by Kevin Murphy
“Yup, that’s me,” replied Cline after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve got three bags of supplies, too.”
Dakkon shook his head. With supplies like those, of course Cline stuck out. The weight of several bags would mean he had no chance of escaping should he need to leg it.
As Dakkon approached the crowd, he noticed a player speaking to a guard and frantically pointing down a street in the opposite direction of the commotion. The only other guard Dakkon could find with a quick scan of the area was also being urged away from the crowd. Dakkon immediately felt a heavy sensation in his stomach.
“Cline, I’ve got a really bad feeling. Something shady is going on,” Dakkon thought to his friend. “I’m coming to you. Be ready to drop the poles and ladder and hand me a bag or two. We’re gonna leg it.”
“Drop them? But—” began Cline.
“We won’t get 10 paces with the damned things,” Dakkon interjected. “Now get ready, I may need to come in hot.”
“Roger,” affirmed Cline.
During his short exchange, both guards had been persuaded to leave their posts in a hurry. Whatever was about to happen couldn’t be good for Cline.
Dakkon waded into the crowd, which parted cautiously. Though the crowd was letting down their guard somewhat, eager for a show, Dakkon suspected that any sign of potential harm directed at them might just encourage them to find their entertainment at home. He could work with that.
As he moved forward, Dakkon could begin to see the shape of the situation. Three men stood around Cline, each about five paces away—loosely encircling him. Propped against Cline, there was a large ladder and two poles, each about 3 meters long. Slung on his back beside his bow, Cline wore a heavy-looking backpack. At his feet, there were two more bags made of thick brown cloth with handles and shoulder slings. Cline was bending down to pick up a bag when the player in front of him spoke up.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll carry your bags for you,” said one of the three men. He wore baggy green and tan cloth clothes and a threatening false smile. On his left hip were strapped two scabbarded daggers in the shape of an ‘X.’ On his right hip, a small, hand-sized crossbow.
“That’s all right,” said Cline. “I’ll just wait for my friends to bring the cart around.”
The ‘X’-daggered player stepped closer to Cline and stopped. “Well, well,” he said. “That’s an awfully odd lump you’ve got on your forehead.”
Another player made his way toward the dagger-wearing man from outside of the crowd, then whispered in his ear.
“Umm, Dakkon…” Cline pleaded, mentally.
“I’m on it. Here we go!”
Dakkon pointed at the new arrival’s forehead and thought the words ‘Burning Sigil.’ With an unsteady hand he drew a shaky shape on the player’s forehead. As the player didn’t cry out immediately, Dakkon knew the skill would do no damage until he activated the skill a second time.
Dakkon stepped forward out of the crowd and yelled, “That guy’s in the tournament!” All eyes turned to Dakkon, then to where he was pointing. Before anyone had the chance to get more than a glimpse of his shoddy work, Dakkon activated his sigil.
[You have burned Taymer for 22 damage.]
[Attacking players or NPCs within city limits can carry sizable repercussions. You may be arrested, killed, or barred from reentry.]
The man’s forehead flared orange and he let out a surprised, and pained, yelp. His companion jumped away. The crowd took a wary step back, unsure of the situation and growing cautious. Dakkon rushed up to Cline’s side and took the oversized satchel held out to him.
[You have burned Taymer for 21 damage.]
The situation had not sowed the panic he hoped it would. The crowd was surprised, but looking onward. With a bag slung over his shoulder, Dakkon concentrated on two small flames sprouting from the tips of both of his third—and longest—fingers.
“Want to know what level 120 fire magic feels like?” Dakkon boasted, then thought his trigger word, “Flame Lick!”
Both middle fingers erupted in large spouts of fire, shooting upward into the air. An icy surge coursed through Dakkon’s limbs from the rapid mana consumption. The circle of the crowd broke and began to flee.
“Now or never!” Dakkon yelled to Cline through their mental link.
Cline picked up the third bag and squeezed it to his chest with both arms. The two bolted away along with the crowd, leaving the poles and ladder to fall and clatter to the cobblestones.
\\\
Running clear from the rest of the fleeing crowd proved surprisingly easy considering Dakkon had caused the commotion. No one who’d seen the tall flames up close wanted anything to do with him. Soon afterward, the pair exited the city. It was either by sheer luck or a convincing bluff that they weren’t chased down, though Dakkon was sure that any credibility to his claim of being a powerful magic wielder would have been shot seconds after he turned tail and ran. Still, two large pillars of fire might very well have been enough to make any potential pursuers think twice.
The pair walked together, regaining their stamina in relative silence save for long breaths and sighs of relief. They both knew that they’d gotten out of a sticky situation, and though Dakkon wasn’t stopped by guards while he exited the city, he wasn’t sure that what he’d done would be well received by the local authorities once it had been properly reported. He very well might not be welcome in Turlin when next he returned.
“Did you make that guy’s head explode?” Cline suddenly asked in an awed tone.
“What? Oh! No. Hah. It didn’t do much damage at all—I just surprised him by singeing his forehead a little,” said Dakkon.
“You surprised him by setting his forehead on fire?” Cline asked. “Gods, Dakkon. Don’t ever throw me a surprise party.”
Dakkon grinned. “Hmm, so, if I promise you that, then you definitely won’t see the surprise coming.”
“On second thought,” said Cline in a sardonic tone. “I’ll always be expecting surprise parties from here on out. So, don’t trouble yourself. The surprise is preemptively ruined.”
“Ah, darn,” said Dakkon.
The two walked in silence again for a few moments longer.
“Thanks, man,” said Cline. “That could have been a lot worse than it was.”
“What’re you on about?” said Dakkon. “I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. You know, except for possibly getting us barred from town and pissing off some likely tournament hunters.”
“You know what I mean,” said Cline with a grin.
“I sort of acted in the moment there, but now that I’ve had some time to think, I’m not so sure I did the right thing. Those guys clearly didn’t have tournament sigils. They might’ve tried to haul you off somewhere, but unless someone else actually participating in the tournament showed up—or they dragged you into an inn to try and reset your spawn point—then I really doubt you were in any danger. If I’d thought of that a little sooner, we might’ve been able to get out of there a little more cleanly.”
“You’re something else, Dakkon,” said Cline, shaking his head. “Thinking about the long term? In a crisis? You’ve just got to go with your gut and make things happen, dude. You did good.”
“Well that’s high praise, coming from a robot,” said Dakkon, now with his own grin. “I bet you could’ve calculated all of the probabilities and chosen the—” Dakkon pitched his voice to sound like an 80s-styled movie robot, “99.98 percent most efficient outcome.”
“What makes you think that I didn’t?” asked Cline.
“Hmmm.”
“Oh, come on. You oughtta know by now that it doesn’t work like that,” said Cline. “I’m a real boy—more or less. Honestly, I panicked back there.” In a sense he was right. Cline was the only NPC who seemed to know a thing about the outside world, and they weren’t sure why. He even understood pop cultural allusions and used them as everyone else did. In Chronicle, he may as well have been the genui
ne article.
“Aw, I’m just giving ya guff. Still, I think it’s best that we stick to the plan and keep well away from cities for a nice, long while,” said Dakkon.
“I’m with you there,” agreed Cline.
By now, Cline and Dakkon had been through more than a few trying situations together. After they met each other day one, they’d raided a lost temple, saved a village from goatmen, trudged through a harrowing and hostile forest, then vanquished the spirit of an ancient, rampaging wolf. Facing danger and adventure together was becoming their ‘norm,’ and Dakkon had never once thought of Cline as anything less—or more—than human. Picking on Cline’s main, intangible, and highly-confidential difference from him was all in good fun.
“So, fire magic, huh?” asked Cline. “That certainly didn’t look like beginner-level stuff.”
“Oh, that’s right! I’ve got something I wanted to talk to you about.” Dakkon leaned in conspiratorially. “How do you activate your abilities, Cline?”
“Huh?” said Cline, surprised by the odd question. “I just sort of aim and think the name of the skill and it happens. Why?”
“Hmm. Have you ever tried just doing it without thinking about the skill’s name?” Dakkon asked.
“Uh… no?” Cline said in a confused tone. “Is that even possible?”
“As it turns out—and save your snark until I’m done—I haven’t used a skill the correct way until earlier today. I just thought you had to force them to come out.”
Seeing Cline’s eyes widen then light up with glee at the ridiculousness, Dakkon waved his hand to keep his friend silent. “I said save the snark! Now, look here,” Dakkon said and raised his right index finger as if to scold Cline.
“Flame Lick,” Dakkon said. A small flame popped up from the tip of his finger. He released his low-effort concentration, and the flame went out. “Now, I’ll do it without the skill.”
Cline couldn’t manage to keep a grin off his face, but Dakkon had an idea of what might do the trick. He held up the same finger as before, and after a moment of concentration, the small flame reappeared. “Flame Lick,” he said again. The small flame shot up three meters into a column of roaring flame.
Cline’s jaw dropped. It was Dakkon’s turn to sport a smug little grin.
“What the hell!” shouted Cline, forgetting himself. “You mean to tell me that you can just supercharge your skills by thinking about them for a little bit! Bollocks!”
Cline dropped the bag at his feet, unslung the second bag’s straps from his shoulders, setting it on the ground, then immediately grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow. He pointed the bow and arrow toward a thin, nearby tree with tan-white bark. After a moment of concentration, he breathed in, drew, then shot an arrow at the tree and—for the first time that Dakkon had ever seen—Cline missed.
Cline’s cheeks flushed. “What do you mean, you can use a skill without thinking its name!”
“It’s hard, right?” said Dakkon. “I just thought that thermomancy was a pain in the ass to learn, but as it turns out—”
“It turns out that you’re an absurdly lucky idiot,” Cline finished Dakkon’s statement in his own way.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Dakkon confirmed.
“Dakkon, that’s got to be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard, yet—somehow—I’m unspeakably envious.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Dakkon. “It’s a lot of work, but I’m willing to bet you can learn to do it… hmm… nearly as quickly as I did.”
“Nearly, huh?” asked Cline, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah. Nearly… You know, maybe,” said Dakkon. “No guarantee you’ll be able to aim well while you do it, though.” Dakkon grinned.
“Oh, shut up,” said Cline. “I was aiming off-center with a homing skill to see if it worked!”
“Oh? Homing arrow, eh?” said Dakkon with a yawn. “Sure, I believe you.”
Cline pinched his lips together and glared at Dakkon for a moment, then both of their stern faces cracked into wide smiles.
“That’s a damned good find, Dakkon,” said Cline. “There’s no way others don’t know about this, but it’s nice to add a new weapon to the arsenal. Since I’ve never heard anything about casting… ‘manually?’” Cline named the method, “you can bet people are keeping tight-lipped about it.”
“I think the same,” said Dakkon. “I’m beginning to suspect that there’s a lot more depth to these game mechanics than anyone might have guessed.”
\\\
The remainder of their walk back to Qirim’s cottage was filled, not by conversation, but with concentration. Via silent agreement, Cline shot arrows at trees as they passed—trying to reach that epiphany moment where his skill worked without the need to invoke it outright—and Dakkon worked on his fire magic. He didn’t yet know what would be the most efficient way to grind experience for his new class. He’d have to determine if manually casting had any edge over thinking a skill’s name. He was sure, however, that doing both and creating an explosively powerful effect was not the best route to take. He’d already used up two full mana bars this way without so much as a skill increase. Considering that he had two bonuses which granted him additional EXP, double-casting spells did not appear to be the key to super-efficient grinding.
By the time they had reached the cottage, Dakkon had attained level four as a fire evoker. For level two he focused entirely on manually casting, and for all of level three he invoked the skill’s name. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t determine a tangible difference. During that time, Cline managed to activate a skill manually once—though he wasn’t certain if it was a fluke or not. Dakkon supposed it might be a lot harder to learn a whole new methodology when you’ve already got one that works.
[Lina has burned you for 83 points of damage. Remaining HP 592/675]
“Hey, what the hell!” cried Dakkon. While he walked, he had been paying more attention to figuring out the ins and outs of his new skills than he had to his environment. When the small jet of flame caught him in the neck, it did so without the heat-dampening barrier he’d grown accustomed to shrouding himself with. Dakkon scowled and snapped his head toward the singeing offender.
“Peace, Dakkon,” Lina said with a chuckle. “I saw you practicing and couldn’t help myself. Congratulations on becoming a fire mage. Just consider the firebolt as a sort of friendly hazing.”
“Oh, you’re back?” Cline said. “Did you get your ‘business’ taken care of?”
Lina hadn’t made her activities in the city clear, but the haste with which she departed had made the matter seem rather urgent. By not bringing her right hand, Merri, with her, it was obviously some private affair.
“I did at that,” Lina responded without offering more of an explanation.
While the two spoke, Dakkon was eager for a bit of petty, instant gratification. With the thought of, ‘two can play at that game’ on his mind, he invoked his ‘Burning Sigil’ ability and used his right index finger to draw a short zigzag pattern on Lina’s arm. If she had noticed, she hadn’t shown any sign of it.
“Burning Sigil,” Dakkon thought, grinning. He watched as the zigzag caught fire.
[You have attempted to burn Lina, but your target is immune.]
After a short delay, he received the same message again.
Dakkon’s jaw dropped. Immunity was a very big deal. It was, of course, defense of the highest possible order, and not something games tended to hand out lightly. When he crept his line of sight up from his interface’s text box to Lina’s wickedly grinning face, an ominous shiver ran down his spine. It was apparent that his new magic would be of no use should the two ever need to face each other.
“You look like you’ve just found out something interesting,” Lina said, playfully. After studying Dakkon’s reaction for another moment she added, “Full fire immunity is a peculiarity reserved only for the Master of Fire. To think that you held such a unique power in your hand, then returned it to me…” she
shook her head apologetically. “I really am grateful, Dakkon, but you’ll never have that chance again.”
“Well, then,” said Dakkon, “I’ll just have to hope that I’ve gained a particularly grateful ally.”
“Dakkon, I’ve given you a full coin purse, a red-carpet entry into my line of work, found you a shelter to lay low in outside of Turlin, and protected you on the way here—if I were any more grateful things would get indecent.”
Cline’s ears visibly perked up and he shifted his weight uneasily at the insinuation.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, but you were heading to Turlin anyway, right?” replied Dakkon.
“Be that as it may, I feel that the best way to sum up my gratitude is to point out that—so long as you have that silly mark on your forehead—killing you would not only be easy for me, but beneficial. Just imagine flicking your wrist and gaining free stat points.”
Dakkon had suspected that might come up at some point. She was right, too. Killing him and Cline would have been child’s play for Lina—they’d seen what she could do—but, she was still willing to help them out. Unless she was fattening them up for a future tournament harvest, she was better than trustworthy.
“Fair point,” Dakkon conceded. “So, does that mean that the other elemental masters are immune to their respective elements?”
“How should I know?” Lina said, indignantly. “It’s not like we all have each other on speed dial. But if you ever find that your grand strategy is to electrocute the Master of Lightning, then I’d suggest you reconsider.”
“Seems like good advice,” said Dakkon. Cline nodded.
“Anyway,” Lina said, breaking the pace of the conversation and pointing beyond Cline and Dakkon. “It looks like we have company.”
Turning his head, Dakkon saw them. Three figures wearing darkly-died cloaks with hoods raised and billowing in the wind. A large, gray wolf with sharp blue-green eyes walked by their side as though stalking game.
