“Yeah, save money. Look at what we saved,” the elf responded and squatted down in front of me. “Do you understand how much you’ve screwed everything up by being here and hearing all of that?”
“Of course. I could tell right away.” I wasn’t about to argue.
“What’s the point of going over everything with him?” roared Gorotul. “We’ll add him to the clan’s blacklist and smash him if we ever see him again. He won’t even leave the city.”
“Gorotul, do you even know why you’re still in the clan council?” the elf turned on him.
“Because I’m cool!” The half-orc proudly stuck out his chest.
“Because you’re one of the founders. And that’s the only reason.”
“What did I say this time?”
“Gerv?” The elf looked at the scout.
“Look, Gorotul,” the scout started just as gently as before. “If a serious clan gets all up in arms about a Level 6 noob, everyone will notice. Their analysts will all wonder what we’re doing, and soon enough, they’ll guess that the noob knows or saw something he shouldn’t. And they’ll be right. Then, whoever figures that out first will promise to protect him, help him develop, and give him things (which is both easy and cheap), and the noob will tell them everything—and willingly. We’re screwed, and someone else has hit it big. That will get the Hounds of Death breathing down our necks if they don’t just kill us outright. And to top it all off, once the information gets to our old friends, they’ll make life interesting for us as well.”
“But aren’t they going to anyway?”
“Of course not. If our plan works, we’ll have the Hounds of Death behind us,” the elf explained to her dim-witted friend.
“So what are we going to do with you?” She looked at me thoughtfully.
“Stalemate,” I muttered.
“What?” asked Gorotul.
“Stalemate. You can’t do anything much with me holding you back, but you could ruin everything for yourselves. I can’t stand up to you, though I’m going to be a threat to your clan for the foreseeable future. Stalemate.”
“Good job. You’re smart,” the elf announced.
“What’s wrong with you?” Gorotul snarled. “A threat! I’ll eat you right now! A threat…”
“Shh!” The elf suddenly hushed him. “I made up my mind.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Gerv looked at her sideways.
“It’s the best option,” she nodded.
Elina the Wise, leader of the Thunderbirds, invited you to join her clan.
If you accept, you will become a member and receive the following bonuses:
+5% experience received
-7% damage done by opponents
+4% ability to see objects’ hidden attributes
+4% damage done by all weapon types
+5% protection from cold
+5% protection from fire
+15% healing received (25% when healed by another clan member)
+3% chance of receiving rare and hidden quests
You can fix two items each day using money taken from the clan account.
20% cheaper prices for vehicle rentals in areas that respect your clan
Additional bonus: Because you are joining the clan at the invitation of its leader, you get +10% items in dungeons (when playing with a group made up of clan members).
Your bonuses can be modified or increased by fostering respect within the clan.
I shook my head and said, “Wow!”
“Does shaking your head mean no?” Elina was surprised once again.
“No. I mean, it doesn’t mean that. It just means I’m taken off guard. It wouldn’t have surprised me if you decided to cut me up and scatter my pieces around Aegan. This is much more surprising.”
“If that were possible, we’d have cut you up five minutes ago,” said Gerv. “But you’d just respawn.”
“So are you going to accept the invitation?” asked Elina, who was starting to get nervous.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I cautioned. “Like Spartacus said, let’s figure things out before we get into the arena.”
“Who said what?” asked Gorotul.
“He was a famous tank,” summarized Gerv, giving an answer obviously informed by bitter experience talking with the half-orc.
“Why ‘was’?” continued Gorotul.
“They weren’t able to buff him fast enough before he got into a fight, and he was killed. They even got his account!”
“Oh, come on, that doesn’t happen.” Gorotul pressed on, “What server did he play on?”
I couldn’t help myself. “I heard of him, too. He played on the Italian server. The Roman server, to be exact.”
“See who we have to work with?” Elina said sadly and gloomily.
“It’s okay.” I tried not to smile as I looked at a perplexed Gorotul. “But back to the matter at hand. I’d like to know what you expect from me and what I get out of it. Who will I owe what?”
Gorotul shook his head in annoyance at the sting of a Level 6 noob rolling out with a bunch of questions. Still, he stayed quiet.
“What do we want? We want you to keep your mouth shut about everything you heard here. Really, that’s in your interests too. If that information gets out, we’ll be well within our rights to do what Gorotul suggested. We’ll name you a Clan Enemy, and you’ll die wherever you are in Fayroll—even in the Gray Lands. If nothing leaves this room, you’ll have the support and protection of the clan. You can level-up in the areas we control, and you can get clothes and weapons from the clan storehouse. Not epic, of course, but better than the crap you have. Basically, your standard agreement.”
“But what if the information gets out, and I have nothing to do with it?”
“There’s a spell called True Word. Ridiculously rare and expensive. But if we have a leak and you say it isn’t you, I’ll shell out for it to make sure.”
“There’s also Truth Powder, and it’s cheaper,” noted Gerv.
“Sure, it’s cheaper, though it has a 10% margin of error,” Elina nodded. “That’s fine for little stuff, but not something as important as this.”
“Got it,” agreed Gerv.
“Well, you obviously wouldn’t be buying it for my sake. You’d want to find the rat,” I noted reasonably.
“Of course.” Elina wasn’t going to argue. “I won’t spend a copper coin on you. No offense.”
“And one more condition,” the scout butted in. “You can only leave the clan in two cases. Either you have Elina’s permission (and only hers), or you’re our sworn enemy. If you leave the clan on your own, we’ll hunt you down wherever you are.”
“Do I have to sign something? And will I have any responsibilities? As a member of the clan?”
“You don’t have to sign anything,” confirmed Elina.
“The fortress sergeant will explain your rights and responsibilities to you,” Gerv said with a wink that spoke volumes.
“And if anything happens, you’ll have me to answer to!” Gorotul was roaring again.
I looked at them thoughtfully, remembering how Willie said that clans are good, and strong clans especially good, and asked my last question, “And what if there are three orcs promising to put me on a conveyor belt to the respawn point?”
“Don’t worry about it, warrior,” said Gorotul. “We’ll make mincemeat of them. PKers don’t get a long leash with us. Touch our noobs, and we’ll hunt you down. It’s a good deed, and we have some fun while we’re doing it. We’re the only ones who can smack our noobs around.” And with that, he guffawed loudly.
“Then I’m in!” I said and tapped the button to accept.
Congratulations! You joined the Thunderbirds.
You are currently a volunteer in the clan.
“Will I be a volunteer for long?” I asked Gerv.
“You start as a volunteer; that’s how our clan works. Then, a month or two later (or earlier if you prove yourself), you become a kinsman. Th
at’s when you’re a full clan member.”
“What then?”
“What then? When you get to Level 120, you earn respect in the clan and, if the clan council deems it necessary and possible, you can become an officer. Then, you can invite new members, you get new bonuses, and you get a nice badge next to your name. After that, it’s deputy leader and, well…”
“I’m not going anywhere yet,” announced Elina. “Though we could skip the volunteer stage. Maybe we should make him a kinsman?”
“Why skip it?” Gerv asked. “First, that’s giving him too much. Second, we can’t put the spotlight on him like that. People will start asking why he gets special treatment, and we can’t have that. Let him run around with everyone else.”
“Agreed,” Elina nodded her head. “Okay, get over to the fortress.”
“Me?” I sheepishly asked.
“Who else?” the elf sarcastically responded.
“How? I have no idea where it is!” I was taken aback.
“As if I didn’t know that.” I was starting to think the young lady wasn’t quite the pleasant person I thought. I was going to have an interesting time of it.
“Gerv, take him there.”
Gerv took me by the hand and read from some kind of scroll. The last thing I heard in the room was Elina, “Well, how much money did we save?”
Another blue rainbow spun out in front of me, and I found myself standing on a cobblestone square.
When I imagined their “clan fortress,” I thought of something from my distant childhood: Walter Scott, Dumas, or, especially, something from Ivanhoe—some kind of forbidding castle built out of enormous blocks, a drawbridge, turrets, dungeons, and a courtyard in the middle.
There was a courtyard, but that was it. I mean, yes, it was all there, but not how I imagined. It was more like an overgrown country house belonging to some oilman or mid-level delegate somewhere in Nikolina Gora[6].
“Not impressed?” Gerv asked ironically.
“Nope,” I honestly replied.
“Well, good.”
“Why?” I didn’t understand at first, though the truth began to dawn on me. “Ah-ha! I get it! The more unassuming it looks from the outside, the fewer people you’ll have trying to figure out what’s inside?”
“Exactly. Well done!” Gerv nodded.
“But other people could figure that out, too.”
“Not everyone. Gorotul still has no idea why we like to keep things on the down-low.”
“Draw it for him,” I suggested. “Maybe he understands pictures better than he understands words.”
“You’re just a volunteer, and don’t forget that,” the scout turned serious. “We’re talking about a deputy clan leader here. Oh, and the clan master for combat. He’s no genius, but there’s no one better when it comes to planning raids. If he ever invites you to go with him into a dungeon or on a raid, you’ll see for yourself. Anyway, let’s go find Sergeant. I’ll turn you over to him for training, and then I have some things I need to do. Quite a few, in fact…”
As I had imagined, the fortress was much bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Either the Thunderbirds were well acquainted with the fifth dimension, or there was an extra paid option I didn’t know about when you buy a clan fortress. (I was much more inclined to believe the latter option.) One way or another, there were rooms, twists, passages, and balustrades everywhere.
Gerv quickly ran through the whole maze, from time to time, pointing things out. “That’s the training hall,” “That’s the small clan storehouse. You aren’t allowed in there yet,” “And that’s the big clan storehouse. You’ll never be allowed in there,” “That’s the main hall.” After seven minutes or so of that, he stopped at the entrance to a small room.
“We’re here. What’s with the long face?”
“I’m trying to figure out how I’ll find my way out of here. You’re about to take off, and I have no idea where the exit is. I’ll wander around until I die of starvation.”
“Don’t worry, someone will show you where to go. Sergeant, are you here?”
“Come in,” rang out a deep bass voice. The echo boomed around and across the room.
Once we walked in, I saw that the owner of the voice was a bearded (as if there’s any other kind) dwarf with powerfully built arms and a potato of a nose. From the label above his head, I saw that his name was, in fact, Sergeant.
“Huh, so Sergeant is your name,” I said, voicing my surprise. “I thought that was just your rank.”
“It’s both, and it’s a way of life,” bellowed Sergeant. “Gerv, you’ve got to be kidding me. What, are we going to be like that Armedakil and start recruiting right in front of Noobland? Why not? We have plenty of leaders, we have so much money to spend on training that we don’t know what to do with it, and we have good players coming out our ears…”
“Okay, okay, I hear you,” the scout responded, waving his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “This is a one-time thing. Don’t worry about the details, but it’s true. Elina invited him herself, actually.”
“And what now?” the dwarf muttered. “Level 6! We only take Level 25 and higher. We decided that at the council, and Elina agreed. And now you bring me this Level 6 loser.”
“How am I a loser?” I was rightly outraged. “Yes, I’m a noob. Yes, I’m dressed like an idiot. But how the hell am I a loser?”
“Volunteer! Nobody said you could talk!” The dwarf turned on me. “Your job is to stand there and shut up!”
“Oh, screw you!” I quickly responded. “What is this, the army? And who are you to tell me to shut up? My parent? My boss? You think I signed a contract to come here so I could have a bunch of beards start telling me off?”
“Wha-a-a-at?” The gnome’s hand started toward his belt, obviously going for his battle ax.
“Ye-e-e-es?” I mocked him. “You can’t kill clanmates, that’s one of the main rules of the game. And if you do, you’ll be kicked out of the clan in disgrace.”
“He’s right,” interrupted Gerv, who obviously watched the conflict with interest. “You can’t kill him. I mean, you can, but then…”
“I won’t train him,” the dwarf said in a completely calm voice. “I won’t, and that’s final.”
“It’s your job,” Gerv replied very quietly and, I thought, with a hint of a threat. “You’ve been stepping out of line quite a bit recently. Not happy with this, frustrated with that. And twice this month, you disobeyed direct orders from the council. Maybe you’re starting to think a bit much of yourself?”
“If you think I’m out of line, why don’t I just leave the clan?” The dwarf was getting himself worked up again. “You can train these puppies yourself.”
“You think we couldn’t find another trainer? Of course, we could. But do you think you’ll find another clan that’s been as loyal to you as we’ve been? I’m not so sure. Really, we need to have a serious conversation, and Elina shares that sentiment. We’ll revisit this topic when she gets to the fortress. In the meantime, put this volunteer through basic training, so he isn’t just standing there doing nothing.”
“Though let’s stay away from all that military nonsense. I had just about enough of that in the army. Did you serve, by the way?” I asked the dwarf.
“No,” he answered shortly.
“I thought so. Paid your way out of it, and now you go around throwing commands at everyone else.”
“Nope, didn’t pay a thing. I just wasn’t right for it, and that’s all you need to know. Have a seat.”
I sat down in a chair in front of the table while he settled into the one behind it. Gerv looked at us.
“Well, it doesn’t look like anyone’s killing anybody today, so I’m going to head off.”
He pulled out a scroll, I heard a “psh-sh-sh” sound, and he disappeared in a small puff of smoke.
“All right, so the basics,” the dwarf began in a slow droning voice.
Covering those basics ended up ta
king two hours. I heard what I was allowed to do, what I wasn’t allowed to do, what I was required to do, and what I had the right to do. To be fair, what I was required to do turned out to be a bit longer list than what I had the right to do. The dwarf went through his spiel confidently, as this obviously wasn’t his first rodeo, but without feeling or interest—and obviously thinking about something else.
Honestly, I didn’t accept Elina’s proposal just because I didn’t have a choice. You always have a choice in life. For example, I could have hit the log-out button. Thank God, that was still an option. It’s just that I always thought life in a clan was easier, and Fat Willie confirmed that. But life as a Thunderbird was ridiculously complex. Things were simpler back when I played games; a bunch of people got together to make it easier to get through raids or dungeons. Having proven players that you could trust with your back was way better than just going with whoever and whatever you came across. That also gave you resources you could check with when you were in the middle of a quest, saving you the time it takes to get out of the game and crawl through forums. In some situations, you could even borrow in-game money. And, again, clans gave you pretty good attribute bonuses in a bunch of games.
This was much stricter. I mean, sure, all of that was still true, but at the same time, everyone now had their job to do. Every member, for example, gave the clan 5 percent of the money they earned. Once a week, all members Level 180 and above had to take the clan’s newest members through some dungeon or cave, help them beat it, and protect them throughout the process. And there was a strict rule about spending time online—anyone who didn’t log into the game for two weeks in a row without letting the game masters know ahead of time was summarily kicked out with no chance of appeal. Everything that happened in the clan had to stay in the clan. The punishment for leaking any secret information was also getting kicked out, and the leak could be named an enemy of the clan if that information was used against it. The reverse was also true: all members were required to report any interesting or useful information they came across.
Then there was information about quests, since all MMORPGs on some level, are based on fighting, beating quests, and how the world is designed. PKs, social life, crafting, and roleplaying all come out of those three pillars, and without them, you simply can’t have an MMORPG. If the world isn’t well-designed or is imbalanced, the players can’t buy into it and go find something else. If the quests are all easy and uniform, players get bored. Sure, you can do a quest like “Kill ten foxes,” or “Collect five hip joints from jumping skeletons,” or “Take the letter to the old goblin” once, twice, even five times. But who needs a game where that’s all you do? And MMORPGs are about everyone fighting everyone else, but nobody would want to play anything that amounted to some kind of meat grinder. You need simple quests to help you level-up and have fun along the way, but the heart of the game has to be storyline quests traced across the canvas of the game. And the Fayroll world had superquests—both epic and hidden. Epic quests let you go through tough, multilevel tasks and get commensurate rewards: the respect and friendship of non-player factions and epic and rare items that were hard or even impossible to get during normal gameplay. Hidden quests were strings of tasks you performed to get something incredibly valuable: the support (including military support) of a whole group of NPCs, items from sets, or unique abilities. They were very hard to find, and players generally came across them randomly by doing something completely unrelated or because someone from the game admin told them about them, which happened very rarely and was frowned on by that same admin. And there weren’t any quest guides for hidden quests, which made them unique. Lone players who found hidden quests preferred to keep quiet about them and clans who learned about them immediately classified that information. That last part made sense, seeing as how every clan had its analysts and spies trying to dig up any scrap of information they could find, and they were willing to pay good money to get it—even real-life money. Keeping information about epic and hidden questions from your clan was high treason.
More Than a Game Page 6
