“I’m going to miss you Zephyr, you’ve been a good guide.” Laura smiled sweetly.
Zephyr squeaked with irritation, “You have been a terrible pupil. You didn’t even take a simple training course. Now, here you are after a week: a Level One Sojourner without a weapon or armor or any idea how to take care of yourself.”
“I’m here to study the animals; I’m not here to play the game. I’ll be fine, Zephyr.”
“When you’re in Verdia, you play the game whether you want to or not. I’m afraid you’re going to find that out the hard way. If you lose that camera you will not get a replacement. You’re going to ruin my record”
“Oh I see,” Laura shot back. “It’s really about you.”
“Maybe it is. I have the best record of any guide in Verdia. My pupils go on to be successful and happy. I trained the Shepherd when he was a beginner! I was the first creature in Verdia to speak to Viper!”
“I don’t know anything about shepherds and vipers and I don’t really care. I’m leaving the city now, Zephyr. I have work to do.”
“My time is up. I cannot go with you,” Zephyr replied.
“I know,” Laura said.
“There are plenty of Explorers who will help you if you ask.” Zephyr tried one more push.
Laura stopped, “I don’t want help. I don’t want someone slowing me down, making noise, and scaring away the animals. I’m here to take notes, study the archives and Omni’s evolution data, and get out. I don’t want to level up or kill monsters or make new friends in an exciting world or whatever it is the commercials say about this game.”
Zephyr let out a depressed whistle, “I sure hope Omni is watching out for you then. You’ll need him to keep you safe.”
“He has been so far. He assigned you to me.”
The little bird trilled proudly, “You are right about that. But your fortune could turn sour as soon as you walk through those gates.” Zephyr pointed to massive marble gates that faced north toward Verdia City.
“That’s why I’m not leaving through the gates. I’m going to use one of those teleport things. I’m going south where there’s less people.”
Zephyr gave a low whistle in defeat, “I guess that’s better than nothing. You should be safer down south. You’ll still have to go into town every time you log off and find a place to stay...”
“I know Zephyr,” Laura interrupted. “I listened to some of the stuff you said.”
“You should have listened to all of it. It looks like my time is up, Laura. I’m off to help another newcomer. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Zephyr.”
Laura watched as the bird spiraled and disappeared in a trail of smoke and sizzling sparks. She pulled the straps on her small backpack a little tighter and tucked the camera under the collar of her dark green frock. She did not understand why clothes in Verdia were so uncomfortable. Maybe I can buy a pair of jeans somewhere. Laura headed down the steps toward the swirling mists of a teleport gate. She entered her desired destination into her Character Manager- a small coastal town in the southeast called Bluegrass.
Gilgal, the Conquerors’ City
“We paid you up front in full like you wanted. We gave you a valuable weapon as a bonus. We asked you to do one simple thing in return.”
A huge steel boot slammed down near Wisp’s face. He was in a dark room somewhere in one of Gilgal’s many spires. The city was a sharp contrast with Ra’ah. Instead of blending with the surrounding environment - a dense taiga - Gilgal repelled nature. Massive stainless steel towers screamed high into the pale sky, reaching higher than any other structures in Verdia. Smokestacks from weapons factories and textile mills belched black and gray. Even at this late hour, bright lights burned throughout the city.
Wisp, the uncatchable Bandit, struggled in his bonds as the speaker continued, “Not only did you fail to complete your task, but you were caught by one of our guards stealing from one of our most respected members.”
Wisp found himself jerked off his feet to confront a scowling Brutalli face marked with scars. The Brutalli had deep red fur on his arms and back. He wore blood-red plate armor; two white crossed swords on his chest marked him as a Conqueror.
“What was the one thing we forbid you to do when we gave you that katana?”
Wisp continued to squirm, “Steal from a Conqueror.”
“And what did you do?”
Wisp grinned, his pale blonde hair hanging over his eyes, “I stole from a Conqueror.”
“You think it’s funny that your career in the Conquerors is finished? You’re done Wisp.” The Brutalli squeezed Wisp’s throat tightly.
“Lockjaw,” Wisp gasped, “I won’t do it again.”
“You’re right,” Lockjaw replied, “you won’t.” Lockjaw raised his other hand. He held a katana in its scabbard. He set the sword on a table beside him, “We’re taking the Spark Katana back, and whatever else you were carrying.”
Wisp dropped back to the floor. He struggled to sit upright on his knees, “You can’t do that!”
“We can and we will,” Lockjaw drew a knife and cut through Wisp’s bonds.
Wisp cautiously stood up, shivering; he was wearing only his underwear. Built like a gymnast, Wisp excelled at the twists and turns that came with a life of thieving. Most players who aspired to be Bandits chose an Agilus. Wisp, or Sean Churchill as he was known in the real world, chose to be a human; he wanted to be strong enough to fight his way out of tough situations. He searched furtively for an opportunity as he stood before the towering Brutalli. It appeared that he would have to wait for the opportunity to come to him.
Lockjaw pointed to the door, “I’ve been ordered to banish you from Conqueror territory. If you’re seen here again, you will be killed. I will kill you myself if I ever see you. You made me look like a fool. Now, I have to go explain to the Council how I’m going to fix the mess you made. You have ten minutes to leave this city and get as far away as possible.”
“Can I at least have my clothes?”
Lockjaw pulled out a black cloak tucked under his belt, “Take this worthless rag you were wearing.” He flung it at Wisp.
No sooner had the Bandit caught the cloak than he vanished. Completely. Lockjaw took a step back, his head swinging wildly as he tried to find his lost captive. He heard the soft patter of feet around him.
Suddenly, the katana whipped from its scabbard and floated gently toward Lockjaw, who flung his knife fruitlessly into the empty air near the sword. The Spark Katana described a figure eight and crackled with electricity.
“Nice,” Wisp’s voice came from empty space. “I never got to use this until now.”
The sword darted forward and buried itself in Lockjaw’s stomach with a wet sizzle. It sliced up, twisted, and ripped free, bringing pints of blood and bolts of lightning with it. Lockjaw stared down in disbelief and vanished in a green mist, signifying that his character had died. He would respawn at a nearby teleport gate within seconds, wearing only basic beginner’s robes. He would also be very angry.
Wisp reappeared, still clenching the cloak in one hand. Lockjaw’s armor clattered on the floor, along with everything he was carrying on him. Wisp stepped over the debris and searched the room for his belongings.
A chest occupied a dark corner of the room. The Bandit deftly picked the simple lock and was soon hopping into his clothes. His garb was nothing fancy- black pants, a tight black shirt, and the black cloak which he wrapped around the lower half of his face like a scarf. He let his blonde hair, so pale it was nearly white, fall forward; he thought it made him look cool. His dark gray eyes, like pools of smoke, flicked to the room’s only door as the latch turned. Wisp twirled the end of the black cloak and vanished.
A pair of humans stepped forward, followed by a salt-and-pepper furred Agilus. Wisp recognized this player - Grave - and prepared for the worst. Grave wore dark gray leather studded with rivets and metal plates, and had a shortbow slung across his back. With a clenched paw raised
in warning to his companions, Grave stepped forward.
“He’s still in here,” Grave spoke in a slow Southern drawl. The big cat sniffed the air; piercings in his ears jingled as they twitched, searching for any sound.
Wisp pressed against the wall. They had foolishly left the large steel door open. He inched forward. Just a few feet more.
WHAM! Grave leapt backward and kicked the door shut with one smooth motion. An oily black knife appeared from thin air in the Agilus’s hand. Huge, yellow cat eyes were staring right at Wisp, peering through him. The Bandit did not move or breathe. His hand trailed to the katana’s hilt.
Grave sniffed again, confused. He turned to the two men, “He done runt off. Let’s get downtown to pick up Lockjaw. I’m bettin’ he respawned at the central gate. Ya’ll bring him some clothes so he ain’t seen in his noob dress.”
“Why don’t we grab his armor, Grave?” One of the men asked, sheathing his sword.
A sly grin revealed black teeth, “He just got kilt by a Level Twenty Bandit. He done earnt his licks.”
When the door finally shut, Wisp took his first breath in what seemed like ages. He remained invisible, knowing he had only about a minute before the magic cloak lost its charge. The cloak’s magic was only good for three minutes an hour. His last heist had taken four minutes, leading to present difficulties.
Wisp waited until his cloak fizzled out, turning back into a piece of black cloth. He wrapped the end around his shoulders and pressed an ear to the large door. Wisp was almost certain that Grave was trying to trick him. He also had no idea what he was going to do once he entered the hallway outside the door. Maybe I don’t have to.
Wisp went back to the pile of armor that Lockjaw had left behind. After kicking it around for a second, he found the object he sought and grinned with satisfaction. He pulled a dagger from a sheath on his shin and cut the silver buckle off Lockjaw’s belt.
The buckle gleamed in the dim light; a strange symbol glowed softly on its face. Wisp rubbed it twice and grinned again, “I should have known that this guy would have some sort of recall item on him.”
Skilled artisans could place attributes and abilities on the items they made. Whoever had made the belt buckle endowed it with the ability to return its owner to a predetermined location. Everyone got a free recall to Verdia City once a day, and a separate recall was one of the most useful spells in Verdia. Players who could not perform a recall for themselves could pay a mage to send them somewhere. Players who could afford it would buy an item that could do the job after a short recharge period.
“Alright, let’s get out of here.” Wisp vanished in a swirl of blue smoke to a destination unknown.
Chapter 4
The Shepherd
Fallen Angels
Shards of the heavens rested in a sparse grassy plain. This area, known as Fallen Angels, was littered with spars of dark metal that rose hundreds of feet into the air - twisted black pillars. They were remnants of meteors or comets or some other cataclysmic event that struck Verdia in the ancient past - driving deep into the ground like arrows. Ingots of strange dark metal mingled with ash on the ground. Patches of earth were devoid of life. In the few places life existed, it struggled to hang on.
A temple rose beneath the largest pillar - a dark, foreboding place, erected by some forgotten Agilus civilization that had once inhabited this area. Dark weeds and twisting plants choked the earth around the pillar, sucking in the light even on the brightest of days.
Ben cautiously eyed this gloomy structure, several hundred yards off, as he threw chunks of metal into his wagon. He felt uneasy here; the entire Fallen Angels area had a dark nature about it that made Ben shiver. He had seen multiple adventurers enter the temple. Not one returned.
Max, Ben’s faithful donkey, did not seem to mind his dire surroundings. He chewed on dry grass, slowly following his master around the field as Ben collected burnt chunks of metal. Occasionally, he would flick his ears at a fly.
With a solid clang, a final ingot landed in the cart. Ben dusted off his hands and turned back toward the temple; he shivered. He hated this place, but it was the only spot in all of Verdia where he could find the strange metal. The metal was difficult to work, but nearly indestructible when he finished with it.
A full load gave Ben enough of the metal to last a good week. He hopped up on the cart and Max plodded down a path home - nearly an hour away. The ride was never boring; Ben enjoyed the scenery. A long journey home gave him time to plan his projects. He had a huge order that would be arriving later in the day, as well as the materials to fill it.
Ben did not know much about the special order. Slip, the blacksmith who had trained him, would bring the details when he delivered materials. Slip was Ben’s only contact with the greater world of Verdia. Ben had hated dealing with people and had been extremely frightened when he was in the city. He liked Slip because he was not a real person; NPCs were much easier to deal with than players.
It had taken a lot of convincing to get Slip to be Ben’s contact and break a host of NPC/human relations rules. Slip was a trainer; tasked with remaining near his blacksmithing hut and training anyone who wanted to learn about blacksmithing. Somehow Omni either did not notice or turned a blind eye whenever Slip left his post to visit Ben. Slip and Zephyr were more rebellious than the other programs in Verdia, but they were among the best at their jobs, so maybe Omni let it slide.
Therefore, Slip was the only “person” who ever saw Ben or knew where he lived. Because Slip was a tutorial program based in Ra’ah, he could move freely and invisibly throughout Verdia. This allowed him to visit Ben whenever he wanted without anyone following him. Slip took the form of a crotchety old man - his hands and face eternally stained from working with metal.
Max stopped and pricked his ears up. Ben felt a shiver run up his spine. He stole a glance back toward the temple; he could feel darkness seeping from the place like smoke spilling from a chimney. Max brayed nervously; tall grass beside the path rustled softly. Ben’s hand strayed to his hammer. Creatures in the area around the Fallen Angels were unusually aggressive and strong; one animal in particular often harassed Ben on his trips to the field.
Saberwolves!
Three dark ugly wolves bounded out of the grass, snarling and dripping saliva from their snouts. Their toothy mouths gleamed with two long, curving fangs that extended below their lower jaw. Twelve paws thumped toward the cart.
These wolves were larger than any wolf on Earth, and their fur was ragged and jet black. Blank white eyes, glassy and dead, burned their way into Ben’s mind. Max brayed again, this time in outright fear.
Ben pulled out his hammer and jumped down from the cart. He ran in front of his donkey and brandished the hammer, giving it a quick twirl. Flame burst around the blacksmith’s hammer, dripping hot sparks onto the dusty path. Ben wiggled his fingers and an orb of fire suddenly grew from the palm of his hand. Dancing, the flame hovered above Ben’s palm, hissing like a propane stove.
Claws scraped into the dirt, and the wolves stopped in their tracks. They continued to snarl and circled their way off the path, never facing away from Ben and the donkey. Ben moved with them, not allowing the wolves to flank him and faithful Max. Snarling, the three wolves backed off the road slowly and vanished into tall grass.
After the flames hissed out, the head on Ben’s hammer glowed cherry red for a bit before cooling off. A ring of scorched earth smoked near Ben’s feet where the sparks had dripped. Ben eyed the tall grass cautiously as he climbed back into his seat. Max crept forward, still frightened. Wolves could be heard howling in the distance; they had found another chance for a meal.
Ben rarely went to the fields without encountering these wolves, but this was the first time he had been truly threatened. Ben was not a fighter. He had killed a charging hurnt before, but that was mostly luck. A pack of wolves was a different matter, and he knew that more than three lurked around Fallen Angels. His heart pounded fiercely even after they
were miles away and safely in the forest.
After what seemed like only a brief time, Ben arrived at the cottage he called home. His cottage sat on several acres of farmland nestled in the thick forest, several miles off the road that ran from the Inner Sea to the southeastern coast. Only an Agilus with the sharpest eyes could spot the thin trail of smoke rising from Ben’s forge. His workshop, as big as an airplane hangar, was larger than his cabin; a flame burned inside night and day.
The cart creaked to a stop in front of the cabin. Ben heard a clank in his workshop, and ran to investigate the sound. He found his old master Slip, wizened and wrinkly as ever, neatly arranging strange dark metal rods onto an enormous pile of shiny cloth.
“Hey, Slip!”
Slip looked up from his work and winked at the boy, “Well good morning, Ben. You left early today.”
Ben removed his hammer from his belt and threw it onto a workbench, “Yeah, I was bored. What is all this stuff?” Ben walked around the pile, which filled his entire workshop floor.
“This,” Slip replied, “is a rainbow dragon.” The old man took off his cap and scratched his nearly bald scalp, “At least it used to be. A big ‘un too. Biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“Where did it come from?”
“A guy named Viper. One of the beta-testers: Level Thirty-One, Ultimate Class, real jerk. He offered me a lot of money to arrange a meeting with you. People just don’t seem to get that programs like me don’t have any use for money.”
“I don’t want to have to move again Slip. If anyone knows where I am...”
Slip held out his hand, “Say no more, my young student. I’m gettin’ pretty good at all this secretive stuff. I told him that you don’t meet with anybody. He was irritated - a pretty rude guy in general. Thought he was gonna’ threaten me but he left.”
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