“How’s it going? You need anything from me?”
He looked almost relieved to be asked. “Actually, since you mentioned it, I am torn between a couple of options. Maybe you could review and tell me what you think.”
Fortifications:
Status: Fort - Advanced
Completed:
1 x Main Wall - Timber Palisade
1 x Wall-walk
1 x Merlons
1 x Main Gate - Iron-reinforced Timber
3 x Watchtower
1 x Wicket Gate
1 x Outer Gate
1 x Dry Moat
1 x Bridge
Required for upgrade to Castle - Basic
5 x Wall-mounted Ballista or Trebuchet
15 x Stocked barrels of pitch or tar
1 x Main wall - Stone
1 x Drawbridge
1 x Dungeon
Devon whistled. “I didn’t realize we were so close to the next tier.” Getting to call Stonehaven a true castle would be awesome even if it were just an ego thing. Which it wasn’t, because Jarleck had explained about the defensive combat advantages granted by the tiers. He hadn’t put the percentages on accuracy and damage into words, precisely, but as soon as he’d let her know they existed, she’d been able to open the stat bonuses screen in the fortification window. Curious, she focused on the word castle and willed the information forward.
Bonuses: Castle
- Ranged Accuracy +17%
- Evasion + 39%
- Ranged Damage +25%
- Defensive Weaponry Damage +10%
She glanced again at the castle requirements. “We need a dungeon, huh? Would you work on that, or is it a task for the stonemasons?”
“Like all fortifications-related construction, I can oversee the process. But it would help if you passed the word to Deld. I’ll need some of his masons to lay the walls. And some more willing workers to get a hole dug.”
Devon almost groaned when she thought of all the moat digging she’d done to earn her 7 points in Manual Labor. “I’ll talk to him. Not a problem.”
Jarleck gave a rumble from his throat. “About the upgrades. What do you think? Ballistae or trebuchets? And if you don’t mind, I need authorization to work with the lumberjacks to start stockpiling pine pitch. Once we stock the 15 required barrels, we won’t lose the upgrade even if we temporarily deplete our supply.”
Devon grimaced at the thought of pouring burning pitch over attackers. But since she frequently used sorcery to burn her way through enemies, she didn’t have space to complain. In fact, she wasn’t really sure why she’d reacted that way. Maybe it was the notion that magic felt pretend, whereas castle defenses like this were really part of Earth’s history. Or something.
As for the ballistae versus trebuchets decision, she thought back to a conversation she’d had with one of her followers who was trained as a fletcher. They’d discussed using Blackbeard’s feathers to craft giant arrows. She grimaced at the thought of asking the parrot whether he’d be willing to part with some tail feathers. Not a good time. Of course, they could use iron spears instead. But the trebuchets still sounded easier to supply with ammo.
“Go ahead with the pitch I guess, and while you’re at it, talk to Prester about getting those poles you wanted for repelling siege ladders.”
“Even though they aren’t on the required upgrades?”
“Even so.”
“And for the ranged weaponry?”
“Trebuchets for now. We can always swap them out later.”
“Got it,” Jarleck said with a little salute. “Now if you don’t mind me running off, I’ve got orders to deliver.”
“I don’t mind at all,” she said fondly. “Though I admit the conversation give me a chance to procrastinate.”
“Oh? There something you need help accomplishing?”
She shook her head. “Hezbek thinks I’m too much of a recluse. So I’m heading out to the player camp to quiet her about it.”
Jarleck’s mouth pulled back in a knowing smile. “A wise woman, that one.”
Devon sighed. “See you later, Jarleck.”
***
Once out of sight of Stonehaven, Devon detoured off the cobblestone track and slipped behind one of the acacia-style trees. Leaning against its trunk, she pulled open her equipment screen and took a good long look at her chest armor and bracers.
Chest: Leather Doublet of Darkness
Oh yes. You have to live with the cheesy name, too.
Despite this disturbing practice of wrapping yourself in the flesh of your enemies—some of whom were your alter-ego—this doublet is pretty snazzy. The dark accents really bring out your eyes.
1 Cunning, +1 Charisma | 80 Armor | 50/50 Durability
Use: Casts Night’s Breath on enemies within 3 meters. Your opponents feel watched by unseen eyes peering from dark and disturbing places. Greatly reduces targets’ melee and spell accuracy.
Recharge time: 2 hours
Arms: Bracers of Smoke
Crafted of hardened leather and strengthened by iron filigrees, these bracers gain strange power from the bits of demon skin and smoky quartz added as ornamentation.
20 Armor | 40/40 Durability
Use: Casts Vanish on all party members with a 10-meter range. Affected targets both vanish from sight and lose all but a fraction of their contact with the physical realm, preventing most damage. Aggressive actions will break the effect. Otherwise the duration is five minutes.
Recharge time: 2 days
She sighed. It wasn’t like she could say ‘no’ to Emerson’s plan to turn her into a demon. People’s lives depended on her doing this. She was Owen’s best chance for regaining consciousness—if Emerson and his colleagues were right about his situation, anyway. But the NPCs of Relic Online depended on her for this too. If Owen’s father used his son as an example in his anti-technology crusade, E-Squared was in deep trouble. That is, if their lawyers couldn’t get ahead of it.
And Devon didn’t want to leave that to chance. Not with the existence of thousands of self-aware NPCs threatened.
Until now, she’d been fairly stingy with the abilities attached to her demon-influenced armor, saving them for combat emergencies. But with their cooldown times on the ability use, she was going to have to get started. She laid a hand on the doublet and went through the mental gymnastics to activate its Night’s Breath debuff.
Ability failed. You need a target, genius.
“It says enemies in range suffer the effects. AoE spells don’t need single targets.”
Trying to logic your way past a digital construct? You do know how program code works, right?
Devon sighed. Fine. She shook her head and tried to activate the bracers instead. A moment later, darkness rose from the ground and swirled around her as the physical realm faded to misty transparency. Her awareness of the world felt muted, as if she were in a dream. She checked her combat log.
You vanish from the physical realm, retaining just a thread of contact.
If you’d actually been in combat, your enemies would have forgotten about you. But you weren’t. You just popped off what is arguably your most powerful ability for no reason.
“Have you stopped to think that I’m doing this to save your sorry ass, game?”
The air around her, though pressing on her skin only faintly due to the effects of the vanish spell, seemed to flow up and then down in a massive sigh. Devon rolled her eyes and pulled up her character sheet.
Character: Devon (click to set a different character name)
Level: 20
Base Class: Sorcerer
Specialization: Unassigned
Unique Class: Deceiver
Health: 355/355
Mana: 584/584
Fatigue: 11%
Shadowed: 16%
Attributes:
Constitution: 25
Strength: 13
Agility:
20
Charisma: 44
Intelligence: 35
Focus: 16
Endurance: 23
Unspent Attribute Points: 0
Special Attributes:
Bravery: 7
Cunning: 8
Yep. Using the bracers had increased her shadowed stat from 8% to 16%. She shook her head. How could she have missed the connection? It seemed so obvious now.
Anyway, at just 16%, she had a long ways to go before transforming into an evil freak. In that regard, the two-day cooldown on her bracers was nice. As long as she was making a solid effort to raise her Shadowed stat, no one at E-Squared would be justified in complaining about the time it might take for her final transformation.
And the truth was, she was hoping to have quite a few days to get used to the idea.
Setting off from the tree, she checked her skills window. The basic proficiencies in need of the most work were Stealth, Sprint, and Unarmed Combat. Since she needed a target to sneak up on to improve Stealth, and raising Unarmed Combat would require challenging the nearby wildlife to a fistfight, by process of elimination she decided to work on Sprint. After doing a few high-knees and butt-kickers to limber up her legs, she dug in her toes and took off at her fastest run.
Tall grass slashed at her pants as she ran back to the path, but the Vanish effect reduced the sensation to a light tickle. Her Fatigue climbed sharply as she hit the path and cut hard for the player camp, her boots skidding lightly over the stones. A small group of players was coming the other direction, chatting amongst themselves. One, a cleric judging by her armor, cocked her head as Devon sprinted past.
“You guys hear anything?” the player asked.
“Besides Adam’s annoying voice? No.”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole, William?”
Laughter followed, and Devon kept running. By the time her Fatigue hit 90%, causing black spots to appear at the edges of her vision, the players were out of earshot. She stepped to the edge of the track and bent over her knees, chest heaving as her Fatigue evened out and then started to tick down slowly.
After she’d caught her breath, she did a couple of ankle circles, windmilled her arms and shook her legs to clear the building stiffness and set off again at full tilt.
When the Vanish effect timed out, it felt like her weight sluiced back into her feet. Her knees buckled, and she went down in a skidding heap.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “Not the gentlest reconnection to the material plane.”
A ball of light sprang from the grass as she struggled to her feet.
“Try existing as a manifestation of power that has no natural analog in the physical realm,” Bob said, swirling around her head.
Devon rolled her eyes. “Speaking of, where exactly do you go when you aren’t here booping my nose like a complete jerk.”
Bob booped her nose. “Into the mysterious arcane nether, of course. Duh.”
“Don’t you have any arcane friends? If the physical realm is such a torment for you, I’m not sure what keeps bringing you back here.”
“As you’ll recall, I’ve inherited the critical task of guiding the Champion of Ishildar. Turns out she needs more help than one would hope for a so-called hero.”
Shaking her head, Devon stalked off through the grass toward a stand of low brush. Bob zipped to catch up, then started winding around her moving legs like a cat begging for food.
“Is that some wisp display of affection?”
The ball of light seemed to shudder. “No. Merely training my duck and weave in preparation for the next time I’m called upon in combat.”
“Wait. You can engage in combat? And you’ve been content to follow along and spy on me through how many fights?”
“I’m guessing around three hundred fifty-seven.”
Devon clenched her fists. “And is there a reason you didn’t help?”
“Haven’t we talked about the need for explicit questions? I’m a guide and companion. But I’m not going to live your life for you.”
“Wait, you’re a guide? I thought you were just a flying nuisance.”
“And I think I’ve been clear in my opinion of your chances of success in this odyssey to restore Ishildar. But here we are.”
“Anyway…so will you assist me next combat?”
“Of course. If I happen to be aware of your tussle, I will race to the rescue and dazzle your opponents with my shimmering flesh and intricate motions.”
Bob swirled around her legs a few more times, then booped her nose again.
Devon took a calming breath. “Speaking of increasing skills, I’m planning to work on my Stealth. Slithering through the grass with a shining ball of light bouncing off my head isn’t going to fly. So…”
“I should go visit my brethren in the arcane nether? Might as well. At least there I’ll find some worthwhile conversation. And for your information, I have all kinds of friends in my home plane. In fact, I am quite popular among the other manifestations. Sometimes, my social calendar gets so full that I am forced to escape to the material plane just to breathe.”
“Right…”
Bob sighed. “Good luck rolling around in the grass and calling yourself sneaky.”
“Good luck telling yourself you have a winning personality.”
The wisp booped her nose one last time for good measure and zipped off.
Chapter Eleven
HAILEY WOKE FROM another nightmare and surfaced into pain. Her joints hurt even worse than yesterday, burning as if filled with smoldering coals. She rolled, wincing, and struggled upright. Across the room, one of the cleaning robots sprayed disinfectant on the tile floor and rolled over the area. Ultraviolet light glowed from the underside for a few seconds, then a vacuum sucked the liquid spray into the chassis.
Hailey closed her eyes. With the latest news on her organ function, the doctors would probably recommend an increase in her steroids, which would only make her immune system weaker. When would the game end? How long could they stay ahead of her disease progression before one of her bodily systems gave up? Or would an infection slip past the care facility’s defenses and kill her first?
It certainly didn’t seem that there’d be a happier outcome. Physician researchers in various universities claimed to be making progress on the rash of severe autoimmune diseases that had cropped up worldwide, but so far none of these supposed advances had percolated to people like Hailey. She had no public profile, no audience except for the followers of her in-game sensory livestream. And those people were followers of her in-game persona, having no idea what she was like in real life. Hardly a celebrity platform if she wanted to attract attention from research institutions.
And after her latest escapade, a week-long boat ride to nowhere, she hadn’t even dared to check her follower count to see how many people had unsubscribed. It had to be legion…
She snorted, and the sharp motion caused stabbing pain in the joints where her ribs met her breastbone. She closed her eyes, then shook her head, a minute motion. Like usual, the temptation to jump straight into Relic Online was almost irresistible. Once inside the game, the nagging pangs of hunger would vanish. She could play for hours, and afterward maybe she would feel strong enough to eat double the usual portion to make up for skipping breakfast.
But that was a coward’s path, and she knew it. If she let herself skip a meal, it would be easier the next day and the next. Regardless of what little aid the food gave her failing body, she needed good nutrition.
She looked at her walker, a recent addition to her room. The nursing staff had been suggesting it for months, but until last week, Hailey had held out. It felt like giving up, but the alternative was to stay in bed, take her meals on the tray, and that was even more of a defeat. She pulled the walker to her bedside, and with its help, shuffled to the small table beside her window.
She could feel the coolness radiating from the double-paned glass. Winter
in Wyoming was, more than anything, windy. It had been a low snow year so far, and in the rangeland she could see through the gap between buildings on the assisted care campus, dry grass bent under the gale, sheltering small patches of wind-scoured snow. The bleakness suited her mood, something she found more and more common. So far, her growing despair hadn’t bled into the face she showed her game friends and livestream followers. Hailey was proud of that.
She might even be able to keep it up until the end. Unless some new therapy came down the pipe or she was—by some miracle—accepted into a clinical trial, she doubted she had that much longer. A year or two. At least the time compression in the game made each day feel longer. That was one way she could keep her struggles private—just knowing that Relic Online extended her life helped put a smile on her in-game face.
She grabbed the remote sitting on the table and pressed the button for her meal to be delivered. A few minutes later, a care-bot exited a small door, having wheeled her tray through a UV-sterilization chamber before bringing it into her room.
“Breakfast, miss,” the bot said in a cheerful tone.
“Thanks,” Hailey said out of habit.
As the robot retreated, she picked up the spoon and opened her messenger interface.
There was another note from Devon. She’d been writing a lot, claiming she wanted to be better at staying in touch outside of the game. Hailey stared at it for a couple of minutes, her spoon poised over some sort of hyper-nutritious, probiotic glop.
Why was it so hard to talk to Devon outside of the game, especially compared to their other guildmates? Was it because Devon didn’t seem to need other people? Because she was so strong and—Hailey assumed—healthy? Was Hailey envious? Intimidated?
Citadel of Smoke: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 4) Page 9
