by RJ Creed
“Then refer to him as Brother Dareth. How dare you?” She pinched her thin lips together. She had a small ratlike face and short rust-coloured hair. She looked like she could have been a half-elf, actually, but I only saw Human on her text. I didn’t even know if there were elves in this world.
“For that matter,” Turk added, a slender man with a shining black page boy’s haircut that did not flatter him, and he stood up. “How dare you approach us at all with such insolence?”
“Uhh,” I said. My only experience with the higher-ups had been with Nickel, who I was starting to figure was an exception, and Caspian, who had been kind of a dick even though I had important business with him.
“Go back to your table of Acolytes until you learn respect,” he sneered. “Level 3.”
“Hey,” I said quietly, and turned to go, but then turned back, unwilling to let this go just yet. I didn’t know how much time I had to learn a combat skill before shit went sideways. “I just wanted to ask if Dareth had a spare moment to—”
“Leave us!” Turk yelled. “Or I will get the Father!”
Oh, wow. His face had reddened and he looked like he was about to have a full public meltdown. I dropped my gaze to the amused-looking Brother beside him who had his head turned away slightly as he drank some mead.
Brother Dareth
Level 27 Human
Dawnspire Blademaster
Friendly
Yes. OK. At the very least I knew what the guy looked like, even if he was now laughing at me.
“I’m sorry,” I forced out, desperate just to get past being initiated without incident. If just to see what kind of stuff I unlocked after it. I suppressed a snort with the back of my hand when Turk slapped the table with his palm to accent each syllable.
“Now or I will get the Father!” he practically screamed.
I was so tempted to push him just a hair further and watch the full-grown non-player have a tantrum. My eyes were watering and I was shaking, my lips pressed hard together to stop myself from laughing. I turned around and saw that Samson was bent double shaking with laughter at the other end of the room and I couldn’t hold it in. I coughed and snorted and then laughter poured out of me like a fountain.
The dude sounded exactly like a petulant two-year-old screaming that he was getting his daddy. That combined with the hilarious, ridiculous high bowlcut forming a perfect shining helmet around his bright red face … I was going to die laughing.
I heard a light ‘shink’ noise and turned around, catching my breath and wiping my eyes, to see that Turk had drawn his weapon and had levelled it at me.
But it was the stubbiest, fattest little sword I had ever seen. And that just got me going again. Soon the rest of the food hall was bubbling over with murmurs and the occasional giggle, and Turk was positively vibrating with fury.
Brother Turk
Level 17 Human
Dawnspire Initiator
Neutral
When I had inspected him before, he had been Friendly. I had really pissed the guy off, huh?
“I challenge you to a duel!” he screamed.
“You’re 14 levels higher than me,” I pointed out, but I kept my palm flat against the dagger at my side just in case things got hairy.
You have been challenged to a duel!
Your levels will be averaged for the duration, and the duel will end when one of you yields or is one hit away from death.
Accept/Deny
Oh, our levels were averaged in an official duel? I swallowed. I had played enough games before to know that he still had a sizeable advantage. First of all, the guy knew how to fight already, and I didn’t. Second, he’d have buffs and skill points up to the level we were put at, and I wouldn’t, so I would still be notably weaker than him in most ways.
Finally, his sword was hilarious to me for some reason, but he still had one. I just had a little shiv, basically. I looked around to see dozens of eyes on me. I couldn’t Deny this duel. The dude would undoubtedly become an issue if I ran away, not to mention a blow to my reputation.
I looked back at the other Acolytes, silently asking their opinions.
“Kick his ass, Matthew!” Samson said, showing he had inspected me back. “Duck and weave, man!”
It wasn’t just the Acolytes staring. Everyone in the hall had quieted their chatting and were staring at us. I gave a short shrug. “Well, alright,” I said, and flicked at the ‘Accept’ part with my forefinger at the same time.
There was very little chance I would win, but if I did it I might get some respect or something out of it. And I wasn’t able to die from duelling, so why not?
Dareth stood, his eyes twinkling at me, and I realised with relief that he wasn’t mad at me, just amused by the situation. Hopefully he would be open to giving me tips after he witnessed how completely inept I was likely to be.
“Duellers, display your weapons,” he said calmly. “I’ll be the arbiter.”
Turk still had his fat sword pointed right at my sternum, so I took a small step back, squared my shoulders, and withdrew my little dagger. Turk and Santhia giggled and exchanged a look, and heat curled up to my cheeks from my neck.
“It’s still a blade,” Dareth pointed out to his peers, meaning my dagger. “Therefore it can still strike you. Never underestimate your foe based on his weapon of choice.”
I internalised his message, since his eyes seemed to be trained right on mine. I was going to eke out every bit of combat instruction I could from the guy. No one could stop me from hearing him, after all.
I shifted from foot to foot, suddenly suitably terrified at the thought of his sharpened steel piercing through my goddamn paper-thin clothing. Sure, I wasn’t going to die, but the wolf bite felt pretty fucking real. This was going to sting at the very least.
“Ready yourselves,” Dareth said. “And … fight fair, men.”
That seemed to be his ‘go’, so I instinctively sprang backwards as Turk leapt forward like a ruddy-faced housecat, his teeth bared. He slashed his sword wildly and I swore and ducked.
You have discovered a hidden skill!
Dodge: Why am I not surprised?
Related Attribute: DEX
People nearby got up from their seats and backed away to watch us. There was no eye in the room not trained on the duel. Maybe there was a small chance I was being stupid again by agreeing to do this?
He swung his sword again and I scrambled backwards, tripping over a chair and landing on my butt, managing to dodge another swing by sheer luck that time.
I noticed that about 5% of my health had actually dropped from my HP bar already, and the back of my head was sore. A few more instances of knocking myself around on furniture and I would do the job for him.
And now I was totally prone. He stepped toward me and lifted his sword, his mouth upturned in a smirk. I panicked and kicked out with the sole of my shoe, connecting hard with his knee and forcing him to lean forward with a yell of pain. I scrambled further back and jumped to my feet, panting and looking around. Dareth didn’t look like he was going to say anything, so it seemed that punching and kicking wasn’t against any rules.
Freaking out a little about the impending stab wound I was inevitably going to receive, I took the opportunity to dart forward and slash with my tiny dagger. At least then I would unlock the skill. The blade caught his leather armour and made the tiniest rip I’d ever seen.
You have discovered a hidden skill!
Snickersnee: Interesting, I would have thought a player like you would go for a flashy red sportsword. You must be pretty comfortable in your own skin to use a tiny blade like that.
Related Attribute: DEX
I didn’t know how to feel about that. I’d never been judged by a faceless prompt before. I managed to swipe away the distracting text just in time to see Turk slashing hard from right to left with his sword. I instinctively brought my forearm up to block my body and the blade buried itself a half-inch deep in my flesh. Jesus … the pai
n ripped through me. A chunk of 45% of my HP peeled away, leaving me with just half already. One more hit and I would be out of the duel.
And just what the crap was a ‘snickersnee’ supposed to be?
I bent over and screamed through gritted teeth as he yanked the sword out and went for another hack into my skin. I leapt backwards just in time, but he leapt forwards.
“Fuck!” I spat. That really hurt. My vision was swimming. I squeezed one eye shut, pulled in a deep breath and jammed my dagger forward totally at random. It connected, but glanced off of his armour, resulting in little more than a soft punch in his abdomen. He was about to make contact again. “I yield, shit, I yield.”
I just couldn’t deal with another deep flesh wound like that. I had broken my spine before, so I knew what the top level of pain was, but that hack had still been pretty damn high. I cradled my split arm and hissed a breath through my teeth as the text rippled in front of my half-closed eyes.
You have lost a duel.
Half your gold must go to the opponent.
You lose two skill progressions at random.
Wait, what? I hadn’t known there would be penalties like that. I swore under my breath again and only half realised what was happening when Dareth tied a bandage tight around my arm and Turk counted his small winnings.
“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You know where you went wrong?” he asked me quietly as he secured the bandage. My health began to slowly regenerate and a little plus sign appeared next to it, indicating that I was healing.
“Everything? Everywhere?” I asked. The pain began to recede already, which was a good thing, because I was actually a few seconds away from passing out, which would have severely damaged my street cred around here.
He chuckled. “Your stance was good for a novice. You have pretty quick reactions for a Level 3. Unfortunately, your strength and your blade just wasn’t going to cut it against his expensive armour.”
“Right,” I agreed.
“If you’d gone for the exposed flesh, you’d have had better results, but you didn’t have time to think.”
“Yeah.”
I looked up at him, the wooziness fading fast, and took in the handsome dark-haired man with strong features and thick muscles under a light tunic. He looked to be about forty and had a genuine smile. He was already the guy I disliked the least of all the non-players in the Collective so far.
“Finally, you need to up your Fortitude, because I don’t know how low it is, but you were pretty much out of action after one good hit. Fortitude lowers the pain you will feel, and it also helps you out in longer fights, so I recommend it in general.”
Fortitude, that was good to know. I had just put a point into it, but now I had a better idea of how it would help in the long run.
I swallowed, my throat dry from the sudden pain and panic. “Brother Dareth,” I asked, making sure to be respectful. “Will you teach me a little fighting before the initiation begins?”
He furrowed a brow. “Why not after?”
Because I need to know how to fight before shit goes down. “I, uh, like to be prepared.”
“Just in case, huh?” he asked, his concerned expression not leaving mine, as if he were searching my eyes for some secret. I gave away nothing, and then flashed him a friendly smile. He returned it. “Fair enough. Well, let’s change into our armour and meet in the storeroom, shall we? It’ll be fun to sharpen up my game again.”
I stopped him from walking off with a raised hand. “I, uh, I have no armour,” I told him. He looked at me quizzically.
“You know that’s an important part of combat, right?”
“I do, I’m just low on funds,” I said.
He nodded. “Tell you what. If you can land a single hit on me, I’ll give you one hundred gold.” He smirked and led me to the storeroom, and I trotted behind like an eager puppy being promised a treat.
“For real?”
“Yes,” he said. “I am in a religious order; what do I have to spend money on but food? I no longer collect blades and women, after all. Why sit on my savings?”
New Quest!
Land a Single Hit
Brother Dareth is so confident in his abilities as a fighter that he promises a prize if you can touch his skin with your blade just once during a training session.
Reward: 100 gold
30 EXP
Accept/Deny
Of course, I accepted it fast. “What did you do before you became a Brother?” I asked as we left the food hall and stepped back into the long hallway.
“I was a mercenary,” he said. “But most mercenary groups were rendered pretty useless when the Silver Falchion cropped up.”
“What’s the Silver Falchion?” I asked dutifully.
“They are a group of mercs led by a headstrong woman, as beautiful as she is fierce,” he said, voice low as if with respect.
“Ooh,” I said.
“It’s said that her men are the strongest, most well-trained warriors in all of Ilyria.”
“How come?” I asked as we rounded a corner and I almost tripped in my efforts to keep up with him.
“Nobody knows, but some suspect dark interference,” he said, turning to me and waggling his eyebrows. “Anyway, I was in a band called the Black Magpies. We disbanded after several years when people stopped hiring us. I wandered from place to place, desperate to find purpose, until I came across the Collective one day and I never looked back.”
“So you were an Acolyte, and you went through the Initiation too?” I asked. In the real world, this would have been obvious, but it was fascinating to me how rich everyone’s backstories were over here.
“Yes, just like you.”
“Was it easy?”
He stopped suddenly and rested his hand on a thick wooden door, looking thoughtful. “I don’t really recall it being easy or difficult,” he said. We entered, and I helped him rearrange the storeroom chests a little so we had some more room to move.
“Hey, what kinds of things are kept in here?” I had to ask. “Better weapons?”
He smirked up at me. “Old weapons,” he said. “You’re always better off buying from a smith, instead of waiting for someone to give you a good weapon.”
“So … what are in these chests?”
“Old weapons,” Dareth said again, kicking one closer to the door. “If you’re thinking that the rumours are true, you’ll be wasting your time.”
I had no idea what he meant. “The rumours?” I asked.
“You know, everyone talks about how the Collective hides maps and keys to godly treasures.” He laughed, clapped his hands together to clean them of some dust, and made his way to the centre of the room. “Just rumours. There’s nothing but rusty blades in these chests. You’re welcome to try to break through the locks.”
“I didn’t mean that I would—”
“Let’s go, we don’t know how much time we have until you’re summoned.”
“Right,” I said, eager to get started with my training.
It was large enough and empty enough that I could tell why he wanted our session to take place in here, but I couldn’t stop looking over to those heavy-duty locked chests in the corner. They excited the gamer in me to the point that my sackcloth felt a little tight. If I learned a way to pick a lock and check for traps it was likely I would come back and take a look around. Especially after that talk about godly treasures and hidden keys.
“OK, show me that stance again,” he began, and I stood opposite him and spread my feet apart. “That’s good, you look sturdy.” Suddenly Dareth stepped towards me and shoved me in the chest with effortless strength, and I staggered back a few paces. “But are you actually?”
I readjusted, and he took a stance and called for me to mirror him, which I did. This time when he shoved me I managed to sway but keep my feet still.
“Now you have your dominant hand by your dagger at all times, that’s good,” he said. “Imagine I am
stepping towards you to hurt you. I want you to pull out the dagger and swipe it at me before I land a killing blow.”
“A what.”
He wasted no time in storming up to me and in a blur of movement a dagger I didn’t even know he had was a half-inch from my throat. I swallowed. My dagger was only 80% out of its sheath, let alone at his skin.
“Dead. Go again.”
I didn’t know how to tell him that I needed to physically use my weapon on him in order to level up my skill, and I didn’t have time to anyway. I yanked the dagger from its sheath and this time it was actually halfway raised by the time Dareth ‘killed’ me, his arm again a blur of motion.
“Listen, this move has saved my life more times than I can count,” he said, pointing at me. “I’ve named it the Draw Strike. I can teach it to you but you need two points in Snickersnee, which I assume you have.”
Well, shit.
I eyed my character sheet for a moment and then remembered I was going to put my two Skill Points into combat anyway, so I popped them into Snickersnee and felt the tingle of power surge through my spine. I grinned. “First, hang on, what does ‘snickersnee’ mean?”
“Really? You know. Snickersnee. It’s a swordfight but with knives or daggers.” Dareth laughed a little. “Surprised you’ve never heard the word; it’s common enough.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, not wishing to argue or overstep, but I really wanted to tell him the word was dumb. This was a world with magic and swordfighting but so far the difference that would seem the most jarring was the idea that ‘snickersnee’ was a part of their regular vernacular. “I’ve got the points,” I said.
“Fantastic!” he said, stepping back so that we were at opposite ends of the small room again. “Now, I want you to concentrate particularly hard. The dagger is in its sheath, but it needs to be at my skin. Concentrate on where you want the dagger to pierce me, and then whip your hand as fast as you can. That’s the Draw Strike. If you don’t manage it, you die.” He winked. “Ready, Acolyte?”
“Ready,” I said with a nod, hovering my hand over my sheath.
