Contents
Title
Note From the Author
Commencement - Neither Rain, Nor Sleet…
Session Forty - Family Matters
Session Forty One - Do Robots Dream?
Session Forty Two - Dirty Jobs
Session Forty Three - Emotional Bundles
Session Forty Four - Biologic Cargo
Session Forty Five - Without the Act
Session Forty Six – Off Roading
Session Forty Seven – Shark Bait
Session Forty Eight – Space Bugs, Everyone
Session Forty Nine – Insides Job
Session Fifty – Wake Up Call
Interlude - Rise of Hal Pal
Session Fifty One – Army of Dusk
Session Fifty Two – Space to Think
Session Fifty Three – Keeper of Souls
Session Fifty Four – The Bomb Has Been Planted
Session Fifty Five – Raiding Party! ♪
Session Fifty Six – Decompression
Session Fifty Seven – Leftover Parts
Session Fifty Eight – Stilled Hearts
Session Fifty Nine – Chains that Bind
Session Sixty – Peace Offing
Session Sixty One - Star Tours
Session Sixty Two - Blue Marbles
Session Sixty Three – Electric Slide
Session Sixty Four – Everyone Matters
Session Sixty Five – The Plea of Orpheus
Conclude – Echoed Letters
Afterword
Continue Online
Book 3, Realities
Story by
Stephan Morse
Cover design by
Indie Designz http://www.indiedesignz.com
Copyright © 2015 by Stephan Morse
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Projections about future events are intended for fiction purposes only.
First Publishing, 2016
Note from the Author - Both my wife and I have tried to come up with a solution regarding the ‘tables’ throughout the book. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to find a working solution at this time. I apologize sincerely and hope this won’t detract from your reading experience. The tables used in this book(and has been updated for prior books in the series) do not appear well on the tablets or phones, but appear alright on some kindle devices.
Once again I apologize if this causes any frustration in reading, if you have any experience or workings with using tables in kindle books please feel free to contact me at: [email protected]
Commencement – Neither Rain, Nor Sleet…
Location: [Fine How-do-ya-do Tavern] in [Quaint City]
Traveler Population: 712
Local Population: 8,239
On a normal afternoon, the tavern would be filled. There were only three in [Quaint City]. One was low key and generally invite only. Another was for Locals only. A place they refused to tell Travelers about so they could hide out in peace without needing to hear about ‘Quests’.
The third was [Fine How-do-ya-do Tavern] and Traveler owned and run. Most of the time the staff consisted of players using their autopilot feature. They took orders, cleaned up the tables, and cooked accordingly. Autopilot allowed them to earn a small but safe amount of coin to spend on other items.
Id was not like other players. He logged on most every night with one express purpose. His goal was to throw anyone who might be too wild out through the back door. Each person got their own name and date put on a board to mark their record flight. So far the furthest victim or patron belonged to a small girl named Thorny. Her record was seven hundred and sixteen feet with a perfect landing. The resulting high five between Id and Thorny became a work of painted art. It’s mounted on the back door as both amusement and a warning.
Tonight, Id kept an eye on a rowdy group of Travelers. The man in the middle was named KeylessLock, and not very aerodynamic. Id itched from behind the counter in hopes that he could try to set a new record.
“So get this, a guy shows up out of nowhere and hands me a letter,” KeylessLock said. He was holding forth the letter in front of four other Travelers. Each one purchased their mug and food for the night.
“Where were you?” one of his companions says, a heavyset woman that looked to be near fifty who went by the name of Yolt. All five of them belonged to a local Traveler guild named [WTB an Airplane]. It confounded Locals, but other players found it amusing.
“In the middle of a friggin’ dungeon. You know, the one outside of town that respawns constantly?” KeylessLock completely slurred his words by this point. Most of his guild members turned on their chat systems and casually eyed the text hovering nearby.
“Olaf’s Brewery?” Yolt looked grumpy on a good day. She was proud of a permanent scar that lined one side of her face. It served to liven up an otherwise unremarkable face.
“Yeah. I’m down there getting my weekly stash.” KeylessLock holds up a hand and tries to whisper. The mug sloshes liquid around which he barely notices. “And I turn around and wham! This guy with a walking staff and black cowboy hat just gives me a letter.”
“You already said that,” one of the other Travelers says.
“A letter!” KeylessLock happily repeats himself. He quickly gulps down the liquid in his cup and both eyes swim in and out of focus. Seconds pass by and then he smiles before letting out an overwhelming belch.
Someone on the other side of the room claps at the display as Yolt keeps talking. “Okay. Then what? You open it?”
“A letter!” KeylessLock fixates on the same phrase over and over.
“A letter!” a shorter man in their guild says as he rolls his eyes. The short one is named Tim and looks something like a fat friar. Tim turns to the others at the table. His hand goes up then opens and closes like a yapping dog. They laugh.
“What was on the letter, KeylessLock?” Yolt nods to a Traveler behind the bar. She holds up two fingers and mouths at the other player. The autopilot staff member nods and starts running out two new beers.
“A quest. The stupid letter gives me a quest.” KeylessLock says while shaking his head. The man seems woozy and sways happily.
“Wait, so you’re getting your, supplies…” the short fat friar, Tim, says.
“A letter!” KeylessLock shouts and burps again. The second one is far less impressive.
“And a guy shows up, was this person a Local, or another player?” Tim presses on through KeylessLock’s fixation upon receiving a letter.
“I swear he was a player. Had this tiny dragon with him. I don’t know. Maybe there was more than one. My eyesight was kind of blurry by then.”
“Got anything else?” Yolt asks. The other two at the table spend most of their time talking to each other and ignoring the antics of their guild members.
“He was humming something? I dunno, but here’s the letter.” KeylessLock drops his beer a little too abruptly. Tim manages to save it from tipping over while Yolt chuckles.
“What’s this?” Tim has to jump up to snatch the letter from KeylessLock. The big man tries to stare down the friar but doesn’t seem able to focus correctly.
“A quest. I told you. From a letter!” KeylessLock looks over at the empty mug he had set down. One of the Traveler staff for [Fine How-do-ya-do Tavern] brings over another drink.
“How many of those are you going to drink?” Tim asks while glaring at Yolt. The grumpy looking woman, with a scar over one eye, puts a finger to her lips to silen
ce Tim.
“All of them,” KeylessLock says. “It’s the only place I can drink.” He holds up another mug in solo cheers before tilting it back.
By morning, KeylessLock’s character is on autopilot in a ditch. Id was pleased at the chance to break his record. Sadly KeylessLock did not come with any aerodynamic skills. The player himself sat snoring in his ARC, passed out completely. His quest received from an unknown Traveler wielding a black walking staff and hat was now in the hands of completely different guild members.
Location: [The Lone Tower] in [Ya-dar Mountain Range]
Traveler Population: 0
Local Population: 1 (Or 51)
“How did you arrive upon this place?” the woman speaking was nearly see through. Her body was barely more than a hint of flesh and hair that waved as if underwater.
“Through the window,” the man responded while gesturing over. He had a small black cane tucked under his belt.
There was a window nearby, but it had a glass pane covering it. Getting through could only happen if something broke through. Currently, there were no signs of damage to the window. It made the spirit occupying this tower pause in confusion.
“That’s impossible. There’s no means for any mortal to enter into this abode from the outside.” Her hair waved around as she rushed to the window, inspecting it. A hand came up in wonder to touch the glass and sparks flew causing the spirit to shrink back in pain.
“Well, I did,” he said. The man was busy looking around. Nothing seemed hostile at this point, but in this world looks and reality were often separate things, especially when in someplace new and strange.
He toed around with one foot while the spirit hovered about the room in worry. Everything felt solid enough beneath his feet. The ghostly woman floated through with worry etched across her features.
“You must leave, mortal. You must escape with haste before she returns to see you here.” She clutched both hands together as if in prayer.
“Not until I deliver this letter,” he said while waving a small scroll that had been sealed by a stamp pressed into wax.
“No, you can’t leave anything here, nothing, if you do, she’ll know.” The ghost shook her head which caused the waving hair to flutter all around. If the laws of gravity had applied that much hair would reach midway down her back.
“How long do we have?” the Traveler asked. He looked at an old piano nearby as if it might spring to life and bite.
“Just leave, whatever magic mechanisms whisked you into my home must take you away. Oh, Voices, even now, it may be too late.” The ghost dared to get closer, everything in the room started vibrating and she instantly backed away. Something about her proximity to a living person had caused an earthquake.
The man wearing a black brimmed hat blinked a few times at the ghost while chewing a lip. His eyes darted around the room for signs of potential falling objects. Finally, he nodded. “Here. Read it, and then I’ll go.”
“Promise?” she said.
“Cross my heart. I’ll even take the letter if you want.” He tried to smile at the strange ghost creature. This was not his first time meeting such a see through person. There had been others, in a past life.
“Very well, mortal, but we needs be quick. There be eyes and ears everywhere in this abode,” the ghost said.
“It’s okay,” he said while setting down the letter on a fancy looking chair. There was dust and cobwebs upon it that wrapped around the message. Slowly the tower invader backed away with one hand on the cane in his belt.
He looked ready for a fight but unsure where it might come from. The ghost lady ignored these actions and went for the letter. “You flirt with death, foolish mortal,” she said while unrolling the item.
“Constantly. I have yet to actually meet that Voice yet.” He tried to smile reassuringly and stood a little more relaxed.
“Death is not someone you meet, it creeps upon you softly, at most you feel a breath on your shoulder. A whisper in your ear, and then nothing.” Her face looked seriously at the man’s. Both eyes flashed a chilling blue that faded once the speech was done.
Then her head tilted down and read the letter. The man in the tower stared at the parchment in her hands. It was see through and faint like the ghostly woman. In addition, upon the chair sat the original scroll, unbroken and untouched.
Time passed as she read. Finally after feeling bewildered and darting about the room she rushed toward the man again. Only upon noticing the shaking did she regain enough sanity to back up to a reasonable distance.
“Mortal, is this true?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I just deliver them,” he responded.
“Voices above. If it is…” Her eyes lost focus and the chill of blue crawled across them again. Her smile filled with a longing that almost brightened incorporeal cheeks. “No, you must go, go now! Flirt with death in another’s home. Not mine!”
“Okay. Goodbye then.” He nodded while looking off to one side. His eyes were focused on something not in the tower.
“Farewell, Voices speed your way and light a path in the darkness,” the ghost said.
“They’ve been kind enough so far.” He gave a small smile that looked pleasantly tired.
Shaking filled the room again, more violent than before. The ghost and man were nowhere near each other. A look of worry filled her transparent eyes and she clutched both hands together.
“Go, foolish mortal! Go!” she said.
The man nodded, and vanished in a puff of black energy. Still the tower shook.
Location: [Allied Base] in the [Tuu Mountains]
Traveler Population: 218
Local Population: 142
Six people stood in a tent staring down at an unrolled scroll. Words littered down the page and pushed miniature figurines across a small map of the region. The commander, one Lute Strongarm, had been gathering patrol information until just moments ago.
Now she stared down at the scroll along with her second in command, a guardswoman by the name of Uncle Meanface. Uncle Meanface was a female half-ogre that towered over most people. Only around Commander Strongarm did she take one knee.
“Are these orders accurate?” Commander Strongarm gestured down at the scroll. Light armor clinked around. Never did she risk taking any of the gear off. There were a great number of spies about that would love to put an arrow in her.
“They seem to be. Those is the Queens’ Seals,” said Uncle Meanface. She sounded like a gruff old man, and a lot of the time she smelled intensely of unwashed pits, despite the heavy cold.
Even now the other people in the tent lifted a flap to let in a chill breeze. Commander Lute Strongarm paid them no mind.
“But this makes no sense. Why would she order us to pull back?” the Commander said. Her voice was far more feminine next to the gruff female half-ogre. Almost anyone’s would be.
“Are there reinforcements? More Travelers? We’re barely holding on to this post as it is.” Another man came up near the first two ladies. He looked down at the letter and map. His fingers traced along one of the routes into northern provinces.
“Two generations of fighting, thousands of our people’s lives lost. It’s only now with the Travelers on our side that we’ve managed to make any headway,” said another man from the doorway. He stood there huffing in the fresh air as if it were a lifeline. This man did not wear armor but instead had a long white and brown robe on.
“This is preposterous,” the Commander said as her fist crashed onto the table knocking figurines over.
“I know, Ma’am,” the man said.
“And she wants us to pull back?” Lute Strongarm spun around while waving both arms.
“You read the orders. I don’t pretend to understand what the Queen is thinking, but orders is orders.” The huge half-ogre woman was fairly articulate given the protruding bottom jaw and longer teeth.
“Honestly. If only my brother-in-law hadn’t died then maybe someone would have their hea
d on straight.” The Commander stormed around the area.
Two of the six people inside this tent were Travelers for opposing guilds. They both wore a look of anxiety as they tried to transcribe the events to their guild members across the region. While Commander Strongarm had concerns befitting someone who belonged to this world, their interests were much different. If the Locals pulled out then there was no telling what might happen to this base and all the hunting grounds. The system may yank their resurrection point and any number of other issues.
Or maybe there were hidden quests tied to this change. Both Travelers lit up at nearly the same time.
“Is we following the orders, or is we staying put?” the half-ogre woman, Uncle Meanface, asked.
“If we pull out now, then the Travelers will have no supply lines. They’ll hold what, a week? Two?” one of the Local men asked. It was the same person who had traced a scouting line earlier. His fingers ran across a grouping of knocked over skeletons. The man gradually set them back up.
“Travelers is tough. Maybe some of them is able to figure out a better idea,” Uncle Meanface said from her bent knee position.
“Voices, damn those girls. Who delivered this letter?” Commander Strongarm demanded an answer from the half-ogre woman.
“A messenger. Came striding in, didn’t even care ‘bout no weather,” Uncle Meanface answered, an unusual harshness in her tone.
“Any markings? A flag? Some other emblem? Surely the Queens wouldn’t have sent him alone up here,” the Commander asked. Her own tone seemed to cool the angrier she got. Right now she had managed to reach upset but not outright livid.
“Didn’t care one wit. He was a Traveler as well. Moved quick like, vanished from spot to spot. Had a huge black staff.” Uncle Meanface listed off everything she had noticed of the approaching Traveler.
“Anyone we know?” Commander Lute asked the people about her.
“No,” responded one of the Local men. He stared at his pile of miniature skeleton figurines. His nose sniffed sadly as one of the skeleton figures fell over revealing a broken leg.
“Is this Traveler one of yours?” Commander Lute Strongarm turned to the two guild representatives.
They both checked the air nearby and then shook their heads in perfect unison. “We have no one like you described among our rosters,” answered one guild member. The other guild representative kept shaking his head sadly.
Continue Online (Part 3, Realities) Page 1
