Fantasy Online_Hyperborea

by Harmon Cooper

  “This establishment is a sanctuary guildhall for all of our paying guests for the duration of their stay. If you die and respawn here, your person is sacrosanct and inviolate within the confines of our most humblest of humble abodes.” He dusts a fleck of something off his shoulder.

  “So if we die and respawn here, no one can follow us, right?” Ryuk asks.

  “Precisely. These are all precautions, mind you, and I inform you of them so that you may better formulate your plans, whatever they may be.”

  “How does it work?” FeeTwix asks. “I mean, how can you create a place in which only selected players or groups can spawn?”

  “Ah, yes,” Jim says, “the interior of this structure is what’s known as an OMIB space.” He waives his hand around. “I trust you’re familiar with the term?”

  FeeTwix looks from Zaena to Ryuk. Only Tamana seems to have heard the term before. “Orthogonal Matrix Inverse Base – OMIB.”

  “Yes indeed, White Warrior – you’re quite correct; please enlighten your companions later, if you would. Basically, it means that this is a very exclusive, controlled space and no one gets in without my approval.” The odd immiNPC hostelier clears his throat. “Now then, were there any breakfast requests? The chef and the saucier will be leaving soon for a private engagement.”

  “Konakhchani Rohva!” Hiccup calls from the hallway. “And for the love of the Empress, let’s get this show on the road.” He shoulders past Jim, leaves a trail of wet footprints and drags a toilet paper tail into the room behind him.

  “I’ll have the same,” Zaena says, “I’ve been craving.”

  “I’m good,” says FeeTwix.

  “Same.” Ryuk turns to Tamana. “Hungry?”

  “Plomeek soup with tofu and flatbread, please.”

  (0)__(0)

  After a hurried breakfast, the five Mitherfickers make their way to the Aramis Riverwalk, which sits along the Bonsor River and is overshadowed by the tall towers of the financial district. Tamana wears a robe with a hood that obscures most her face. She’s travelling incognito, so her handle isn’t visible. It’s a bit risky, but the five of them need to gear up and to do so, they need to go out in public.

  Unlike other shopping districts on the three floating continents of Tritania, the one in Aramis is known for its hodgepodge of shops that sell everything from weapons and armor to souvenirs and tchotchkes.

  Like Bar Row, most of the shops take advantage of the absolute lack of zoning regulations and are closely packed together. Ryuk too pulls his hood over his head to blend in with Tamana. It’s amazing the power of a hood when it comes to one’s fantasy-world confidence – truth be told, just because you can’t see someone in your peripheral vision doesn’t mean they can’t see you.

  FeeTwix points at a place call Over Armour. “That looks decent enough.” His eyes flash as he reads a message from a fan. “Nope, there’s a better spot.”

  “Dirty Dave’s Armor and Weapons Depot?” Zaena stops and her face hardens. “I’m pretty sure that that’s the same Dirty Dave who introduced wizardous to Tritania.”

  Hiccup waves her concern away. “Look, just because someone is filthy rich and famous, doesn’t mean they’re fickin’ selling drugs. Until the Magistrates in Porthos actually decide his case, Dave is still innocent, in my humblest of opinions. Let’s get in there and blow our wad.”

  “Well, when you put it like that … ” FeeTwix takes the lead, ushering the others forward.

  Dirty Dave’s Armor and Weapons Depot is a single story warehouse, not much larger than the buildings surrounding it. What makes it unique are the two roof-mounted turrets with six-barrel mini guns, crewed by a pair of NPC fawns in combat helmets and wraparound Oakley sunglasses, who sometimes amuse themselves by flinging pellets of faun poo at unsuspecting passersby.

  The Mitherfickers stop in front of a large circular entrance that resembles a vault door. FeeTwix places his gloved hands on a Steampunk-y helm and gives it a spin. The door pops open almost immediately, and the Swede politely opens it all the way to let Tamana and Zaena in. Not one to miss the opportunity of an open door, Hiccup elbows his way to the front of the group and enters first.

  Last in, Ryuk closes the door and stands in awe at the sheer scope and variety of weapons arrayed before him.

  Some are in glass display cases and others are mounted in wall racks. There are enough blades, maces, spears, pikes, and lances to supply two crusades and a jihad and still have enough left over for some old school ethnic cleansing. The other side of the warehouse reminds Ryuk of a sporting goods store with its displays, live mechanical demos, hanging tapestries depicting famous battles, and even a kid’s section, in which aspiring warriors can test-fit armor and battle with Nerph weapons under the watchful gaze of orc referees.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” FeeTwix finally says, picking up on Ryuk’s thoughts. “And it is so much larger in here than it appears outside.”

  “Welcome.” An NPC with a thin smile and nearly translucent skin steps out from behind one of the counters. He’s in a neatly pressed morning coat with an elaborately tied white silk cravat that doesn’t cover the vertical Thulean tattoos running up his neck. His hair is slicked back from a widow’s peak, and as he speaks, the glint from his sharpened silver teeth catches Ryuk’s eyes. “Welcome to Dirty Dave’s.”

  Hiccup gives the salesperson a skeptical look. “This place isn’t owned by the same Dirty Dave who invented wizardous, is it?”

  The man smiles. “You’d have to ask Dirty Dave.”

  “Is he here?”

  A name tag that reads Dirty Dave materializes on the salesperson’s chest. “At your service.”

  Dirty Dave Level 99

  HP: 8999/8999

  MANA: 4697/4697

  ATK: 3347

  MATK: 1679

  DEF: 3000

  MDF: 3000

  LUCK: 115

  Hiccup nods, impressed. “So you’re Dirty Dave?”

  “You’d be surprised what a level 99 Mind Mage can do, including being in several places at once. Regarding the drug trafficking charges, those are just hearsay and fake news. Alternative facts.”

  “See, Lizzy?” Hiccup shakes his head at Zaena. “I told you. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  Dirty Dave approaches Ryuk, his eyes trained on the marble gun. “How very unusual! That is some algoweapon you have there. Mind if I take a look?”

  Ryuk unholsters his marble gun and removes the magazine. He lays the weapon on the counter with the muzzle pointed in a safe direction.

  “It’s a fine piece,” Dirty Dave muses as he looks the weapon over. “Do you mind if I touch it?”

  “By all means.”

  Dirty Dave sticks out a finger crowned with a pointed yellow fingernail. A plastic glove forms on his hand, and as he runs his finger along the Thulean script engraved on the barrel of the gun. The inscription glows green. “Very good, very interesting work.” He mumbles in Thulean as he reads it. He asks, “Someone from Chrono’s school made this, correct?”

  “Yes, Dory the Weaponsmith.”

  “It is an interesting specimen and very well made, but I expect that I can improve upon it somewhat. Not now though. I’ll need some time to develop something … ” He straightens his back as the word comes to him. “Something more automatic, for sportier situations. Also, I’m almost certain I can improve upon the magazine capacity. You get eight marbles per magazine, correct?”

  “Um, yes. How did you know?”

  Dirty Dave waves the question away. “Show me a weapon I don’t know and I’ll give you anything in the store.” He glances around to make his point. “Anything. With your dream armor and your upgraded weapon, there isn’t much I can offer you today. You are aware that your armor will start leveling up with you once you reach level ten, are you not? With that armor, you’ll never need an armor upgrade.”

  “Seriously?”

  Dave gives him a wolfish grin. “That’s what I’m here for, to educate. I
don’t have anything for you today, next time. Moving on, and we will keep this short because my guess is you five are looking to get out of town.”

  “What makes you think that?” Tamana asks.

  “I sell weapons and I know things.”

  “But not drugs!” Hiccup pipes in.

  “Most certainly not and thank-you for your support, Hiccupanaratapana. I have the perfect thing for you. Follow me.”

  Hiccup gives Ryuk a fanboy look that screams, ‘he knows my name!’

  A high table with a silver box on it takes shape next to Dirty Dave. He lifts it by the handles to reveal a battered helm with goat horns. The helm sits atop a chainmail vest that faintly radiates yellow energy.

  “It’s enchanted?” Ryuk asks.

  “Ever-so-slightly,” says Dirty Dave. “It will increase your LUCK by fifteen points.”

  “We’re going to be rich.” Hiccup hops up and down. “Howzabout lowering that table so I can actually check it out.”

  The table lowers by about a half meter and Hiccup equips the helm. “A little help here,” he tells Tamana, who springs into action and helps him with the chainmail.

  “Next.” Dirty Dave steps over to Zaena. He admires her for a moment. His eyebrows lift as he settles on a thought. “Ah, so that’s who you are. Interesting.”

  The green color drains from her face. “No it’s not,” she mouths.

  The weapons dealer tilts his head and winks. “As you wish. Now then, you’re going to need better swords.”

  His table elongates and four short swords pixelate into existence. Their hilts are gold with Thulean script wrapping the grips and the center ridge of each sword is four shades darker than the rest of the blade.

  “These are forged from the finest depleted Pelosium. I recently purchased these four from Kay and Ray’s Chib-O-Rama Superette – purveyors of high quality cutlery for every purpose. I am prescient like that at times. These increase your attack power by twenty points, and come with a signed certificate of authenticity. As for your armor, I will upgrade you once you reach a higher level.”

  Two of the swords lift into the air and move through a brief attack-parry-thrust exercise. Zaena picks up the other two and tests their weight and balance. “Thank you,” she finally says, “they are wonderfully crafted.”

  “Now to the White Warrior.” He stops in front of Tamana and examines her for a moment. A rectangular box made from white metal takes shape on his table; it contains an opalescent two-piece cuirass.

  “You are the lowest level in the group,” he says, “so this will serve you now, and as you progress it will progress with you. This armor decreases any damage or injury done to you by twenty-five percent. It also heals you by 1% of your health every three minutes. It only adds ten points to your defense stat, but at the same time, it adds thirty to your magic defense. Later, as you level up, there will be more items like this that I can prepare for you. I’ll also be able to up the defense points on this, but not until you are a higher level.”

  “This is wonderful!” Tamana slips into the armor. “And the fit … it’s like you knew my size.”

  Ryuk laughs. This is something Tamana always said to Tritanian NPCs. Of course the armor is her size, any armor equipped is automatically the equipee’s size, but Tamana always goes out of her way to make the NPC feel special, worthy of praise.

  “Thank you,” she says, bowing.

  “My pleasure.”

  Dirty Dave steps in front of FeeTwix. “And we arrive at the Quantum Hughes methodology enthusiast.”

  FeeTwix gawks. “You know him?”

  “Knew him. It was my misfortune to have to deal with him for two subjective years, as he liked to say. This was in a different world, before I came here.” He smiles a pointy and predatory smile. “I know you. You’re the type of player who scrolls through your list behind your back, totally unpredictable, a bit of a loose cannon, but usually surprisingly effective. Am I right?”

  “Not completely,” FeeTwix says. “Most times, I let my viewers select my weapon.”

  “Viewers?”

  FeeTwix points at his eyes which are blue at the moment.

  “Ah yes, your viewers. Keep your feed off and follow me.” He turns, and motions for FeeTwix to come with him. “The rest of you stay here, and as my dear departed dad used to say, keep your hands in your pockets and don’t make nose prints on the glass.”

  Dirty Dave approaches an oversized knight standing against a stretch of blank wall.

  The knight’s accoutered in heavy, uncomfortable-looking, elaborate pink cloisonné Hello Unicorn themed armor that sports a sugar skull helmet with big pink bunny ears. The pink knight rests both hands on the hilt of a massive broadsword, the tip of which is pressed to the floor between his feet. Dave reaches up, smacks the knight on the helmet and whispers something in Thulean. The knight’s answering growl is so low as to be almost inaudible, and his grip tightens on the hilt.

  The weaponeer raises a finger in admonishment. “Just remember what happened the last time you tried that, Matthew.”

  The pink bunny knight sighs, side-steps to the right and assumes his original position.

  A dark blue, three-meter shield decorated with white clouds and an armored fist clenching lightning bolts and an olive branch forms on the wall. It splits vertically down the middle and ponderously swings inward to reveal a gray, industrial steel staircase. At the bottom is a heavy steel blast door; Dave enters a lengthy numerical sequence into a keypad and the door swings inward. The lights come up, and The Swede gasps.

  Mounted on the walls of the cavern, displayed in cases, and stored in racks are a variety of weapons, the likes of which has FeeTwix just about depositing digital genetic material in his underoos. “Holy CRAP – look at this stuff! I am seriously not worthy!” He presses his nose against a display case and actually slobbers on it. “OMG, Dave! That’s a genuine BFG 9000! How much?”

  “Well spotted, sir, but it’s for display only, I’m afraid.”

  “And that … he points to a slick-looking weapon with a cube shaped muzzle.

  “A PHASR – personal halting and stimulation response rifle – with an enhanced neuromuscular inhibitor.”

  “And this … ” FeeTwix approaches a golden ax behind thick glass. One side of the ax is fractured off, and veins pulsating with an ethereal green liquid extend down the weapons cheek, over its lug, and all the way to the knob on the other end.

  Dirty Dave steps in front of him. “Also for display only, sorry to say. I do, however, have something similar.”

  He takes a dragonwood case out from a drawer and sets it on the table in the center of the room. After registering his fingerprint, the lid lifts on its own, revealing a dagger with a damascened blade and an intricately wrought emerald handle.

  “A knife?” FeeTwix asks.

  “Not just any knife, pick it up.”

  FeeTwix lifts the knife and it immediately starts to grow. Tendrils of symbiose peel off the weapon and wrap around the Swede’s hand. They spiral up his shoulder and form a hardened shell with pulsating veins. Once the blade has formed, and underslung barrel takes shape, its muzzle rimmed in green energy.

  “A mutant hack?” FeeTwix asks.

  “Yes, an algoweapon as it is known here. This one you’ll find is most excellent, and far superior to the one you already have.”

  “How did you know I have one?”

  Dirty Dave taps his finger against his temple. “I’ve been saving this particular specimen whom I’ve named Colonel Bowie, for the right buyer, and the little bird on my shoulder tells me that that buyer is you. Tritania’s NVA seed put a restriction on how many times this sort of weapon can be used – thanks to your hero, Quantum Hughes, by the way. You can use it once a day, for the duration of whatever battle you are engaged in. Don’t forget that, and don’t be surprised if this weapon does more than you originally intend for it to do. This one was made here in Tritania, and like I said, it’s much more powerful than yo
urs.”

  FeeTwix admires the weapon for a moment. He runs his free hand along the hack’s exterior, flicks it to test its hardness. “That reminds me, my guildmates told me about some type of protective vest that would prevent damage from using unapproved weapons.”

  Dave nods. “You’re referring to Doc’s tactical vest. There were two in existence, actually, but I was never able to get one. I was, however, able to examine one and reverse engineer a duplicate.” He bends and opens another drawer. He returns to the display table with a black sleeveless tactical vest lined with pockets. “It isn’t quite as good as Doc’s – that man was truly an artist in every sense of the word – and it won’t give you any additional defense points, but it will limit the life bar penalty to no more than 15%.”

  FeeTwix slips into the black tactical vest and zips it up. “I love it,” he says as he runs his hands up and down the front of the vest. “Now I won’t have to chug as many healing potions.”

  (0)__(x)

  Dirty Dave and FeeTwix join the rest of the group in the front room. Zaena is performing some flashy and elaborate four-armed sword drills and Hiccup, his goat-horned helm perched on his head, watches her and comments in Thulean.

  “Now comes my second favorite part,” the weapons dealer claps his hands together. “Let’s discuss remuneration.” His eyes light up as he drums his fingers together.

  “We have a little over fifty thousand rupees,” Ryuk informs him. As the scion of a well-to-do Yakuza clan, he’s never had to concern himself with what things cost, and is ignorant of the primary rule of bartering – don’t tell ‘em how much you have.

  “How excellent,” Dirty Dave claps his hands in delight. “That should almost exactly cover the tip!”

  All eyes turn to Hiccup.

  “Now just a fickin’ minute,” he objects. “Yeah we’re a little short of funds, but it’s not like I’m the one who pissed away seventy thousand … oh, wait – that was me.” He huffs, “Well, at least I’m not the one who blew ten grand at the fancy house … no, that was me, too. Well, I for sure didn’t lose twenty-five large on a fixed ponytail race to an ink shadow … um, yeah – that was also me. No matter. We’ll never go back to Sotla so we won’t have to pay it back.”