by M Helbig
I shook his hand and gave him as big a smile as I could muster. I imagined it looked more like I was constipated than grateful, but it was the thought that counted. “Sure was. Thanks again.”
He eyed the spear he’d taken out. “Is it OK if I take that? The potion was a bit expensive for someone like me. I only brought 100 gold into this game.”
I did owe it to him, but having a weapon would’ve really increased my damage output, and by extension my chances of survival. I gave the spear a few experimental thrusts. The motion felt awkward. It was probably due to me not unlocking the skill yet, but the weapon just didn’t feel like the right choice for me. Seeing I didn’t have a use for it, I handed him the spear. He’d been the one who killed the lizardman after all. Plus, I had a feeling that if he’d let me die, it would’ve dropped to the ground for him to loot anyway.
“Good to see there are still some honorable people in this world. On my first day, an elderly woman trailed a pack of wolves on me, and not long after some young person just stood there and laughed as a badger bit me to death when I got stunned. If you obtain a little better gear and hit level three in the next few days, send me a message, and I shall see if Decrona will let you join us.”
I nodded excitedly like the newbie I was. “Sure thing, but at the rate I’m going I’ll be level one forever—or at least until I run out of money.”
“Without gear, I’d stick to the bunnies in the field below this plateau, though you should definitely get a weapon if you can afford one. Safety is paramount with the penalty you receive for death in here. Though remember: the better your gear, the higher the penalty gets.”
I was floored by his generosity and the level of help he was giving me. I barely had anything, so I tried to hand him a gold piece. He declined.
“You’ll need that more than I, but it is appreciated. Well, I must leave. Decrona has begun messaging.”
“Sure thing. Say, if you see that guy I was looking for again, could you let me know?”
“Of course. Do you know the way back down?”
“Yup, and thanks again.” I waved goodbye to him. He soon disappeared from view as I made my way back down the plateau.
If The Clothes Make the Man, What Does This Used Sack Say About Me?
As I re-entered the city, I decided to finally listen to the advice of Olaf and the yellow, violence-prone sage whose instructions I’d stupidly ignored in the tutorial. Sarge may have been a surly bastard, but he was right. I needed to get some gear.
I wasn’t sure where to go in the massive city. Most of the buildings were made of huge, white stones, and none seemed to have roofs of the same color. Some of the larger ones were so tall I couldn’t see the tops, though I wasn’t sure what purpose that height served, as anything past the third story was too long and spindly to possibly hold anything.
I couldn’t make heads or tails of the elaborate script on the signs They might or might not have been in another language. I tried asking for directions, but one look at me and the only response I got was laughter. After twenty minutes of going in circles and ducking into shops that apparently only sold gear that was either too expensive, that was level restricted, or whose use I couldn’t figure out, I finally tried the interface. To my shock, a map appeared with red dots to label the places that sold new player equipment. I picked the closest one. It was only a block away.
I opened the thin door (probably that way to account for the players who didn’t put anything in Strength) and was greeted a balding, middle-aged man with the worst combover I’d ever seen. His plastered-on smile screamed used-car salesman.
“Hello, good sir, do you know what you’re looking for or would you prefer our starter special?” He seemed a little too pleased with himself. When I didn’t respond, he hastily added, “The starter special includes an excellent assortment of every gear slot a low-level person has. It also comes at a discount from purchasing every piece separately. Buy it and you’ll be slaughtering badgers, bats, and moles with ease. Only ten gold.”
A trade window appeared in front of me as I looked at this starter package he was talking about. As I focused more closely on each item, I could see he hadn’t been lying, and that if I bought each item individually, it would’ve cost fifteen gold. “Where’s the stuff for the back and finger slots?”
The merchant rolled his eyes. “Items for those slots are far too expensive for most newbs. Back items don’t start dropping until you get to level-five mobs. Rings and other finger items start appearing around level twenty. As you can imagine, their cost is relative to those levels—thus far out of your price range.”
“Ahh.” I decided to buy the package as it seemed like a good deal, but at the last second I noticed it was conspicuously lacking one other important item I knew couldn’t be out of my budget. “What kind of weapons do you have?”
The trade screen disappeared, and he put the bag away. He beckoned me to a rack in the back of the store. As I got closer, I could see why he put them in the back. Rust and rotting wood seemed to be the primary components in new player weapon construction. I gingerly picked up a longsword. I’d already unlocked the skill for it, but it just didn’t seem like the right weapon for me. It was too slow. The iron knuckles felt much the same as soon as I picked them up; I didn’t even bother to try them out. Knives required me to get closer than I liked to my opponents. The club was too bulky and slow. Spears were too awkward, and I didn’t like that they made me defenseless if my opponent got past the point. I was about to try the longsword again when I noticed a shorter, curved sword lying below it. It’d evidently fallen and been forgotten. I gave it a few experimental swings. It was perfect—not too long and not too short. It was designed for slashing and speed. As I focused on it, a notification told me it was called an Inferior Shamshir.
“How much is this—” I asked before hastily adding, “piece of junk?”
“Eleven gold.” A trade window appeared. “Would you like it wrapped up?”
I rejected his trade. If I paid that, I’d be under five gold and another death would end me for good. I simply couldn’t afford to be in that situation. “I mean, it looks like it’s been sitting down there, rotting away. You should probably pay me to take it.”
You have unlocked the Improved Charisma skill!
He took my smile from seeing the skill notification the wrong way and gave me a dirty look, but after a few seconds finally sighed. “Fine, eight gold. But don’t expect me to go any lower on the starter package. I don’t make money on them. I only sell them because The Scion decreed we sell them at cost to help out new fighters in the struggle against the Shadow.”
I managed to get two lesser healing potions for another gold apiece, keeping me barely over the five-gold level I needed to survive another death. I could’ve tried to get back some of the gold I’d lost on my corpses, but with how things had gone in that camp, I felt it was more likely I’d add another corpse to decorate the area.
The merchant even threw in the backpack the starter package came in, also by law. I’d have asked him the way to the gates, but considering the surly way he was acting after I negotiated the sword down, I decided he was just as likely to direct me to somewhere dangerous than the right place. I pulled up the map and focused on the gates. A red dot appeared on the map immediately.
As the breeze tickled my body, I realized I was still in my boxers and put on my new gear. I looked like I’d ransacked a dumpster, but at least I wasn’t cold anymore. I picked up the backpack and it shrunk to attach itself to my belt. A notification appeared a second later.
You have unlocked the Carrying skill!
Thinking about it brought up a list of skills I’d unlocked but not learned by spending a skill point. I skipped over rereading Unarmed Combat and 1-Handed Swords.
Carrying: How exactly are those ten-foot-long pikes fitting into that two-foot-long bag?
Description: There really is nothing more tragic than not being able to carry all your hard-earned loot
. This skill fixes that problem. For every point gained, you can carry 5 extra pebbles in weight.
Improved Charisma: If only there was a way to get better at talking people into things they don’t want to do . . .
Description: If that sentence didn’t convince you that you need to get this skill, then maybe I need to buy the skill to help me convince you to buy this skill . . . Wooooah! That thought was . . . something. Deep, maybe? I may need Improved Wisdom to figure that one out. Every two points in this skill increases your Charisma stat by one.
Improved Stamina: Getting stabbed will still hurt, but it’ll take more stabs before you croak!
Description: More Stamina equals more Hit Points. Yay!
Disclaimer: If after purchasing Improved Stamina, you experience an increased feeling of grandeur, please see your physician, shaman, druid, or preferred medical practitioner. Buying this skill in no way guarantees that you will not die as often or as gruesomely.
Kick: Fear the toes!
Description: Tired of those two lazy, good-for-nothing lower limbs of yours refusing to contribute any DPS no matter how hard you beg them? Well, now for just the low cost of one skill choice you can make them do just that. Kick does damage based on the Armor Class of your equipped foot item and has a chance to decrease the accuracy of your opponent's next attack and interrupt spells.
Survivalist: I’m not dead yet.
Description: Tired of dying right before a heal spell lands on you? Then this is the skill for you! With the Survivalist skill, you won’t die when you hit 0 HPs. Though you won’t be able to move while below 0 HPs, the important thing is you won’t be dead. For every point in this skill, you will be able to survive going below 0 HPs by an additional 1% of your maximum HPs, rounded up.
Those four skills sounded cool, but Sarge had said I’d only get a small number of skill points. I’d forgotten I’d unlocked Survivalist earlier, but with my penchant for dying, it was a no-brainer to spend a point to unlock that one. Kick was interesting but didn’t seem worth spending a precious point on. Since I now had a sword, I unlocked 1-Handed Swords.
I’d decided to maximize my offensive stats for DPS, so I threw out learning Improved Charisma. Improved Stamina seemed more useful, though. I went back and forth on it before deciding against it. There had to be other “improved” skills for the rest of the stats that would be more useful for what I was going with. When I unlocked Improved Dexterity, I’d definitely spend a point on that one.
That left Carrying and like the description said, more carrying capacity could be very useful. I decided to look over my character to see if I needed more of it.
Horus
Level: 1
HP: 15/15
Class: Adventurer
MP: 4/4
Race: Human
AP: 8/8
Experience: 0/1,000
AC: 7
STR: 19
Resists
AGI: 13
Light: 0
DEX: 19
Dark: 5
STA: 15
Earth: 0
END: 8
Water: 0
CHA: 9
Fire: 5
INT: 4
Wind: 0
WIS: 4
HP Regen: 1 per minute
Carrying Capacity: 25/380
MP Regen: 1 per minute
AP Regen: 1 per minute
Skills: 1-Handed Swords: 1/25, Inspect: 1/25, Regen 4/25, Survivalist 1/25
Equipment:
Main Hand: Inferior Shamshir
Off Hand: N/A
Damage: 1-4
Speed Rating: 3
Ranged: N/A
Chest: Used Sack
Arms: Moth-Eaten Sleeves
AC: 1
AC: 1
Hands: Holey Mittens
Head: Ragged Cap
AC: 1
AC: 1
Legs: Threadbare Pantaloons
Feet: Sandals
AC: 1
AC: 1
Waist: Old Rope
Back: N/A
AC: 1
Finger 1: N/A
Finger 2: N/A
Since I wasn’t anywhere near full weight, I decided not to spend a point in it quite yet. I could always change my mind later.
As I moved down the street, I could hear a lot of shouting, so being the newbie I was, I decided to investigate instead of running in the opposite direction. I soon reached a crowd gathered in front of a bright building marked “Exit Area.” The people in the crowd were much better dressed than the near-naked players at the rabbit field. I got a skill up and a few dirty looks from using Inspect, but most were too focused on the scene in front of them to notice. Nearly everyone’s information came back full of ??? I really needed to work on increasing that skill.
After I got done with my wide-eyed crowd gazing, I noticed what everyone was staring at. Two players in glowing blue armor had a short, middle-aged man on the ground. The man, named “Arkimedees,” had barely better gear than me. Afraid that it was open season on newbs, I decided to slink to the edge of crowd.
“Did you really think you could get away with this?” the tall, blonde woman asked. I assumed by her demeanor she was the leader.
“Look,” Arkimedees said, “I haven’t been in this game for very long, so I’m not sure what exactly I did. But whatever it was, I’m sorry, and it’ll never happen again.”
He tried to stand up, but the redhead kicked him back down. “Do it again? Do it again? Can you believe the audacity of these newbs, Cedra?”
The crack of a smile lined the blonde woman’s face. “Irredeemable they are, Marlisu. Only one way to solve something like that.”
“Yeah!” Marlisu said. “Sensitivity training.”
Cedra pushed Marlisu. “No, idiot. The exit.”
“Yeah!” Marlisu said. “Wait . . . isn’t that a bit much, Cedra?”
“Only way they’re going to learn.” Cedra lifted Arkimedees up. “Did you really think it was OK to name your character after Archimedes Red, the leader of the legendary Trium?”
“Boss, how is he going to learn if he’s not here anymore?” Marlisu said.
Cedra stared at the crowd. I could’ve sworn she was looking directly at me when she said this, but I was peeking out from behind the corner far to the back, making it unlikely she could see me. “The message isn’t for him but for all the others. Don’t pretend you’re better than your betters.” She tossed the middle-aged man through the doors in the Exit Area and with a glow he was gone.
I hustled out of the area as fast as I thought I could without drawing attention to myself. I was fairly confident I wasn’t in any danger but decided to play it safe just in case. It was terrifying to think that a group of angry players could throw me out of the game on a whim (which my dad had mentioned once was what that door was for), but on the other hand, it did provide a way to get Nyytro out of there so he could face justice in the real world. Before I knew it, I was back at the familiar gate, and the same guards were there to greet me with thinly veiled derision.
Run Away! Fluffy Bunnies!
As I neared the bunny field, I decided to actually think about what I was doing before I started combat this time. Previously, I’d approached each battle with a headlong charge and no pre-planned strategy. Now, I decided to get to know my opponent a little better beforehand.
To my left, a hook-nosed teenager with greasy black hair had just started his assault on one of the fluffy white rabbits. I think a small part of me died inside as a gout of blood shot out from the bunny’s left ear, staining its fur. Almost reflexively, I rushed to the bunny’s aid, but stopped when the rabbit seemed unaffected by the blow and countered with a backflipping hop that scraped a deep blow on the teenager’s right forearm. I gave myself a mental slap. It was so realistic, I’d forgotten this was a game. It isn’t a real rabbit, dummy. It’s not alive.
More blood geysered out to coat the bunny’s fur, though this time it was not its own. The
teenager scowled and slashed right between the rabbit’s eyes, resulting in a white 4 and a fountain of blood. The number was lighter and in a different shade of white than the ones from my fights. I assumed this difference was so you could tell your own damage numbers from those happening nearby.
The rabbit took a chunk out of the teenager’s boot with his large front teeth, resulting in a dull red 1, but that left it open for a stab into the back of its head. Its HPs hit zero, and it violently flipped over on its back like it’d been shot and stopped moving. The teenager raised his hands in triumph and let out a whoop. I thought it was a bit much to celebrate having killed a cuddly pet, but then again, I hadn’t actually killed anything yet (besides myself) so I shouldn’t have been one to judge. When he was done acting like he’d won the Super Bowl singlehandedly, the teenager bent down and soon the bunny faded into the ground like the Lizardman Youngling had before.
With all the blood that’d spurted out of him, I was about to ask the teenager if he was OK when he charged off and engaged another rabbit. I watched this battle and several others against the fluffy, deadly rabbits, but learned little apart from ignoring the blood showers that were caused by even the tiniest blows. Curiously, a man in blindingly shiny armor was in the field also killing bunnies. When he took a hit, however, only small droplets of blood resulted from the blows. I used Inspect on him but all the information came back as ???
