The Bathrobe Knight

by Charles Dean

  "Nah, man. Those girls know what they're talking about. They hear gossip from everyone. I've heard that even some of the Lords on the Council go there. Sneaking around in veiled Carriages late at night so that their wives don't find out. If there's anything going on those girls are the first to know"

  "Yeah, okay, if you say so," the rogue replied with a snort showing how obviously he believed none of it. "How much longer do you guys want to stay out here? We should probably head back and bank soon. I haven't heard anything from the scoooo--" the rogue stopped mid-sentence, an Arrow protruding from his neck and blood beginning to froth out around the wound. His hands feebly grasped at the shaft unable to do anything, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, surprise, and horror. The rogue collapsed to the ground still clutching at the Arrow shaft unable to stay his fate or stop the bleeding.

  "What was that?" the tank looked up from where he sat in time to see a figure erupt from the line of trees ahead of him. He only had enough time to begin struggling to his feet and take note of the black suit of Mail before the warrior's massive Axe came crushing down upon his skull splitting it in two. The warrior only stopped long enough to shove his massive black Boot into the fallen fighters face and wrench his Axe free before turning after the mage.

  The mage, who had witnessed the callous slaughter of two members of his party take place in mere seconds, was now running towards the location of the other group at the nearby camp, screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Scrambling through the loose snow and low scrub brush, his feet couldn't seem to move fast enough. His flimsy Robes seemed to catch on every bush and twig he ran past jerking him violently from side to side. The violent sounds of the warrior crashing over obstacles he desperately sought to avoid spurred him on. He could swear he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  Almost there. I can see the clearing. The other group will be there, and I'll be safe was all he could think. The mage burst from the trees, making a beeline towards the other side of the camp where the group had been camped out earlier killing mobs.

  You have taken 92 Damage. You are now suffering a movement penalty.

  A sharp pain suddenly ripped through his right calf, and he collapsed to the ground in a wind-milling heap, arms flailing around his head, and face-planted in the snow. All he could do was curl up into a fetal ball, clutch the Arrow that now protruded from his leg, and wait.

  He could hear the light sound of footsteps approaching on the snow. He twisted his head up and looked around behind him to see a tall figure approaching him slowly, clearly taking his time. He was dressed from head to toe in a pitch black Hunter's Garb. Even the bow he carried with an Arrow nocked was an inky black color.

  "Thought you'd get away? Not likely, kid." He could tell the voice was smiling, laughing behind the hood of his Cowl.

  The mage could only look up and stare, eyes wide with fright, gasping for breath. Behind the dark figure that now stood towering over him he could see the warrior that had pursued him through the woods emerge from the tree line purposefully striding towards them. He was in no hurry, but every step he took belied the strength and confidence of a hunter without fear. He knew his prey was caught.

  "Running like a dog, eh?" The warrior's voice was low and gruff as he approached the other two figures. The dark Mask he wore pulled over his mouth and nose to cut the cold did nothing to muffle his voice. "I @#$ing hate running."

  The warrior lifted a massive black Boot and brought it crashing down into the side of the mage’s gut where he lay on the ground. What little air that remained in the downed man's struggling lungs came rushing out, leaving him gasping for breath. "H-help . . ." he feebly cried.

  The archer laughed, "Who do you expect to help you? We're here to kill you. Not help you."

  The mage tried to turn his head towards the other side where the other group had been. Salvation was only a stone's throw away, and he had been so close. Why hadn't they noticed what was going on and come to save him yet?

  "No one there, little dog," the warrior growled. Reaching down, hard Iron Gauntlets unceremoniously grasped the back of the mage’s Robes, and the massive fighter began roughly dragging him through the snow towards the direction of the mage's gaze. "You weren't expecting help from a corpse, were ya?" And with that the mage was thrown forward into the snow again, causing pain to explode from the Arrow wound in his calf and bruised ribs.

  You have taken 46 Damage.

  Looking up, the mage was greeted with a grisly sight. Bright red patches of blood covered the once-innocent white snow, staining it. Bodies laid strewn about, some at impossible angles, some clearly hacked to pieces. They were only just now beginning to fade from the world. A momentary landmark to what had clearly been a quick and gruesome slaughter.

  "Enough. Finish this and let's move on." The voice of the archer sounded distant. The mage could only stare at the horror before him. Salvation had been so close. He had almost been safe. What had happened?

  "Oh, I got this. No one makes me run." The warrior reached down and grabbed the Arrow shaft still protruding from the mages leg, twisted, and violently ripped it free. The mage screamed.

  You have taken 46 Damage.

  "Well, at least he finally found his voice," the other chuckled from behind his Cowl again.

  "PKs! PKs! Raiders in the area!" a voice screamed from across the clearing. The mage caught sight of a small green-clad man frantically waving his arms in the air from the corner of his vision. "PKs are clo--" came the cry again. A dark shape suddenly materialized behind the vagrant scout. With a silent movement, it brought a knife up and slit the still screaming throat of the missing scout before just as quickly vanishing again.

  Gee, thanks, the mage thought to himself, watching the other man die. He didn't even care. His vision suddenly blurred as he felt himself jerked around and a black-mailed fist crashed down into his nose.

  Critical Hit! You have taken 126 Damage.

  Pain exploded from his face and his head was thrown back bouncing off the ground. The last thing he noticed as the warrior drew back his black-mailed fist again for the final strike was the blood running down the warriors wrist to cover up a purple and black tattooed skull. That's my blood . . . he thought. Then everything went black.

  You have been killed. When your death timer expires you will be respawned in Valcrest, the town you are currently bound to.

  Darwin:

  By the time Darwin reached town, he was a solid half way into Level 28. The road to the town had been long, and random Ogres had kept popping up here and there, but they were easy enough to kill, and it broke the monotony of walking. If there was any downside to building a beautifully-rendered realistic world with proper dimensions, it was that the thing was bound to be huge. People might have complained that “the scales didn’t match up right” when he played old games, but at least they didn’t have to spend the hour that felt like two putting one foot in front of the other. Life must have been awful before cars were invented.

  As he finally approached the large wooden gates of the town, one of the two Guards in Chainmail with Spears standing duty approached him, blocking his path. “Greetings, citizen. What is the nature of your visit to Valcrest?”

  “I’m here to turn in a quest and sell some Axes. I killed a few hundred White-Horn’s, and I need to find a place that might be interested in buying them.” Darwin smiled to himself knowing this time he was definitely speaking to a NPC. Players had blue names while friendly NPCs had white names. It was a distinction he wished he had known to check for when he first got to this world. That King was way too weird and human to have been programmed. Who wears a purple suit? It had to be a player pretending to be a pimp.

  The two Guards each exchanged a look between them that Darwin wasn’t able to catch. “How many Axes?”

  “Around 7 or 8 hundred. Why? Is there a limit to how many you can sell?” Darwin probably would have had more since he had somehow gotten most of the drops, but he had shared his
spoils with Kass every now and then to keep the numbers balanced.

  The Guards exchanged another glance. “You said White-Horns? You killed a few hundred White-Horns?” Darwin frowned. Is this an error in the programming? Is this like when the iPhone came out and Siri had to repeat the question over and over again just to have a simple sentence understood?

  “Yes. I killed the legion that was about an hour that way,” Darwin said, pointing in the direction he had just come from. He wasn’t sure what the exact direction was without pulling out the map again. God, I miss those little blue quest markers and the compass at the bottom of the screen. They made everything in life easier.

  “Go make a report. Take the summoning circle,” the Guard that had approached him said to the other at which point the other immediately departed.

  “Did I do something wrong? Was I not supposed to kill them?”

  The Guard chuckled to himself before answering. “I think most people would have asked that after the first kill, not the first five hundred, but no, you didn’t do anything wrong. If you’re interested in selling your wares go straight down this road until you see a fountain that marks the center of the town and then take a right. That’s where the merchants are. Once there, take a right, and the richest Blacksmith you’ll find will be the third shop on your left. Can’t miss it: it’s got the big pillar of smoke behind it.”

  “Thank you for the help. Have a good day!” Even though it was an NPC and Darwin knew it was an NPC, he just couldn’t help but treat it like a person. The AI in the game was so creepily accurate that he couldn’t tell the difference between the NPC’s behavior and a person’s.

  As he passed through the gates, the Guard called out to him one more time, making Darwin worry. “Sir!”

  “Yes? Did I forget to do something?”

  “No, it’s just . . . thank you!”

  “Umm . . . no problem? Have a good day.” Thank you? If metal was so in demand that the Guards would thank him for just bringing his Axes to sell here, then he was definitely going to make a killing. But how did food work? I know it’s a game, but my stomach is killing me, and I’m so thirsty. Where is iced tea when you need it.

  The town was utterly lacking in style to Darwin. The shops seemed to bleed into one another so well that just walking down the road one might confuse himself with a hotdog that had lost its way in a very large hallway--the shops were just two continuous walls and not a series of individual stores. The Blacksmith shop itself was even hard to spot, regardless of what the Guard had said. If it wasn’t for the tell-tale sign with an anvil hanging above the door, he might have missed it and gone into the fourth or fifth shop on the row.

  “Greetings!” a burly, beer-gutted man with a beard that hung from chin to belly button said as soon as he opened the door. The man didn’t even bother looking up as he said it and just went back to working on whatever it was he was fashioning behind the desk where he stood. The entire shop was filled with tall stands that blocked his vision, each holding a series of weapons which were mostly made out of wood. With all the Staves, Bows and Arrows, one might not recognize the fact it was a Blacksmith’s shop and not a Carpenter’s.

  “Hey,” Darwin said, paying beer-gut the same indifferent respect he received. He was about to ask him to buy the Axes, when he realized he not only didn’t know what a good price was for the Axes, but he didn’t even know what currency was worth in this new gamer world. “How much is a Double-Bladed Iron Axe worth?”

  “A passable one would be worth about 2 Gold Coins and 50 Silver Pieces. Iron is shorter than my patience though, boy, so if you want me to make you one, it’ll be 6 Gold Coins,” the grumpy man said, pausing what he was doing for only a second to scratch the top of his bald head.

  “Could I sell one?”

  Beard belly put down whatever it was he was holding and looked up at him with squinted eyes.

  “I’ll take a look at it, but you won’t get more than 2 Gold Coins.”

  “Fine, but how long will it take you to look at about eight hundred?” As soon as he mentioned the number he had, a clatter came from behind one of the weapon walls.

  “Did you say you had eight hundred?” a timid female voice called out from behind the wall. “You think you could sell fifty to my Guild instead of the old man. We’ll pay you the 2 Gold and 50 Silver Pieces they are actually worth.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Money is money, after all, and I need to get some badly and buy a burger.

  Elaine has requested to trade with you. Would you like to Accept or Reject the trade invitation?

  Accept. When he accepted the trade request a window popped up with an Items and Gold section on both sides. Add fifty Double-Bladed Iron Axes to the trade. She added her Gold to the currency section of the trade and the deal was made.

  You have gained 125 Gold!

  Great. Now I just need to sell off the rest of them. “So, interested in the rest of my Axes, old man?”

  “Yeah, come on and show me what you got, kid. Don’t expect no 2 Gold and 50 Silver from me though,” the bald man grumbled at him.

  After selling off all but ten of the Double-Bladed Iron Axes, Darwin’s hunger got the better of him, and he dashed outside to the first tavern he could find. He didn’t know when Kass would log in again, but he did know that he needed some food and water. He wasn’t entirely sure if his character would ever fatigue and need sleep, but he didn’t exactly want to leave that part to chance either.

  He sat down at the first wooden table he could find and ordered a meal and a drink. The tavern wasn’t anything like what he expected from stories and movies. It was just like an empty diner with wooden tables. Lots and lots and lots of wooden everything. Even the waitress who took his order had that same cordial, friendly attitude that he had grown to expect from the restaurants back home like IHOP.

  As he ate, he decided he didn’t exactly know how the friend-tracking system worked. He had a lot to do: get a Job Class, turn in a quest, get a quest, and find out what is going on with the racial issues around here, and of course the tutorial. No, actually, on second thought, I don’t need to do any more of the tutorial. I’m not about to break one of the cardinal rules of gaming while stuck in a gamer’s world. Darwin knew that you could excuse tutorial use if it was a necessity, but not if you chose to take it just because you had the free time.

  So much to do. I wonder when Kass will get back on. I wonder if Kass is actually a girl. Darwin wasn’t certain on that last part at all. After all, for Darwin, this was a video game. And every gamer knew that GIRL stood for Guy In Real Life more often than not. Even in the raid group that Ser Nightvale was a part of, at least two of the ‘girls’ were guys pretending to be girls. He never understood why some guys liked to pretend they were girls, but the phenomena was well documented with a thousand anecdotes to the point that most gamers just accepted it as fact. Those brown eyes of hers were so realistic looking. This game is amazing.

  Qasin:

  The King resisted the urge to adjust his Crown as the Council deliberated in front of him about what he should or should not be doing with his troops and his Kingdom. They acted like they had the final say. If the people had actually been as disheartened by the 8th Legion’s demise as the Council seemed to believe--to wrest power from the King and turn it over Council--then he may as well have marched the legions straight off a cliff and into a pit.

  The fattest of the Councilmen sat at the end of the long ornate wooden table in a terribly odd outfit as if his gluttony and greed had earned him the most prestige of the 13 pigs that joined him today.

  “I don’t care what you have to say Willhelm, there is no reason for us to move the 4th Legion out of Barkton. If we don’t keep the mills secure and safe, we won’t have the wood needed for the Arrows. It won’t just be the 4th, it’ll be all the legions that suffer. My vote is the 4th Legion stays in Barkton.”

  “But if Valcrest falls to the White-Horns, we lose our first line of defense on the easter
n front. Ashcroft, you can’t seriously be in favor of letting it fall and all the people in it die over a couple of Arrows can you?”

  “Ashcroft, see reason. I know the Arrows are important, but we can make a good mill anywhere. Nothing will replace the value of the lives that will be lost in Valcrest if the White-Horns press their advantage and sack the city. What if you had family there? Would you so callously toss them aside for Shields and Arrows?”

  I want to believe you, Dreston, I want to trust you, Wilhelm. A day ago and I would have. A day ago and I wouldn’t have had your machinations laid out in front of me. The Messenger whose daughter he held captive had been more than effective at his job last night. He had not only killed his contact but he had also gone to the Councilman’s estate and made copies of the Council’s plans as well. The idiots had just left the documents scattered across their desks like every soldier in the capital was in on their scheme.

  “Of course not, Dreston, but I’m just worried about the future of our legions. After losing the 8th Legion, I am going to have trouble going home and telling those that put me here why their sons and fathers won’t be coming home.”

  “I understand, but please, for the sake of the daughters and wives whose sons and fathers died to protect them, change your vote! I urge you to see reason.”

  Vote all you like, I’m not moving the 4th Legion and letting you sack Barkton and move on my capital.

  “Gentlemen, we have debated this for hours. Surely the King would like to have a say. He is in fact the benefactor of this land. King, please, speak reason to these sharks who so callously throw away the lives of good men and women over Arrows.”

  “What about Barkton? Is there really no threat of attack on it? When we moved the 4th Legion there it was due to an imminent threat from a small group of Black-Wings.”