by Kevin Murphy
After a brief stop by the kitchen, the proprietor returned to Dakkon. “That’ll come to 30 silver, sir.”
Dakkon squinted at the bartender but, with the realization that leaving or haggling would at best hurt the information he received and at worse bar him from the quest completely, he acquiesced with his shiny gold coin. “If you’d be so kind,” Dakkon began, “I’d like to know about the monsters attacking your village.”
The bartender’s face grew somewhat sullen and he nodded. “For a while now there have been rumors that there were goats walking upright in the woods near here. No one sensible paid them any mind, of course. However, six days back, three of the damned things showed up out of the blue and dragged old Shep Finnigan off into the trees.” The bartender shook his head.
“They just showed up and dragged him off?” Dakkon asked.
“That they did. If it weren’t for Jane and Tenner setting off to visit the man, no one would have known what happened. He lived a little past the edge of town, you see,” the bartender relayed, “but that was just the beginning of it. Since then, every night a few of the goat bastards poke around town. Now and then they make off with supplies.”
“Any idea where they’re coming from?” asked Dakkon.
“No one knows. Groups of adventurers head out to try and find the damned things every day. If you ask me, I think we just need to set up a perimeter around the town, but Barrcus—the town’s head—demands that the creatures be dead or driven off,” the bartender shrugged. “He sent word to Correndin about the town’s problem, but was told that their forces were stretched too thin to help out. They did promise a bounty of 300 gold to any group that managed to solve our problem, though.”
300 gold was quite the sum for a level 4 player. Even if he grouped up with five other players he’d make off with a tidy 50 gold. There might even be additional rewards! Since Dakkon’s game plan was to level up, the offer was just too good to refuse. “I’ll take care of the beasts,” he said.
[You have accepted the quest: Get the Goatmen]
A few minutes later, Dakkon was brought a leg of mutton bigger than his head. Before digging into the beautiful, brown meat that smelled of seared rosemary, Dakkon had to confirm something. “Hey barkeep, this here mutton…” Dakkon paused, trying to find a way to phrase his query, “It’s not goatman meat, is it?”
Appalled, the barkeeper spat, “That’s disgusting! What sort of savages do you take us for?”
“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that,” Dakkon relaxed. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure someone served me rat stew under similar circumstances…” he trailed off, and muttered under his breath, “I mean, there are definitely some parallels here.”
The insulted bartender left Dakkon to his feast, and Dakkon spent the next hour trying to think of hot and cold, without tying them to locations, while eating bite after bite of what probably wasn’t goatman.
As twilight approached, the players in the bar began to leave in groups, and Dakkon followed suit with a new Thermoregulate rank of seven plus six percent. As he walked out into the center of town, a tall, hazel-haired man in his early 20s, with a wiry goatee and dark eyes, approached Dakkon with a faint smile.
“Hello there, Dakkon” the stranger said Dakkon’s name in a manner that didn’t sound altogether respectful.
Inside a town, the names of players hung suspended in the air by default in order to make interaction between them easier. It wasn’t strange for someone to know his name, but Dakkon wasn’t sure he cared to be addressed in that manner. The name ‘Brett’ hung above the player’s head in blue.
“Want to hunt some goatmen with us?” Brett asked, “We’re the group that found them the last two nights. We’re down one man. Interested?”
Dakkon nodded and the two walked back towards three other players.
“Nice to meet you all,” Dakkon said.
“Found us a new guy, huh Brett? A player named Savior chuckled. “Well, welcome aboard.”
“Let’s get going already,” Arden, appearing of similar age to Brett and Savior, said impatiently. “I’m tired of grinding this stupid quest. A goatman or two once a day is ridiculously slow progress and the hunting here sucks.”
The final member of the foursome remained silent. He was an older man, with black hair that stood up above his already tall figure. Above that, his name, Suresh, floated translucent in the fading light of the evening. Suresh did not make eye contact nor acknowledge Dakkon’s presence.
|You have been invited to a group by: Brett
|Do you accept?
|Yes No
As soon as Dakkon accepted the party invitation, a compact box displaying each member’s remaining and maximum health appeared. The same information could be gleaned by glancing at another member of the party, and both methods showed all members to be at full health not only numerically, but through a healthy green tone he suspected would change color depending on the severity of one’s situation. While Dakkon explored the party interface for the first time, the group turned in a common direction and headed off into the woods to the northeast of the village.
“How’d you come to find yourself here?” Brett asked, turning backwards to face Dakkon from ahead, implying the new member should move up to his side.
Dakkon stepped forward and answered honestly, “I heard about the quest on ChronCast.”
“Tch!” the irritable Arden spat, “Great. This place is going to be swarming with noobs.”
Dakkon didn’t miss the implication, but he was new after all.
“Leaving now would be a waste,” Savior chimed in. “We must be close to completing the quest by now.”
“Never mind our hotheaded rogue,” Brett said to Dakkon. “He’s tired of wasting away in such a low-level area. We all are.”
Curious, Dakkon asked, “What level are you guys?”
“Judging by your clothes and bag alone, I’d have guessed we’re around the same as you.” Savior said. “Brett’s the highest at 36 and the rest of us are between 28 and that. You must be some sort of wizard to have such a low amount of health.”
“Some sort of wizard…” Dakkon was unsure whether or not he wanted to break their presumptions. Brett’s HP was a staggering 2,210, while Suresh totaled over 3,000. Compared to Dakkon’s paltry 80 hit points there was an ocean of difference. “I’m currently a thermomancer.”
“Fire wizard?” Arden suggested.
Dakkon was embarrassed about his class and didn’t really want to explain.
“He’s no fire wizard,” Brett grinned. “I’ve talked to that class trainer. They warm and cool things.” The dark eyed man began to chuckle. “Gotta be about the most useless class I’ve ever heard of. What’s your level, then, master microwave oven?”
The truth of the matter would have likely come up in combat. Dakkon shrugged then came clean, “Four.”
The group exchanged glances and, just as Savior was about to say something, Brett interjected, “Hah! No worries. This area is about the right level for you. We just outclass it a bit.” He shot a glance towards Savior and Dakkon just managed to see a wink. “We’ll take good care of you, friend.”
The rest of the group seemed to agree on the point, aside from the stoic Suresh who remained ever noncommittal.
After a few more steps, Savior pointed out a grand panther crouching behind brush some ways off, staring at the group. Even after its location had been shown to him, Dakkon couldn’t see the cat. “His vision must be modified somehow,” Dakkon reasoned.
“Dakkon,” Brett began, “very slowly and carefully walk forwards about halfway to where that panther is hunkering down. If it bolts, that’s fine, but if it attacks then we can drop it from a distance before it gets to you. Grand panther pelts are very valuable, and it would be a real shame for us to miss the chance.”
Dakkon could understand the wisdom in this, a whole troop of players might scare a hungry panther away, but a single man might just tempt the beast to strike.
Dakkon craned his neck in a nervous stretch and decided to trust in the words of the group that had taken him in. He slowly walked forward toward the oversized ambush predator concealed so well that he couldn’t see it. Dakkon moved ahead, step after step, and at about the midway point heard a rustle from above him.
The group of men he had left cheered and hollered as a massive black feline killing machine descended upon Dakkon from a tree branch. His eyes met with the beast’s and before he had a chance to do anything he was dead.
[You have been sneak attacked for 158 damage. Remaining HP 0/80]
[You have died.]
[You will be barred from reentering Chronicle for 11 hours True Time.]
Dakkon’s vision began to darken and fall away from him. Moments later he could smell a sharp citrus fragrance, became aware of a short-lived tumbling sensation, and knew he was back in the real world.
Chapter 8: Friday Night
Four days. Corbin was incensed. He wouldn’t be able to participate on the quest for nearly four days. He’d have lost a portion of his money, his skills that he had been cultivating would lose a large amount of experience towards their next ranks, and he may have even dropped his precious dagger.
“When I find those bastards… Arden, Savior, Suresh and Brett—especially Brett,” Corbin would take care to remember their names, “I’ll…” he trailed off. What would he do, exactly? “I’ll have to think of something special.”
Corbin didn’t consider himself to be petty, but the thoughts that filled his mind were exactly that. He’d like to find exactly where they respawned and kill them over, and over, and over again. He’d love to strip the items from them one by one. He’d be thrilled if he could put them at ends with one another and find a way to orchestrate a scheme so heinous that the four would never be able to walk into an area that hinted of civilization without the collective population scrambling to collect the bounty on their heads. But he knew he couldn’t do anything like that. He was a level four thermomancer with no combat skills nor the curried favor of powerful people. It was, however, only his first day in the game—so, he could grow.
He decided he wouldn’t waste any more time on his hatred. “Sure, they ridiculed me and set me up to be pounced on by a giant man-eating cat, but…” Corbin tried to stop his line of thought. “Keep your eyes low,” he mocked.
Corbin was certainly frustrated. Not only had he died and been left unable to play, but this was a rare three-day-weekend of an opportunity to really get a good start in the world of Chronicle. In a game where dying meant losing four days and some amount of progress, he could feel the repercussions. “I’m going to have to keep my guard up from now on,” Corbin resolved.
“Now, what to do?” Corbin wondered. He wasn’t even remotely tired, so sleeping was out of the question, and if he tried, he knew he’d likely just remember the events that had just unfolded. He needed a distraction.
Corbin sat on his couch. “Pixie, pull up ChronCast for me.”
“You got it, boss,” a melodic, female voice replied from no distinct direction. The wall in front of Corbin transformed.
An anchor Corbin hadn’t seen before was reporting. “…rather interesting class. Bards sing or play songs that apply beneficial effects to allies, or detrimental effects to enemies. They can even perform songs that directly damage foes…” The woman was in her late 20s, with a lively bob cut of brown hair that bounced as she emphasized words. “…most interesting feature of a bard is how those effects are applied. Every fourth beat triggers a song’s effect, so, if a bard plays in double time the effects trigger twice as often.”
“Pixie, turn off the stream,” Corbin ordered. Watching ChronCast just spurred him to want to play even more. Worst of all, learning about another class just made him feel more useless due to his current role. “Find some standup comedy I haven’t seen before.”
“Any particular genres or topics?” his pixie AI assistant asked.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Corbin said before adding, “Just make sure it has an average user rating of at least 70 percent.”
“Not a problem,” the assistant replied as the wall in front of Corbin changed again.
It took Corbin about half an hour to begin enjoying himself. After another 40 minutes, his entertainment was interrupted by a request for entrance by a PKT Mart delivery drone.
“Don’t bother coming in. It’s not much. Leave it out there and I’ll pick it up,” Corbin denied access to the delivery robot.
\\\
After eating a home cooked meal, courtesy of his Print-n-Grille, Corbin couldn’t help but think of the delectable hodgepodge he’d bought from the ‘Everything on a stick!’ stand. He had calmed down considerably but still pined for the vivid world Chronicle provided. He decided he’d sleep the remainder of his downtime away, so that he’d be fresh for a full day of turning in quests, leveling up, and hopefully finding a more worthwhile class to gallivant around as.
After showering, dutifully brushing his teeth, and neglecting to floss, Corbin crawled into his small but comfortable bed and drifted to sleep where he would sweetly dream of eating all sorts of delicacies from skewers.
\\\
Corbin woke before the sun had its chance to rise, at 3:06, as though he had spent the whole of his previous day drinking. His state of mind, however, couldn’t be any less muddled. Corbin was feeling well rested, sharp, and eager to get back to leveling up his character. The ruse that had taken him yesterday seemed to be a distant memory save for the ember of revenge he vowed to keep fanning until he could put it to purpose.
Corbin wasted no time. He set to have his meal prepared by his printer, took a shower, then ate. He aimed to work twice as hard as he would have, in order to make up the days of playtime he had missed. After his preparations to enter the game were complete, the cool voice of the capsule greeted him with: “To begin playing Chronicle, please say ‘Engage.’” Corbin obliged.
Chapter 9: Again
Dakkon was standing in a corner of the Greenburne inn’s common room, which was empty aside from the bald proprietor and a few new faces sitting at a table playing cards. There was a terrible stench in the air. The crinkled facial expressions of patrons seemed to indicate that the odor was a recent development. Dakkon wanted to get out of the inn as soon as possible. If he was the source of the rancid smell, he’d see to fixing that immediately. Dakkon checked the in-game time. It was 14:15. He had about six hours until it would be time to hunt the goatmen. Dodging the offended gazes of those playing cards, Dakkon stepped out of the inn and trod with a quick efficiency toward the northeast of town. While he moved with purpose, he took the time to inspect himself and his bag to determine what exactly he’d lost.
Around 200 experience from his character’s level progression had vanished, along with all the EXP towards new ranks for all his traits—except for the one exempt trait: Thick. While it was a setback, it was easily bearable at such an early stage in the game. His wallet was lighter, now only containing 36 silver and 14 copper pieces—but that was enough for any provisions he might need. His dagger was—Dakkon’s tension was palpable—still in his possession. All of his items were right where they belonged, including the source of the pungent bouquet which continued to turn nearby heads as he walked by—a hefty pile of several-days-dead rabbits and snakes which had grown incredibly fragrant in his absence.
From a distance, the sight of a man no one had seen for nearly four days, if at all, walking in a manner that appeared serious and determined while casting all distractions aside caught the eyes and imaginations of players as Dakkon beelined his way out of the city to a spot where he could dispose of his foul cargo. In a town filled with adventurers who were waiting for any clue to advance their collective quest, talk begat speculation, and speculation begat rumor. T
he player ‘Dakkon’ must know something about the quest. Why else would he walk so quickly and pointedly out of town? Based on the direction he was heading, the key to the quest was northeast of town. It wouldn’t take long for parties of adventurers to make their way in his direction.
After walking about five minutes out of town, Dakkon unloaded his pack into a bush. While he was happy that there were multiple compartments, the bag would still need a thorough cleansing. Dakkon realized that, in his flight to dispose of his sack’s contents, he was foolishly walking in the familiar direction which he’d been led the night before—back into grand panther territory. He shuddered at the thought of the giant cat landing him with another 11-hour exile from the game and decided that, for the time being, he would be better off avoiding the area. Eyes wildly darting from tree branch to tree branch, Dakkon moved to the northwest in search of a stream where he could dunk and wring out his bag a few dozen times.
Successful in finding a rill to wet his bag, if not fully submerge it, Dakkon made his bag serviceable once again. Not wanting the damp of his bag to chill and disrupt him, he equipped it on the outside of his cloak and slipped back into his thermomantic training as he walked. He moved through brush and a thickening density of trees, lost in his hot-then-cold thermomancer conditioning. As the trees thinned once again to open space, Dakkon passed by a group of players leveling up. The party had only just finished a minute-long battle with a calcaba—a fiercely territorial flightless bird which stands as tall as a man—when they spotted another calcaba charge at Dakkon from the opposite side of where they stood.
“Watch out!” a teenage girl with pixie blonde hair screamed just as the angry green bird closed the gap to Dakkon and was cut down by an inexperienced, but deft, swipe from his dark blade.
