by Charles Dean
“Tell that to the defending side in any war.” Daria’s voice faltered, and she broke character with this smart aleck response.
“That’s not . . .” Ryan turn to Daria with a look of confusion, probably shocked by her off-script interruption.
While the quip might have annoyed Robot Ryan, the script-reading-monkey of primetime gaming TV, it made Locke a little happy. ‘Violence is never the answer’ is only something people say after they’ve won all their wars and are able to live in peace. It was rare to see that sentiment shared on television, where people only pushed pleasantly-soft ideas that didn’t offend anyone. You go, Daria. He mentally applauded her as he turned off the television and took one last second to savor the image of Ryan’s dumbfounded face. Sorry, buddy, I can’t spend all day watching G.O.R.N., or I won’t get anything done, he thought as he watched the talking head vanish from the screen.
Now, time to log in. He popped on the dive device and hopped into the simulation.
-----
Locke didn’t even manage to open his eyes before he was immediately struck in the chest by a giant green hand as he logged into the game.
“Get down!” the owner of the hand yelled as he pushed Locke onto his back, creating a beautiful ‘thump’ sound as Locke practically bounced off the grass like someone was trying to dribble a flat basketball.
What the-- Locke tried to cry out, but there was a clear lack of air preventing anything from escaping his mouth as he stared up in shock at burning arrows flying over his head.
The giant who had pressed Locke onto the ground charged one of the archer and tossed him into the air before he could notch another arrow onto his bow. No sooner had he reached the air than three White-Wings soared out like well-armed angels and slashed him in mid-air over and over again.
Another volley of the flaming arrows whizzed over his head accompanied by a bright streak of lighting that bounced off one man and struck another one before forking into the ground. Two targets of the attacks, people Locke struggled to catch any detail of, were incinerated before they had so much as a chance to dodge out of the way.
“There are a few more coming. Rob, have your squad root and boom them!” the large green man who had thrown him on the grown shouted to someone behind him.
“Yes, sir!” One of the other green men said, punching his fists into the dirt.
“What the heck was that?” Locke managed to ask from his position on the ground. He didn’t think standing up was a good idea if there were going to be more attacks.
Instead of an answer, he was greeted by four more opponents trickling in, two of which began chanting as soon as they reached eye level. Unfortunately for all four, they never got a chance to execute their spells as small thin vines sprung out of the ground around all four and started tugging on their legs and arms. It wasn’t much, and it was clear that with less than ten seconds of struggling they would easily have been able to break through the weak vines, but the aggressors didn’t have ten seconds. Before the only one with a sword could even hack himself free, a series of fireballs launched over Locke’s head and engulfed all four of them, burning them into nothing.
Locke waited on the ground, twisting his head back and forth between where the attackers had died and where the men who had killed them, and probably saved his life, were standing. He was surprised at how little anyone seemed to care. Not even thirty seconds after the fight ended, it seemed as if the attack had never happened.
Has it gotten to be that commonplace? Bandits assaulting the very heart of the Holy Alliance is so normal now that it seems as if it might as well have never happened as soon as it’s over? Locke frowned and he lay there on the grass. He would probably have stayed there a few more minutes if someone hadn’t kneeled next to him and extended a blue hand.
“Hey! Come on, Locke! Everyone is waiting on you!” A slender man, coated from head to toe in bark like it was plated armor, pulled Locke to his feet before clapping him on his back hard enough to shake loose any sense of bearing he had managed to recover.
“Easy there, Sal, you know Locke is lighter than your tax returns. If you hit him too hard, he’s bound to fly off like a house strapped to a million balloons,” a second Dryad warned. This one was more muscular than the first and wore nothing but a pair of bark pants that clung tighter than a hipster's dream pair of skinny jeans.
I’m not light. I’m just a Human without much in the vitality stat. Locke sighed to himself as he looked at the two light-blue-skinned dryads in front of him. Sal and Sol each stood a full eight feet tall with green hair spiked up in such a way that it almost gave them an entire extra foot of height. Since the 1.4 patch had majorly revamped all the stats and made vitality even less important to a smith, he hadn’t been dumping any points into it. As a result, any hits he took, which apparently included even pats on the back, were greatly exaggerated.
The third face that was waiting for Locke wasn’t one he recognized. He had never seen the Human girl before, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of her, he couldn’t even see the two Dryads anymore. She was about five foot six with long hair that transitioned slowly from a dark blue at the base to sharply bright red at the tips. She had a button nose, thin lips, and a chin that, when combined with her hair line, gave the whole face the shape of a heart. Yet, with all of her features, it was her exotic purple irises that he couldn’t help but look into.
“It’s really cool, isn’t it?” Sol, the brutishly large Dryad next to Sal, said as soon as he caught where Locke was staring. “Persephone here bought an eye kit online. She’s the only person in the whole camp” --Sol gestured with his arms towards the rest of the tents around them-- “that has it. I was just as shocked as you. I want to get a pair of green eyes! But the only way you can do that is by buying the new dev kit.”
“Micro transactions?” Locke gulped. “They’re already doing micro transactions in Tiqpa?” That’s not good at all. If they’re selling cosmetic stuff in Tiqpa, that means I’ll have less business than a luxury car maker in a depression. The number of potential customers will be the same, but for every person who decides that having fancy, colored hair or a little pink tutu is more important than winning in battle, the number of people who will spend their extra cash on a weapon that will last more than a few levels will go down. This is not good, not good at all. Locke panicked, and his chest seized up momentarily as his brain started to run the numbers on how many people would rather look good at their funeral than show up to a battle uglier than the soiled hind-side of a hippo after taco night but still be the best equipped on the field.
“Umm . . . No. It’s not what you’re thinking, Locke. It’s a quest reward that was sold on the same forum Anthony found your services,” Persephone explained.
Was my horror that evident? Oh no. I need to practice smiling more in front of the mirror. I can’t let that happen again or it could ruin a business deal faster than farting in a conference room, Locke chided himself, imagining his father wagging a finger at him as he lectured himself. ‘No matter what, son, just keep smiling. Smiles are infectious! People pick up on your body language, and you can smooth over a bad situation just by letting people know that you’re in good spirits.’ Wait, does she think that I’m just some money-grubbing merchant now? No, that is not in my best interest at all . . . I mean, I guess I kinda am, but that can’t be helped right now. It’s probably for the best if they just think that I’m just the kind and generous smith who wants to help out the Holy Alliance in the only way I can.
“I don’t think he heard you, Persephone,” Sol laughed. “I think you must have cast charm or stun on him because he’s out of it.”
“No, umm, I’m sorry,” Locke responded meekly, trying to make it sound like he had just spaced out for a moment. “I was just thinking about how cool I would look if I were able to get my hands on some gray eyes for my character.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color,” Persephone responded indifferently with a shrug. “It
would probably be really expensive.”
Locke had to hold back a cringe when the word ‘expensive’ left Persephone’s lips. You shouldn’t swear in public. That type of bad language is unacceptable. He almost chuckled at his own joke. “Well, let’s not worry about it. What brings you three here so early? I still have to hit the forge and get to work if I’m going to finish the order you all put in.”
“Yeah, that’s nice and all, but Anthony wanted to see you ahead of time. He had a really exciting offer for you,” Sol said, Sal nodding in agreement. Locke often preferred hearing Sal talk over Sol. Sal had a bad habit of beating around the bush and never really getting around to saying exactly what he meant. If he ever got excited or wanted something, he had a bad tendency to over-exaggerate too. When he did, his words sounded like they were dipped in honey and served with salt to the point you often couldn’t tell what you were really hearing.
“Ah.” Locke looked at Sal, hoping the slender weed’s expression would give some indication of what the ‘exciting offer’ was going to be. “Is that so? Are you guys growing again? Going to need more weapons? I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a month at this rate.”
“We’re hoping to grow.” Sol scratched his head. “You know, one person at a time. But if we don’t, you know . . . It happens.”
“I wouldn’t turn down a new weapon though,” Persephone added as she looked at her blade. “It just doesn’t seem as impressive since the update. I might need a fresh one to make me feel better.” She turned and gave Locke a warm smile.
The update. Locke couldn’t contain his jubilation when he thought about it. Prior to the update, stat gains scaled exponentially. Weapons were doing ridiculously high amounts of damage because players were able to sink all their points into power and speed and turn fights into a one-hack, one-slash kill fest. Unless an opponent was carrying a shield or fortified with magic, damage radically out-scaled health percentages. Player versus player combat was almost cheapened to the point of 'whoever hits first wins,' and every monster except for bosses was killed almost instantly.
“Hey, I see where you’re looking. Don’t be thinking anything perverted about our Persephone! She’s too far up on the food chain. The other commanders will kill you if they see that smile of yours,” Sol whispered in Locke’s ears, clearly misunderstanding what was making him smile.
“Oh . . .” Locke felt annoyed at his absent-minded grin being so awkwardly misinterpreted.
“I’m right here!” Persephone stamped her foot. “If he wants to make googly-eyes at me, let him. It’s not anyone else’s business but mine.”
“I wasn’t making . . .” Locke started off as if he were going to protest, but after mentally weighing what would be in his best interest, he decided against it and left the thought unfinished instead. Maybe she’s egotistical and likes me because she thinks that I like her. She’ll probably ask for a discount, and if I pitch it as ‘this is the lowest I can do, and I really like you a lot,’ she’ll be way more likely to believe it.
“Ha ha ha! He can’t even deny it with a straight face. It’s okay, Locke. I think she’s pretty too,” Sal teased, and the two dryads both enjoyed a hearty laugh at Locke’s expense.
“Just . . . Just show me to the tent,” Locke said, doing his best to not sound arrogant. He could hear his dad again in every word that ran through his head: ‘Stutter a word here and there, act shy when needed, and keep your head down. That way, when you brag about your merchandise, it will sound all the more sincere. When you tell them that you’re offering the best product on the market, they’ll be much more likely to believe you.’ Locke hated the fact that he probably came off as a weak sap to some people, but it helped knowing that it was only a carefully-cultivated persona. “Curiosity about this new offer is going to kill me. Are you sure you can’t give me a hint?”
“Who says we haven’t?” Persephone smiled and then walked ahead of the other two, casually stepping over one of the bandit’s dead bodies as she made her way through the encampment.
Locke didn’t need to be tall or look at Sal and Sol to know where their eyes were fixed as the curvy girl rushed ahead of them. “Easy, guys. You said she’s off limits, right?” he chided, taking some small pleasure in the counter-quip.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Sol chuckled.
“He was saying you were staring at her—“ Sal couldn’t finish his explanation before a thump and a gasp were all that could be heard. “We were looking at the birds.”
“Birds?” Locke, well aware it was just an excuse, still played along and looked around for some, taking in the view of the camp while he was at it. There were hundreds of beige tents flying the flag of the Holy Alliance, a simple purple cross on a white background with a thin red border, all around them. There were, however, definitely no birds. “What kind? I like birds,” he asked as he turned to see Sal’s expression, hoping the simple Dryad would squirm a little.
“They were, umm . . .” Sal looked around, clearly trying to spot something. “They were . . .”
“Yes?” Sol was enjoying this as much as Locke. “Tell me, brother, what were they?”
“They were just birds!” Sal gave up on trying to guess a name and threw his arms up in protest. He was clearly making this into a bigger deal than either Sol or Locke. “How should I know what kind they were? I’m not some sort of ornithologist or something!”
Ornithologist? Locke could glean it was a fancy word for birdwatcher from the context, but had no idea what it really meant. For all he knew, it could secretly be a Latin word for a man who specializes in the etymology of obscure names like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
“Anyway, we’re here,” Sal said, pointing to the large, solid-white tent with purple trim in front of them. Where every other tent was a simple tent like the ones a person expected to see on an army base, this one was as big as a conference hall and shaped like one too. Locke probably would have spotted it sooner if he wasn’t too busy teasing Sal.
“Thanks for the escort. You gents coming in?” Locke crossed his fingers that they wouldn’t. If they come in now, they’ll know the rate I give Anthony, and that’s just bad for business. Every salesman knows to keep each and every transaction separate, or people end up getting their feelings hurt. He was always going to take care of his own friends, of course, but business was business.
“No, sir,” Sol said. He suddenly straightened up and stood guard on one side of the door, Sal immediately mimicking him on the other. “Commander Anthony and the Grand Lord Marshal are waiting for you inside.”
The Grand Lord Marshal? There is someone higher up than Anthony on the food chain? Just what in the heck is the deal I’m being offered? He swallowed hard as he pulled back the tent flap and entered. Inside, he found two people standing over the cliché wooden table covered in maps and half-filled goblets. He also noticed that there were several fancy, uncomfortable-looking chairs built for smaller people decorating the walls of the tent. One of the two occupying the tent was Commander Anthony, his business partner, who had helped him get months ahead on all his bills and rent payments. He had also unknowingly been his sister’s benefactor, and was likely to continue being the source of her financial support if everything went well. Like Locke, he was the standard, clean-cut, six-foot-tall Human with golden hair and blue eyes. He always wore the same silver-plated armor, decorated on both the front and back with the Holy Alliance’s symbol, and Locke could only guess as to whether or not he actually owned casual clothes or knew how to relax.
The other person wasn’t at all what he would have expected from a guild leader. She was tall and slender with jet black hair, red eyes and an S-shaped figure. Her most striking and unexpected feature, what really made her stand out from the rest of her guild, was the simple white dress she was wearing. It stood out in vibrant contrast to the clunky armor that most members of the upper echelons lived in.
Anthony caught sight of Locke as soon as
he walked in and said, “Portia, this is the promising young aspirant I mentioned to you earlier. His skills are top-notch, and with his gear, we’ll be able to turn even the lowliest of footmen into a force to be reckoned with.”
“You flatter me too much, sir.” Locke shrank under Portia’s gaze as soon as it turned on him. He averted his eyes so as not to look directly at her, and every instinct in his body told him to turn and run as quickly as he could. Get out. Get away. Danger! his senses screamed. No, not danger. Opportunity and a paycheck. His logic argued back, fighting against his instinctual push to flee back the way he came. “I merely serve in the best way I can.”
“Of course you do,” Anthony agreed and beamed a smile at him. “Always working hard, always striving for the cause . . . You’re a man among men. If I had a dozen recruits with your dedication, this war would have been won already; the blight would be eradicated and order would be restored to the world of Tiqpa.”
“There is no dedication, sir, only love for the work,” he lied. He bowed his head at Anthony’s compliment and hoped that it would make his shrinking look less awkward and unnatural. Dedication? No. Love? Definitely not. Dedication doesn’t keep a man working nineteen hours a day for weeks at a time with only coffee to keep the engines running. It’s bills. Bills and a brother’s love for his sister.
