by Kevin Murphy
“That’s about 16 gold a ring although they’re easily worth 20,” stated Denden coolly.
“That’s true, but you’ll be paid in a nice lump sum and will have some company for the next hour or two,” Dakkon said with a grin “I bet it can get awfully boring back here alone. I’ll even make it 105 gold, but I really can’t offer you any more than that.”
After a moment’s consideration, Denden shrugged. “Fair enough. Beats guild prices and haggling with street merchants, that’s for sure.”
Chapter 15: A New Leaf
When Dakkon walked back out onto the streets of Correndin equipped with his six new rings, he felt better. He didn’t feel bad before, but now he felt… improved. The night air, however, felt unseasonably cold by Dakkon’s estimation. It was past midnight. Dakkon had spent the promised hour with Denden, watching him work, and an additional three hours talking with and learning from the craftsman.
Although grumbling figures passed him by on the street, clutching their cloaks tightly around themselves to ward off the chill of night, Dakkon warmed himself by merely willing it so. Aiming to make his way to the west gate, Dakkon wandered down unfamiliar roads and alleys in the general direction of his destination. About seven minutes into his walk, Dakkon heard a scraping noise that drew his attention. Were he not free to take in his environment so fully, he likely would have walked right past the little horse thief whom he had encountered twice before. The dirty boy was huddled into a ball, shrouded only by a tattered quilt that was sloppily stitched together from odds and ends no doubt scavenged from bins and piles of refuse.
As Dakkon approached, the boy shivered violently. Dakkon drew together his forefinger, middle finger, and thumb, then slowly opened them as he formed a slightly larger than boy-sized Hotspot. After a few minutes, the boy’s shaking ceased and he lurched frantically awake, backing against the wall cowering before the looming, shrouded figure before him.
“Easy now, boy,” said Dakkon. “I seem to be running into you an awful lot. How’s your arm?”
The boy clutched at his properly tended to arm and looked up without speaking, his expression set in some middle ground between fear and defiance.
“Looks like someone patched you up well enough,” Dakkon said with a smile. “Have you given any thought to looking for honest work yet?”
“What would you know?” the boy snapped. “Think folk line up to hire boys ‘at smell like piss to sell sweetcakes to pretty ladies?”
Dakkon looked thoughtful. “You make a good point. I wouldn’t hire you. So why not get cleaned up?”
The boy just stared at him coldly.
“There’s a river running through town and a bay nearby. If you’re in a spending mood, I’m sure that some portion of silver can purchase a bath.”
The boy looked as though his reticence would melt away at Dakkon’s mention of the unexpected aid from earlier in the night, but he remained quiet.
“Look,” said Dakkon, “I don’t know your story, and I have no intention of helping you find your place in the world, but I’d be a bastard if I didn’t lend you a hand after stumbling across you like this in the night.” Dakkon grabbed 20 gold and 20 silver from his coin purse and held it out to the boy. “So, here’s an offer you can’t refuse. I’ll give you this much for that raggedy patchwork of a blanket.”
The opportunity was singular for the boy, and he offered over the rags from his back without a word of protest for how cold the night ahead promised to be to him, snatching up the coins greedily.
Dakkon looked over the blanket. “Disgusting!” he said. Dakkon created a boy-sized Hotspot on the blanket, gave it a fold to see if the effect would hold on fabric, and when satisfied that it would, he tossed the blanket back to the boy and said, “I’ve changed my mind. The new deal is that you’ll need to dispose of this tomorrow morning. Leaving it in an alleyway would be a disservice to the city.”
Without waiting for the boy to reply, Dakkon turned back towards his destination, and strode off boldly around the next corner, where he pulled his traveler’s cloak tightly around his body and shuffled along to keep warm amongst the newly discovered cold of the night.
\\\
By the dawn of the next morning, Dakkon was properly equipped to set out for adventure. He had traveling gear, maps, a horse, and—after a small amount of haggling—some trail-ready meat and a refill for his two canteens. He decided he’d like to put his meeting with that child out of his mind. It wasn’t his problem. The boy wasn’t even a real person. Still, seeing a young boy fending for himself against the elements was a vivid image he hadn’t been prepared to see. Players can respawn again and again, but NPCs are bound by a different set of rules. In other virtual worlds—though a pale comparison to the one he stood in now—he’d never been faced with considering the lives of non-player characters, but Chronicle wasn’t so black and white. In this game, every NPC has a family, and any brigand could be the sole provider for his children.
Dakkon bought a few apples and halved one on his way to the stables where he picked up his horse, Nightshade, who he greeted with an offered half-apple. Nightshade accepted the gift, happily, and acquiesced as the stable hands saddled him. Then, man and horse walked unabated out of town, after the small matter of stabling fees were settled to mutual satisfaction.
Although Nightshade’s mane showed all the evidence of pampered grooming from the stables, the horse was eager to discard its comeliness with a run down the dusty road. Dakkon let his steed set its own fast pace while he focused more on how he might prevent muscle ache and saddle sores, setting aside any thought of training for a later date. Only minutes on the trail, Dakkon knew there would be no hiding from the aches of travel, so, instead of worrying, he gave into the thrill of riding a powerful, fleet of foot animal. At last, Dakkon was starting off his journey as a respectable adventurer should—with travel preparations, map, horse, and gear instead of tattered clothes, no sense of bearing, and a desperate need to find work.
After an hour of riding, Dakkon walked alongside of Nightshade, giving the animal time to rest. Dakkon really knew nothing about horses. Was he overworking Nightshade, or under working him? Dakkon didn’t know, and regretted not having the foresight to ask someone while he was at the stables. Still, he was making much better time than would have been possible only by foot, so he was happy to punctuate his ride with periodic walks. To ensure his mount's health, the safe bet was simply to rest Nightshade before the horse became too tired to continue—which helped to put Dakkon’s mind at ease. However, after several rotations on and off his mount, Dakkon began to suspect that, more so than his mount, he was the one who needed the breaks.
Horse and rider came to and continued past the northerly road to Greenburne, riding westward on a road which would eventually let them turn north toward Turlin. Dakkon spared only a passing thought for the events that transpired in the little town he now passed—the betrayal, the quest, getting his horse, and meeting his friends who were all… nearly twice his level now. He would need to work hard just to catch up. He’d need to really struggle if he wanted to surpass them, but he would do whatever it took. He was grateful for Cline's friendly competitive rivalry. It would help to keep him focused. Dakkon set his jaw, determined. He wasn’t going to lose.
After another three hours passed, gaining Dakkon two ranks in his ‘Rider’ trait and without spotting a single other traveler on the road, horse and rider found themselves arrived at the expected pair of crossed roads which would guide them to their next destination. Both roads were wide and well-traveled, however there still wasn’t a person in sight. Dakkon expected that here, in Chronicle—the game where even NPCs have lives and backstories—that at least one business minded individual would have set up shop here to reap easy profits from wanting passersby. The lack of anyone made the scene feel eerie and isolated.
A road sign lay vandalized by the side of the road. Dakkon decided now would be a good time for a more formal rest, and to double chec
k his maps for any foresight about the trip to come. Dakkon quickly found a nearby stream which he allowed Nightshade to drink from for a few minutes, then sat beneath the partial cover of tree branches and leaves where he pulled out his maps.
Dakkon’s more expensive and credible map showed the area drawn neatly to scale, but with limited detail. Taking a right turn to head north would lead him to Turlin, where friends awaited him with open arms. Well, it could very well be with clenched fists from Melee. Dakkon hadn’t really been able to draw a bead on her yet. If he happened to continue straight west instead, he would wind up in a much closer city named Derrum before long. Then there was another city, named Tian, about the same total distance away as Turlin. If Dakkon were to take a left turn and travel south, then he would run into several small settlements which could very easily provide him with quests to get started, but the next real city in that direction looked to be about twice as far as he’d have to travel by choosing north or west.
Dakkon took out his cheaper, more hastily-drawn map and his eyes quickly settled on an annotation next to Tian, the second city to the west. It simply read, ‘Good food. Fast XP.’ Dakkon looked for similar annotations next to the other cities, but could only find a tiny, barely noticeable ‘bandits’ written several times next to the road where he rested. Bandits may explain why there was no merchant set up at the crossroads, but surely any bandit problem would have been dealt with by now. This had to be a major trade route between cities.
Putting his concerns about the sparsity of travelers aside, Dakkon had a new choice before him. Should he travel to Turlin to meet up with his friends who were twice his strength and try to keep up with them? Or, would he gamble on the vague words written on a less-than-wholly-credible map, promising fast experience? He began to reason with himself. He wanted, no—needed, a lot of EXP so that he could be the foundation on which a group was built, rather than relying on everyone to carry his weight for him. He also had no idea what sort of experience penalty this game imposed for grouping with much higher leveled characters, but he figured there must be one. There always was in multi-player games like this. During lower levels they were negligible, as any EXP then is good EXP, but they tended to become much more hindering as levels increased. Before long, he decided that he didn’t care to find out about EXP penalties. He’d never overtake the others from the protection of their shadows. He felt he had to gamble on Tian, the city of ‘Good food,’ and ‘Fast XP.’
Dakkon patted Nightshade on his neck, and fed the black horse a half apple. “What do you say, Nightshade? Shall we head west and leave the north for another day?” Nightshade nuzzled Dakkon’s hand in a manner that was more likely a demand for more apple than the answer to his quandary. Regardless, it was the sort of insignificant push that helped to solidify Dakkon’s last-minute change of plan. “Off we go, then.”
About two hours into the ride westward, Dakkon came across a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, pulling a cart which was partially filled with several heads of some green leafy vegetable. As Dakkon approached, the stranger noticed a horse approaching from behind him and froze, suddenly fearful of his situation.
“Err… Hello?” called Dakkon, “What’s the matter?”
The cart pulling man sighed in relief. “I was worried you might be a bandit.”
Dakkon paused to examine the situation. “You’re slowly dragging a cart down a well-traveled road. Did you not expect to see anyone?”
“I hoped I wouldn’t,” said the older man with neat, short brown hair. There were a few hard lines on his face that looked like they might have been forged through hours and hours of worry and stress.
“Odd,” remarked Dakkon. “Well then, I was just about to hop off my horse to walk for a bit. Would you like some company?”
“Oh?” the man seemed unprepared for the suggestion. Without much thought, he answered honestly. “Yes, please. I’ve been bored, tired, and jumpy all day.”
“Well,” said Dakkon as he climbed down awkwardly from Nightshade’s tall back, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you pulling a cart filled with cabbage?”
“Lettuce, actually,” said the man. “I was trying to sell it, but my donkey died on the road, and as I’ve recently discovered, basic ingredients are practically valueless.”
“Why pull the cart, then?” asked Dakkon. He knew he could easily buy a ration for a copper, and that was prepared food. Dakkon wasn’t exactly sure what a copper was worth in real currency, but he knew it couldn’t be any significant amount. When no answer came, Dakkon continued, “So you’re a trader then?” he asked.
“No, not really,” replied the man. “I’m just sort of going with the flow of things for now.”
“I’m not entirely sure I follow, but it sounds like you’ve been having a rough time of it. My name’s Dakkon. I’d be happy to trade my tale of misfortune for yours while we walk.”
“Hmm?” the stranger seemed distracted and a bit short with his responses, as though he were processing the conversation with an imposed delay from being mentally drained. “Oh. Fine. I’m Letis. Mine is more of a cautionary tale, if I’m being honest. I’m just sort of reeling from it all at the moment.”
“Letis?” asked Dakkon. The name sounded a bit like the leafy green vegetable that the traveler was carting around.
“Yeah. Letis. Sure, I know. I’ll get to that,” Letis said. “So, would you like to go first?”
“Sure,” Dakkon said. “It might just take your mind off things. I don’t think Nightshade here would mind pulling your cart for a bit, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s ok,” Letis said with a sigh. “It’s a light load and the pulling helps me keep my mind off the walking.”
“Fair enough.” As the two walked in the direction of the soon-setting sun, Dakkon regaled Letis with his attempts to find work and managed to make the weary traveler howl with mirth as Dakkon relayed his ordeal in the rat cellar. The thought still sent shivers running up his spine. Filthy, horrible rats.
Dakkon finished his tale with how he met some fine people he had gotten separated from after the other group betrayed him in the woods.
“You’ve managed it somehow,” said Letis while wiping the moisture from his eyes. “What a truly awful start to the game. I’m surprised you’re even playing still… but then, I suppose I’m still here too.”
“Well, what happened? How did your game start?”
“My start was fantastic, actually. I began in Turlin and quickly found work—nothing noteworthy mind you, just this and that to get me going. Soon, I’d found a position in the order of Sheltering Leaves, a religious faction following Daenara, the Goddess of Life. Not one of those wishy-washy free love Druid sects of Daenara mind you,” Letis paused to drive the point before continuing. “Things were going well. For nearly a year, I went on missions, performed tasks, and carried out duties. I had accumulated a sizable 126 faith points with Daenara, and—”
Dakkon interrupted Letis’s tale, “What are faith points?” Dakkon vaguely remembered having read about them before, but he wanted a firsthand account.
“Ah, that’s right. You’re fairly new to this world. Faith points are a resource which anyone can gain by doing services for any of the 10 deities. They’re a real bastard to get, too, let me assure you,” griped Letis. “A player who has accumulated any number of faith points may request a boon from the deity who awarded them… and the magic of it is, they’ll grant it,” Letis stopped to spit and shake his head. “No one knows exactly why, but most requests are horribly twisted by the gods. Players almost always get a crap interpretation of what it is they ask for. Others seem to just get cursed outright. But I have heard stories of boons working out… you see, whenever a player requests a boon from a god, all of their faith points are immediately expended, then the God ‘blesses’ them. Spending more points means that your request is more likely to be granted as you intend, probably. That’s why I spent so much time diligently grinding more and more poi
nts. Having over 100 isn’t common. It requires constant service to the sect.”
“So, what did you ask for?” asked a very curious Dakkon.
“I asked to be able to heal any wound, and to regrow any damage instantly,” replied a deadpan Letis.
“What?” asked a shocked Dakkon. “You didn’t think that was a bit too much to ask for?”
“It was a god!” cried Letis, dropping the cart’s rung momentarily. “They can do anything, and I had a lot of points. They can grant miracles! Right? Why shouldn’t I get a little hyper-regeneration?”
“Well, what happened?” asked Dakkon.
Letis pointed at the wagon.
“I’m… about half way to connecting the dots,” said Dakkon, puzzled. “What was the boon?”
Letis crouched down, placed his hand palm-down on the center of the well-traveled road, and as he pulled his hand up, he held a fresh head of lettuce.
“You’re… a lettucemancer?” asked Dakkon with a broad, uncontainable grin.
“It’s not my class or anything,” answered Letis. “But I do lettuce magic, yes.”
“So, the God used your name to twist your request? That’s really interesting!” exclaimed Dakkon.
“No. It’s not interesting!” matched Letis. “It’s 11 months of grinding down the drain. Every last point is gone and I have nothing to show for it.”
“You’ve got a one-of-a-kind ability that’ll prevent your party from starving in a pinch, and I’m guessing you’ve gained some reputation in religious circles that could open otherwise locked doors. You’ve probably leveled up a good bit in the church’s service, too.”
“Let’s just say I’m done with the church,” complained Letis.
“Look, I wasn’t planning to mention this,” said Dakkon, “But I’m unable to change my class and am stuck as a thermomancer. I can cool and heat things,” he demonstrated with a Letis sized hotspot, “and that’s it. I’m nearly a master of it, too. Nothing particularly interesting about it.”
