
Sell price: 85 gold coins.
Chance of losing after death reduced by 90%.
What an awesome bow!
Crawler nodded, agreeing with my unspoken admiration. I couldn’t use it yet but maybe I’d hit a high enough level before the Arena. The chances were low of course. But for now, I’d have to put it in my chest for safe keeping.
“Well, shall we go?” Infect asked impatiently. “The locals are starting to stare. We’re gonna have to teleport out again, but mine is on cooldown.”
“Don’t worry,” Tissa chuckled. “We can park our butts in the tavern and go on our merry way in the morning. Let’s do it quick, my dad is gonna wake up soon.”
“Well then, everyone out of the clan,” Crawler said morosely. “Well!”
“Who’s gonna go first?” Infect asked.
“Aw, hell,” Bomber waved a hand and, a moment later, I saw the clan under his nick disappear.
Tissa and Infect followed his example, but Crawler just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even here in VR I could hear his teeth grating. His finger hung in the air and he clearly had to overcome himself to press the button, only visible to him, and leave the clan.
In city chat, I saw a scant notification:
07.12.2074 18:36> Player clan “Dementors” disbanded.
Ed Rodriguez looked like all the air had been let out of him. But on his face I saw not only pity at what could have been and somber resolve but also something bigger. Hope.
“Why the long face, huh?” Bomber barked. “This isn’t a funeral! It’s just a line over your noggin. I mean we’re all still together! And now we’ve got Alex with us!”
“Yeah, but it’s...” Tissa bit her lip. “Remember when we used to dream that the Dementors would be world famous?”
“We still will!” Bomber chuckled. “Right, Scyth?”
“I only have one request!” Infect pleaded. “Don’t call your clan something cheesy, okay? You know, nothing like these ‘Knights of Light,’ ‘Tristad Defende
rs,’ ‘Brotherhood of the Forest...’“
“What’s wrong with Brotherhood of the Forest?” Bomber faked indignation. “If you ask me, that’s a cool name! Well, maybe not forest, something a bit more exotic. Like swamp...”
“Brotherhood of the Swamp!” Infect broke down laughing. “What about Rocket Punks?”
“Rocket?” Tissa raised a brow.
“Yeah! With teleportation we’re gonna be the most mobile little punks this world has ever seen!”
“Well, the Jumpers...” Crawler grumbled.
“The Stick up Axiom’s Ass?” Bomber and Infect kept adding more options. “Pythagorean Theorem? Paragon? Exodus?”
“Alright, okay guys, we’re wasting time. Scyth, go to Carlson the scribe,” Ed walked over to the step leading to the city council building. “You have the ten gold to register a clan, Scyth?”
“I can find it.”
“As for the name, we can choose together or have you already made up your mind?”
“I have.”
I was being short because I was afraid of what I was trying to hide, guessing what might happen when we became clanmates. Would they just see my threat status right away?
Carlson the scribe, who had just finished up with the new players, was catching his breath with relief. He wiped his big forehead with an epic handkerchief the system identified as indestructible and took a silver flask from the inner pocket of his camisole as we came in. He set it aside, looking upset and greeted us morosely:
“Good evening Tristad visitors Scyth, Crawler, Tissa, Bomber and Infect,” he rattled off our names starting from the highest in level. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Good evening, Mr. Carlson!”
“I’m all ears,” the scribe tried to imitate grace. “But hurry up because my workday is ending soon. What are you here to accomplish?”
“Clan registration.”
“Requires three signatures from players level three or above.” Extending his pointer finger, he counted us. “Present. Would you all like to join the new clan?”
“Yes.”
“Requires payment of the clan registration fee, five gold. And another five for one of the standard clan symbols. If you’d like to choose your own colors, symbol, alert tone, create an in-clan system for messaging, signal amulets, banking, rent clan storage or see the full list of clan services...”
“Just go with default,” Crawler whispered. “We can change it all later for the same money. On our own, through the settings. Without this geek.”
“Thanks, we’ll just stick to registration,” I politely stopped the scribe, raising my hand.
“If you like, you can choose not to register a clan color and symbol. That will penalize reputation growth for all clan members...”
“We’ll be fine with the default symbol, scribe Carlson.”
“If you say so,” he shrugged his shoulders in dismay. “Five and five makes ten. That’ll be ten gold.”
I extended the cash, and the coins magically disappeared. In their place, I saw the clan creation window.
Registering a new clan requires at least 3 signatures from players level-3 or higher.
Push a line to sign the application.
First signatory (founder and clan leader): ...
Second signatory: ...
Third signatory: ...
Fourth signatory: ...
Fifth signatory: ...
I touched the first line and it changed to say: “Scyth, level-12 human.” With a second touch, I confirmed.
All the lines filled in, and a final confirmation button appeared for the clan founder to push. I did. The next window let me choose a symbol, which had no impact on anything but did add unique flavor and make the clan more recognizable. I scrolled down the never-ending list and chose a tab labeled “Animals,” settling on one that depicted a hippopotamus with an open mouth.
“I hope that isn’t to hint that I’m fat,” Tissa joked nervously.
The final window was to enter clan name. I could sense hot frenzied breathing behind me from the former Dementors.
“The... The Awesome Posse?” Infect guessed while I entered the name. “Awo... The AWOL?”
Clan registration complete.
Name: The Awoken.
Date of Foundation: 7 December 2074.
Clan founder and leader: Scyth.
Clan members: Scyth, Crawler, Tissa, Bomber, Infect.
“The Awoken!” Tissa exhaled when we left the office, a smile spreading on her face. “Alright, I like it!”
She wanted to say something else, but then everything suddenly went into motion. The boys pushed her aside, Infect tossed a gaze over the room, glanced at the door gave a report:
“Clear!”
Bomber grabbed me by the arm. Crawler pulled up my shirt sleeves and stuck a finger into my wrist.
“Like I was saying!” he whispered.
* * *
During the teleportation, my ears popped as always. I could still hear an echo of the clap as we suddenly appeared in the Gloomwood. Somewhere in the distance, as if through cotton, I heard Bomber’s voice:
“... place. Big Po’s scouts won’t find us here. We just need to get to the cabin in the woods. It’s next to the river. No one will be able to sneak up on us there, not even the ninja turtles.”
“Turtles? And ninjas? You need to stop stealing your daddy’s liquor! You might as well say the snail sprinters!” Infect laughed.
It wasn’t hard to get him to laugh. He would take any excuse to bear his pearly whites.
“Guys, just so you know, I might leave at any time,” Tissa informed us yet again, “if father notices I’m home and activates emergency exit. But I’d rather not see him, I’ve still gotta fly to Scyth’s...”
“I just don’t get why you’re going to his place. You could have come to mine,” Crawler grumbled, going off after Bomber. “Or one of the other boys’, if you don’t wanna come over.”
“First of all, your grandma doesn’t like me,” Tissa started justifying herself. “Second, she’s the first person father will call, like that other time. Third, Malik has a whole house full of brothers and sisters and I am not used to that kind of bedlam. Hung’s isn’t any better, but it always smells like weird food!”
“Woah there, sis!” Bomber reproached. “I don’t remember you complaining when you were slurping down dim sum and pork in honey sauce!”
“Well yeah, you...” Tissa waved it off. “But most importantly, I promised Alex’s parents I would come back. Mark wanted to talk about Dis and Helene said she was going to make a special dinner and tell stories about little Sheppard. So the choice was easy!”
We reached the abandoned hut. They told me there was a rare mob that periodically popped up in the area. Either a Howling Ghost or Lich Hermit, depending on how the RNG was feeling. But for now, it was empty.
“Clear,” Infect confirmed, using his high-level ability to detect hidden things: traps, ambushes, hidden doors and characters in stealth.
“Good, then let’s hunker down here,” Crawler suggested. And we sat down in a tight circle, and he spoke directly: “Scyth, sorry for being so forward, but we want an answer to this question right now. We can’t wait any longer, I’m sure you’d never tell us yourself. But now we know you’re a threat so let me tell you a secret. Now that we’re in the same clan, it’s okay. I also used to be a threat...”
I breathed a sigh of relief. After what they’d seen on my wrist, I thought my plans were ruined and I’d been hornswoggled like a child. Fortunately, they didn’t know my threat level or potential yet, otherwise they’d be freaking out. But even still, they could barely hide their joy. Not because they’d uncovered me, but because they now had a chance at a better future. They didn’t delve into the details, but I already knew it was mortally stupid to talk about such things in the center of Tristad. Instead, Crawler told everyone to keep quiet, then Bomber made a group and teleported us all to, as he called it, his secret
place. Level-five Depths Teleportation let you do that, just pick any destination.
From Ed’s stories I learned, that right when he started playing, he came across an underground cave in the mountains. That was back before Tissa, Hung and Malik, who were younger, were even allowed to play Disgardium.
The day before there had been an avalanche. The rampaging elements had ripped up trees and bushes with their roots, revealing a narrow, secret hole and little Ed, just level two, his character named Nagvalle at the time, accidentally discovered it. Everyone’s first days in Dis were dedicated to exploring the world and he was no exception.
Apostle of the Sleeping Gods Page 16
