First Login (Chronicle Book 1)

by Kevin Murphy

  Corbin halted his search here. He found himself spiraling down a rabbit hole of dubiously useful information. Gods, Mordurin, and the edgemaster class… Despite all of his searching, the answers Corbin really wanted could only be found through Chronicle. “Pixie, how long has it been since I’ve left the capsule?”

  A little fae creature flew out of the screen in front of Corbin. “Five hours and 20 minutes,” the critically acclaimed voice of his AugSys rang out like harmonic birdsong.

  Corbin didn’t much care for hearing he still had almost six hours remaining even after his mostly fruitless search for information. He decided he’d have an early lunch and walked a long six paces into his connected kitchen.

  “Pack it,” Corbin used the preset voice command to initiate his Pacquet brand Print-n-Grille.

  “It’s brunch time! What can I make for you? If you’d like a list of options, I—” Corbin wasn’t particularly interested in hearing the list of options his food printer could give him ever again. He stocked the machine with packets, and therefore knew the extent of its capabilities.

  “I’ll have a green bean casserole.”

  “You got it, boss! I’ll have that green bean casserole ready for you in seven minutes. Say, while you wait, there’s a limited time offer from CaughtUp I can’t wait to tell you about.”

  A small augmented reality window opened up, hovering in the air a few feet in front of Corbin’s face. He thought it might be an interesting experiment to try staring at a wall the next time his Print-n-Grille pushed products and service at him. “An advertisement with every meal.” Dakkon sighed. He had time to wait, however, and would love the distraction of something new to hate.

  “Are you busy? Do you not have time for the hundreds of popular programs that your friends, family, and coworkers are engrossed with? Then you need CaughtUp. Our talented staff analyzes episodes from every highly popular show, cast, and many streams to break them down into bite-sized and easily digestible pieces. Why slog through a boring drama just to stay caught up when you could simply spend a few minutes with CaughtUp and learn exactly what’s happening! Our service has an enormous clip library to—” Corbin had his fill.

  “Print-n-Grille volume mute,” said Corbin. He patiently waited for his meal and ate it hot, slightly scalding the palate of his mouth. What would he do with the next five and a half hours as he waited to get back into his game? He considered going out. Weekends were typically when he explored the city or—occasionally—spent time with his ever-dwindling group of more successful friends from college. He hadn’t been invited to do anything yet, but he knew deep down that if anyone had asked, his recent acquisition of a chron pod would take precedence over his spare time. Soon after the thought had crossed his mind, Corbin had suppressed any desire to leave his apartment in favor of learning more about his newest hobby.

  Having a full, perhaps overstuffed, belly Corbin compared pricings of items on official marketplaces versus secondary markets for anything and everything one would sell within Chronicle. These sites came in the form of virtual markets and auctions alike. One could buy real estate, gear, mounts, consumables, and more providing they had the extra money to dispose of, and most sites kept logs of the most valuable items sold. It seemed to indicate that whenever a particularly advanced player found an upgrade for themselves, they would sell their older gear for a tidy profit. Apparently, many players could make their living entirely through the game. Some sold their old gear for thousands, and in rarer cases, tens of thousands of credits. After close to four years of time inside the game, the market still appeared to be growing. The right weapon or piece of armor could feasibly give a wealthy buyer an edge that would allow them to progress and accomplish more than their peers. The world is a place where those with wealth separate themselves from the masses through liberal use of their money, and Chronicle was no exception.

  Corbin’s equipment, his bag and clothes, amounted to about a credit a piece. His new boots were about five credits. Not terrible, considering how early in the game he had acquired them. His dagger’s worth was something he couldn’t figure out as easily. He didn’t know its properties, and as far as he could find there was nothing in the game that did close to 200 damage for sale. The highest damage weapon he could find for sale was a huge, two-handed magic maul which did 130 damage. The maul was selling for 8,000 credits. Upon seeing this, Dakkon’s mind raced. Just how valuable was his dagger? It possibly dealt double that and wasn’t so cumbersome. Could it be worth two times as much? Three? Five? The idea of selling his dagger for 40,000 credits made his knees weak. He decided that his very next course of action after collecting his quest reward—should the dagger still be with him when he logged back in, instead of buried deep within the side of a cliff—would be to have his dagger appraised. If the dagger was half as good as he suspected it must be, he would have an amazing source of revenue for a rainy day. Of course, until the need arose, he’d use it to progress and find even more valuable things to sell.

  Corbin needed a reality check. He knew it couldn’t be so simple to make a sum as large as 40,000 credits. With that much money, he could live for two, perhaps two and a half, years if he lived frugally—and he always had. It simply couldn’t be so. He pushed the matter to the back of his mind, and decided to watch ChronCast in hopes of finding another lead like the one that had helped him find the quest which he had just completed.

  Corbin watched ChronCast for hours and, for the bulk of it, wished he hadn’t. Hearing the happenings of the world and the accomplishments of other players did nothing to dampen his desire to play. Over the course of watching, he learned tidbits of information about the world—there were two human realms, the Kingdom of Denmas, where Corbin started, and the non-allied Falgren Empire. There was an elven kingdom, Daedwyne, and the dwarven kingdom, Fvoskard. There were skirmishes between the realms, but there hadn’t been an all-out war since before the game’s release. What came as a bit of a surprise to Corbin, was of how little the world had been properly explored. There was no map of the world. There didn’t even seem to be a rough idea of how large it was. Both human domains were near bodies of water and had access to ports, but there didn’t seem to be any information about any continent beyond Validesh, named for the old Valin empire which united the land against a foreign threat whose name and location appear to be buried in the annals of time.

  Corbin awoke some hours later, energetic, as though through force of will. He hadn’t expected he’d fall asleep, and so hadn’t set an alarm. He knew he had slept more than necessary, but it didn’t matter to him now. His exile had certainly ended. Although unsoiled, Corbin decided that the best way to keep his immersion pod clean was to treat it like freshly laundered bed linens. He took his second shower of the day, drank a pittance of water, and entered his chron pod. After the prerequisites were met, Corbin engaged his game and his lips curled into a large, expectant smile. The sweet smell of popsicles filled the air, and his eyes fell shut.

  Chapter 13: Reward

  Dakkon opened his eyes back in Greenburne’s inn some five days after the village was raided by the trest. The common room was empty, save for the hairless proprietor who sat, sullen, on one of his stools.

  “Where can I find Barrcus?” asked Dakkon.

  “Oh?” the bald man stammered and rose to his feet. “Oh, our esteemed patron! Back for another meal by chance?”

  “Not today,” said Dakkon. “I need to know where the village leader is.”

  “That’s a shame. We may not have any more mutton, but I’ve got a stew that’s been in pot for six hours now, and will be mighty tasty I guarantee.” After Dakkon said nothing, the bartender relented, “His house is on the north corner of town. He’s currently overseeing restorations to the village, though, so he could be anywhere.”

  Dakkon nodded. The words of the bald proprietor struck him. No more meat? He had forgotten about the animals in the temple. If the others had not returned and fetched them, then the area hollowed out
of the mountain really must have collapsed in full. Before stepping out into the center of town where the well lay, Dakkon made sure his items were all as they had been, less 12 silver, then he looked at his stats.

  |————

  |Statistics ( ][][ ) ( ][][][ )

  |————

  |Strength: 10 ( ? )

  |Stamina: 25

  |Agility: 55 — (50 + 5 Equipped)

  |Dexterity: 10

  |Intellect: 10

  |Luck: 0 ( X )

  |Free Stat Points: 15

  |Hit Points: 425/425

  |Endurance: 238/238

  |Mana Points: 200/200

  |Level: 15

  |EXP Until Next Level: [_____1,946/3,960 ]

  |————

  |Traits ( ][ ) ( ][][][ )

  |————

  |Appearance – 8 (Equipped)

  |Heroic – 2— 2% [_ ]

  |Hunter – 4— 22% [____ ]

  |Steadfast – 1— 0% [ ]

  |Stealthy – 3— 0% [ ]

  |Thick – 1— 20% [_____ ]

  |-Stealthy: Gained from moving around hostile entities without detection. Every rank in Stealthy decreases the likelihood that the player will be detected by circumstances outside of his control.

  He had grown so quickly from a single session, that the loss of experience for his character level and traits felt negligible. The short time he spent looking over his stats filled him with pride, but he had bigger fish to fry. He wanted to have a look at his new class.

  |————

  |Classes

  |————

  |Primary Class: Edgemaster

  |Class Level: Null

  |EXP Until Next Level: [||||||||||||||||||||N||||||||||||||||||||||]

  |Skills:

  |+Mastery – 1— [||||||||||||||||||||N||||||||||||||||||||||]

  |+Edge – 1— [||||||||||||||||||||N||||||||||||||||||||||]

  |Special: Edgemaster is locked as your primary class.

  |Special: Classes may not be changed or removed.

  |

  |Secondary Class: Thermomancer – 80% Power (from multiclassing)

  |Class Level: 3

  |EXP Until Next Level: [_______549/1,050 ]

  |Skills:

  |+Thermoregulate – 6— 49% [___________ ]

  At first glance, Dakkon thought that the skills for the class were wrong. A broken experience meter and character level must mean that the class couldn’t progress. At worst, his rare class might be glitchy and not work at all. He took a closer look at the skills.

  |+Mastery: This unique skill improves the strength of all classes by 10% per rank. Further ranks in Mastery may only be achieved by advancing two classes to adept status (level 15). Current effect: +10%.

  |+Edge: This unique skill allows the player to have an additional active class per rank. Ranks in Edge may only be achieved by advancing a class to mastery status (level 30). An edgemaster may not have inactive classes and should choose them carefully. Current effect: +1 active class for a total of 3 simultaneous classes.

  Dakkon worked to wrap his head around the information. His skills weren’t buggy, they were shackles. Now, he would be stuck as a thermomancer forever. Worse, he was now 20% weaker than a regular thermomancer, which was not powerful in the slightest, and would only be on par after getting four classes to level 15—and since he would be limited to only learning one more class until he could get one to level 30—that meant he was crippled to mediocrity for his immediately foreseeable future. It wasn’t even that the class was weak. It was easy to see the strength of it, given some time. After getting the first three classes to level 30 and another to 15, he would begin to grow far more powerful than the average player. If he had acquired the class at a higher level, after he had already gotten a few classes to level 30, then the skill would probably have been a blessing. For now, though, at the beginning of his journey, it would drag him down. Each class he learned would be substantially weaker than a beginner taking the class as their primary.

  Dakkon reconsidered his situation. It wasn’t ideal, but in time he had the potential to grow into an insanely powerful character. After several minutes of hovering in the door of the inn, Dakkon returned to being pleased just before the innkeeper shooed him off for scaring away any potential customers. He walked out the door and into the village’s center.

  The village center looked as expected after an assault. Some buildings lay burnt flat, as though they were the fire pits of giants. Others were scorched but stood as sturdily as they had the previous week. The center of the square held six men rebuilding the well which had collapsed, no doubt from the concerted blows of goatmen. Dakkon approached the oldest and most distinguishably not laboring of the men.

  “Do you know where I can find Barrcus,” asked Dakkon, suspecting that the old man could very well be who he sought.

  “And why exactly are you looking for me?” replied the weathered old man. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  “I’ve come to claim my bounty,” said Dakkon. “I was the fifth member of the group who drove away the goatmen which assaulted the village.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” the worn Barrcus said with a hint of amusement. “And I suppose you’ll want your reward in platinum?”

  “That would be fine,” admitted Dakkon, relieved. “Or gold. I’m not sure I could carry smaller denominations.”

  “Now look here, I don’t know who the hell you are!” hollered Barrcus. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, and I’ve got a knack for remembering faces, boy.”

  Dakkon’s blood froze. Could not visiting the old man before completing the quest have ruined his chance for a reward? Nonsense. “My name is Dakkon,” he said with shaken confidence. “I tracked the goats to their lair, freed—Oh, the girl!” Dakkon had suddenly remembered there was a villager who could testify for him. “Did the lady the goats dragged off ever make it back to town?”

  Serendipitously, at that moment, he was nearly knocked off his feet from behind by an embrace that felt more akin to a tackle. “Oh gods!” the woman wailed, tearful with her thanks. “You’re all right! You didn’t come back to town with the others. I’ll tell you, I assumed the worst.”

  “You made it home?” Dakkon asked, relief clear in his voice for reasons both altruistic and self-serving. He was surprised as much by the timely appearance of the ex-captive as by her sudden hug. “Are you well?”

  “I’m no worse, thanks to you, master Dakkon,” the villager said, smiling, as she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of a conservative, but worn, blue dress.

  Dakkon felt proud of the title by which he was addressed. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.” After he was released from her grasp, he turned to face her and asked, “Would you do me the favor of introducing me to Barrcus?”

  “Mr. Barrcus?” the woman tilted her head in confusion. “But, you’re already talking to him.”

  “Right,” said Barrcus. “I get it, already. Forgive me, boy. I’m sure you understand that you weren’t the first to try and claim the 280 gold set aside for you. I was doing you a favor by not handing it out lightly.”

  The reward sounded off. By his previous count, Dakkon was only supposed to be getting 120 gold. “Is that the amount it came to, split five ways?” he asked.

  “That’s what it comes out to,” said Barrcus. “Truth be told, I thought you were dead and gone. Another day or two and I’d have used all of that money to help pay for restorations.”

  Relieved to find out that his bounty had not been spent before he had the chance to claim it, and feeling grateful for the unexpected increase in reward, Dakkon generously offered, “You may use 40 of the gold to help fund rebuilding the town.”

  “Well…” the old man started then paused, “We’ve already used 80 of it for new livestock that’ll be arriving later today… Given the circumstances, I reckon it’s only fair that you should be given your pick of them, should you want.”

  It wasn’t
fair. Dakkon knew that, but he was still going to make off with nearly double the reward he had been expecting. There was no need to split hairs. It was a veritable fortune to a player of his level, anyway. “Very well,” he acquiesced.

  “I’d go and fetch the money, just myself, but I’m only one old man. Gold isn’t so light that I can toss it around all willy-nilly,” Barrcus said, turning to leave even before he had finished speaking.

  “I’ll be making my way out of the village today,” Dakkon said to the woman he had helped save. Then, as a courteous way to draw the conversation to a close he added, “If you find yourself in a sticky situation and think that I can help, reach out to me.” He wasn’t sure what he could do, but without her he never would have gotten his reward.

  “I will then, master Dakkon,” she said with a reverent bow that made the hairs on the back of Dakkon’s neck stand attentive. He was far from used to this sort of deference in the real world.

  [You have pledged protection of the NPC Mary Greel. If she meets her untimely demise, it will have a negative impact on the way you are received.]

  Dakkon was unsure of the commitment he had unwittingly made, but at least he’d learned her name—even if it was in an incredibly awkward and roundabout way. He mulled over what repercussions this could hold for him while he followed the slow moving Barrcus back to his house. After three minutes of walking, the two men entered Barrcus’s house, and the village elder brought Dakkon to a sitting area.