by Kris Schnee
"Yeah. It'll win us some allies too, or at least give them no reason to attack us. Say, how are we getting all this wood?"
"Stone-bladed knives and axes. Pretty crude, but they seem to work with the simplified physics around here. Same deal with the food: we got some seeds and they spring up in a day or so, after a skill test or two. Usually Survival." The guard tilted his head. "What are your skills, anyway?"
Miles said, "In order: Magic, Craft, Survival, Shoot, Mind, Athletics."
"Decent mix. I was one of the people who scoffed at the idea of magic and picked practical skills. Hardly anybody picked Ride, but then we haven't seen any critters that we could tame, and haven't built vehicles. The enemy didn't give us much info to go on."
"Are they the enemy, though?" said Miles.
"That I don't know. The captain certainly thinks so, but they must have some end goal in mind besides torture or killing. We did get that message about the Wind Shrine, though."
Miles sat up. "Where exactly is that? And the magic canyon? And how did this message show up? I didn't see it."
"Sounds like you've been in stasis for the last month or so while we were getting started. A message shows up for anyone who gets through the canyon, and tells them about the shrine. Says it's a 'source of power'." Samatra described its location, and the canyon's.
"And you think we should go there, don't you."
The guard nodded. "Whatever they're trying to make us do, it involves the shrine, and everything is on hold unless we play along. Besides, we're still down a few crewmembers. For Eva in particular, I hope it's not because she got herself killed before we found her."
"I hope so too. We have a goal. But according to the rules as I understand them, I can't fully heal up until the GMs think I've done more than sit around. Enough that they'll say a 'session' has passed. That probably means resolving the little quest I'm on, one way or another, and that's the Star thing."
"So until you return it, you'll never be ready to explore again?"
"Pretty much, although if it gets resolved some other way that probably counts too."
Samatra cursed. "I'm guessing you can't just shrug and give up. So we need to cover the fort and make more bows to provide some defense, then talk Thorn into letting us return the artifact. Or... handle that some other way. Just take it back on our own, or destroy the lizard village."
Miles said, "I'm not up for the last one, but I'm guessing Thorn would rather do that to 'resolve' the problem than give up our magic anti-air battery." He eyed the guard carefully. "Are you willing to go around the captain, if it comes to that?"
"Not yet, but let's see how things stand once we have better defenses up."
"Fair enough."
* * *
Miles questioned the GMs and got confirmation that this pathetic tent counted as "home" now, though it was little more than a sheet tossed over some bent sticks. So, he turned his attention toward trying to make the biggest single piece of sturdy canvas he could. Ten square meters, apparently, which wasn't nearly enough to cover the fort, but the people could sew pieces together with sturdy string he could also provide.
He'd expected that the Star quest would involve more monster-slaying than sewing.
His first Magic roll was for good-quality string, usable for bows too. He did well on the defense roll (because the tent gave him +2 to that) and started cranking out tons of the stuff. Maybe literally a ton of it, since he kept setting down newly-generated spools outside and letting people grab and stack them. Then he decided to switch to canvas. He thought to try creating an advantage to boost his defense so he wouldn't get magic-mauled on a bad roll. How best to justify that? He had an idea that seemed appropriate, but he needed some privacy. He apologized to the people outside, calling for a break, and shut the tent flap.
In private, he prayed. Miles was a Manusite by upbringing: one who praised the Maker of Everything and sought to imitate the Hand of God through shaping the universe. This little world, whatever it was, catered to the Maker in the sense that it encouraged the making of things. Even the magical power to make something from nothing required a certain amount of thought and risk. Miles contemplated it for a while with his eyes closed, forgetting his original intent to beg the GMs for an advantage on a die roll.
When he opened his eyes he wasn't alone in the tent. He startled. There was a hooded figure seated with him. It raised one of its three-fingered hands slowly to the dark space where its mouth could be. A glinting green line marked its eyes. Its voice was a distorted monotone like a human using scrambler software. "Peace. We are the Viziers."
"One of them? The aliens?"
"You are the aliens here, oh chosen one. I come to warn you that your Hosts are at best indifferent to your suffering."
Miles tried to steady his breathing. "There's more than one group of you, then? Why are you doing this to us? What do you want?"
The faceless guest said, "We believe we know enough of your species' personality to understand that you are frightened and frustrated. For this we Viziers apologize. We are unable to be straightforward in discussing our intentions. The Hosts will not allow it."
"Then listen to me. We humans have no intention of hurting you. Our ship is here to build a warp gate to connect this world to our homes, for easier travel. We have no particular interest in the planet itself; it just happens to be in a spot with the right subspace characteristics. An orbital gate here would be a natural waypoint on the way to somewhere else. You can have us leave you alone, if that's what you want, or we can trade. Since you seem to be so interested in our culture, we have more to show you than this one ship was carrying, and I'm sure our people would love to learn from you. There's much more to gain by peaceful interaction than you can get from this crew alone. We don't normally do all our work through rules like this."
The Vizier sat cross-legged, with only its tan-colored hands and the light of its eyes visible under the cloak. "Thank you for this background information. We have read documents from your ship, but translating them was a wonderfully difficult puzzle. The illustrated books were crucial."
"The gaming books you got from Eva, you mean?" He imagined them finding pictures of swords and monsters, as their first clues to what the words meant. "You would have started with them. Where is she? What did you do?"
"Patience, chosen one. What exactly can we reveal... hmm. We suggest making a game of it. We declare a Contest, as a duel of magic. We believe our Hosts will oblige us presently."
A modified version of the battle interface appeared, along with a message. [Contest: Magic Duel. The Vizier offers information, if you can defeat it before it vanishes. Use the Magic skill.]
A three-segment meter appeared in front of Miles, and another next to the Vizier. A set of rules for ensnaring the Vizier by magic appeared. The creature flickered, starting to grow transparent. "Begin!" it said.
Miles was glad there'd been a similar Contest in Eva's game, so that he had some idea of what to do. It wasn't a battle; more of a race to the finish line. He reached out to the tangle of magic symbols in front of him, following the puzzle that he'd been given, and tried to form a web of threads that could surround his opponent. He seemed to be doing it right, until the timer ran out and a set of dice rolled. His Magic score was 3, the dice came up +1, and he'd been given a +1 for good "acting" on the puzzle. The interface showed him a 3 total for the Vizier, giving Miles the lead. His meter filled up by one segment. A set of phantom ropes began to tangle his uninvited guest.
On the second exchange, Miles botched the puzzle and the dice were a net 0, giving him 3 to the Vizier's whopping 6. Miles said, "Wait. I'm a Fateweaver; I'm spending a fate point to do this weaving stuff. And another because I Need To Learn Why I'm Here. Two points left, and now my roll is 7 to his 6."
He won round two, filling his meter to the 2/3 mark. On the third exchange, the Vizier beat him by 2, and grew translucent despite being tied up in Miles' spell. Miles held back until the fourth round, when h
e aced the puzzle again -- but the dice screwed him over and put him 3 points behind. He invoked both his aspects again, burning the last of his fate points, to score a victory by 1 point. Or so he thought; a light appeared over the Vizier for a moment and a note told Miles, [Vizier has used a fate point for his aspect: Deliberately Inscrutable. Current dice score has Vizier 1 point ahead.]
Miles swore, adding, "Wait!" He was out of fate points to tilt the balance. The Vizier was going to get his second victory, leaving Miles with pure chance to decide the final outcome in the next round. To be without fate points meant being at the whim of the dice, unable to impose your will when it counted most. He said, "I've already invoked 'Need To Know Why I'm Here' and 'Fateweaver' this round, so I need another aspect to give me another +2. But I'm also Pledged To the Light."
The Vizier answered aloud, "You have no more fate points to spend."
"Yes, but I'm bringing it up as a disadvantage. Because of that aspect I came straight here to this fort. If the GMs will give me another fate point to represent me feeling obligated to do the right thing, and let me spend it right now instead of waiting, I'll return the Star tonight."
"Interesting," said the Vizier.
[Interesting], the game's text echoed. [Fate point awarded immediately for the 'compel'; penalties apply if you don't follow through.]
"I spend the point."
Miles' meter filled, giving him the victory and tangling the Vizier in ghostly ropes. The interface vanished.
"Very well, chosen one. You win. To answer your most burning question, Eva is alive and well. Since we've appeased the Hosts by our little scuffle, we may tell you that she, too, was placed into this game. Where, we may not say."
He was kneeling with one hand pressed against the improvised rug. "How can I find her?"
"Hmm. The shrine you're being led to will help you find her."
Miles said, "What do you want from us? Is there a goal before you'll let us go?"
"This, we may not say. We may reveal that there are circumstances under which you can leave this game alive... and that the outcome is not necessarily a matter of finding and killing the most powerful foe."
"Is there anything else you can tell me? Can I give you anything, help you in any way, to get some advantage?"
The Vizier shook its head. The phantom ropes disintegrated. "There's only so much we may do. For the moment we'll say your magic has infused this tent with the advantage 'Power of the Fateweaver', to your benefit. And because you've completed a significant objective, you've earned an advancement in power. Congratulations, and farewell for now."
The creature vanished, leaving behind a momentary breeze. Miles sat there, stunned, and took several moments to notice the new game message.
[Significant milestone! In addition to the benefits of a minor milestone, such as filling out your stunt list, you have gained a skill point and your moderate and minor consequences have vanished.]
The spirit bag finally faded away, and Miles' clothes reverted to their proper size. He took stock of himself: no injuries left, several powers to gain... and an obligation to take away his town's main air defense unit.
He peeked outside the tent. It was still day; nobody had seemed to hear what was going on inside and little time had passed. The crew had wandered off to tend the crops or something. Well, then: their continued safety now depended on Miles being able to give them a decent roof to make up for what he was about to do to them.
He opened his interface and looked up stunts. As he suspected, he'd qualified to pick his third one.
[Available stunts:
-Tangler: +2 to create advantages in combat by entangling a foe with cloth.
-Got You Covered: Create up to 81 square meters at a time instead of 9.
-Standard Template: Create cloth items pre-fabricated using your Craft skill.]
Miles was wary of the third one. It was a possible reference to one of Eva's other game settings, an ancient one about relentlessly bleak space warfare between human fanatics and murderous aliens. If the aliens had read all of the books on Eva's computer, then the phrase was a hint to him that things could have been much less pleasant. Or that they were keeping those ideas in reserve. He hoped that they'd spring amorous bunny-girls from Eva's cartoon collection on him instead.
He sighed. He needed an edge in combat, but his top obligation was to the crew's safety. He picked "Got You Covered" so he could give everyone a chance to get the roof up with less sewing. Besides, creating giant tarps might be useful elsewhere. As for his skill upgrade, he was in danger whenever he cast spells because he was rolling against his Mind skill for defense, which was two points weaker than Magic. He put the new skill point into Mind, then. His character sheet now read:
Miles
Fate Points: 0 (Refresh 3)
Master Artificer
Pledged To the Light
Need To Learn Why I'm Here
Fateweaver
Skills:
3: Magic
2: Craft, Survival, Mind
1: Shoot, Athletics
Stunts: Magic Bolt (cloth telekinesis), Workshop Tent (+2 magic defense in home tent), Got You Covered (81 sq.m. creation)
Stress: Body [][], Mind [][][]
Consequences:
2:
4:
6:
Statistically, an average spell would now get a hit of 3 on him versus a defense of 2, which was pretty safe. Especially within this tent with its defense bonus.
The GMs announced, [Note: Your skills are unbalanced. Your skill upgrade has been handled leniently this time, but your next improvement must be to add a level 1 skill.]
Miles only shrugged. There was some rule about not having more high-level skills than low ones.
He did some magic to start making canvas. No damage taken, even without using the "Power of the Fateweaver" aspect that was sitting here with two free uses on it. He began cranking out large rolls of thick, sturdy canvas and pushing them out of the tent one after another. He did an estimate of how much he needed, then laughed; there was no real limit to his supply of material!
Rodriguez knocked on the tent. "I guess you'll be scrapping this thing, huh?"
Miles peeked out. "So far I still have to do actual sewing. I'll need time to make a proper canvas tent even with the speed these rules give me, and the fort's roof takes priority. How is that going?"
"We've got people with the Craft skill and some bone-and-stone needles outside trying it, with some trouble."
"Don't worry about wasting material. Is the problem the low-quality tools?"
"That's a rules problem." Rodriguez looked aside. "May I come in?"
Inside the tent, Miles' crewman sat down. "I remember making this point during our game with Eva. Under the default Fate rules, there's no meaningful difference between a greatsword and a rusty fork. It's just assumed that a Melee expert always has a generic melee weapon. A GM can look at a specific situation and impose aspects like 'Outgunned' or 'Exactly the Right Tool' or 'Disarmed'. Or, a player can argue for why they should get to spend a fate point to treat their 'Spiky Axe' as an aspect for a +2 to some roll. But those are ad-hoc decisions."
Miles shrugged. "Unless you bring in the special weapon rules, which we don't seem to be using. Or model the equipment like mini-characters with their own aspects and so on."
"Right. In our case, the GMs have imposed a 'Crude Tools' aspect on the crafting process. So we're at a disadvantage with the tent-crafting, but still making progress."
"You know, you can spend a fate point to invoke the 'Build It Yourself' aspect of this setting to get a bonus."
Rodriguez said, "Huh, I'd forgotten we could use those in our favor. Anyway, the real barrier is more that the GMs also declared that building the roof is a 'Challenge', one of those scenes of trying to pass multiple skill checks at once, and we're still figuring out how the heck those work. Had to do it for the other buildings too."
Miles said, "We should petition our hosts
to give everybody a copy of the rulebook. If there's still some progress being made, what did you need to talk to me about?"
Rodriguez' expression darkened. "I wouldn't make that suggestion out loud. That's why I'm here. See, you and I remember the basics of these rules, but the others never got a full briefing from the aliens. How many aspects are on your character sheet, Miles? And how many fate points?"
"Four aspects, counting this special magic thing, and normally three points per 'session'."
"We each have one aspect. And one fate point each time we sleep."
Miles blinked. "Why?"
"Our hosts went out of their way to make you special, apparently. Maybe because you were one of the ones who made first contact. They're not just playing favorites by handing you a unique form of magic; they're treating us like we're extras, bit players, background characters. As far as most of us know, the game's main rule is 'once a day you can burn your fate point, to get a bonus to a roll matching the one phrase you used to describe yourself'. Which is true for a one-aspect, one-point character."
"Everyone is like this?"
"Not sure about Thorn. But he's been cagey about his skills and all. Our character sheets aren't directly visible to anyone else."
Miles sat with his head on his hands. It probably wasn't a good idea to offer Thorn a full briefing on Fate rules. "Then part of this game is that they're setting up a conflict between me and Thorn, and probably Eva." He told Rodriguez about the encounter with the creature calling itself a Vizier. "What do you think we should do about it?"
"Talk again with the captain. He is still in charge. I want to see us get Eva back, since she's still alive, but you need to motivate him to send out an expedition."
"I see," said Miles.
"Don't give me that sour look. If we were assigning leadership roles based on sheer power, the kingdom never would've been founded. Maker save the King."
"Maker save the King," Miles said. But inwardly he cursed at the trouble he was in. He needed to get this quest done; he was doubly obligated now. But that meant taking the Star without permission and being accused of endangering the crew, dereliction of duty maybe. Or it meant asking for permission, which would be denied for good reason, and then committing insubordination. Miles said partly to reassure himself, "The Hart isn't a military ship; we didn't swear loyalty to Thorn's command and we're not under military discipline."
