by Charles Dean
Each and every time she dug out a White-Wing’s chest, dealing the multiple blows needed to kill one in what seemed like the span of a single breath, it was a simply magnificent display to watch. Locke wasn’t exactly a fan of violence, and definitely hadn’t been the type to stay up watching gory action movies as a kid, but this wasn’t violence: This was art. She was the embodiment of grace under pressure, never wasting a movement or a bit of energy, and every action she took had a deadly purpose.
Not to say that Sampson and Sparky’s almost single-minded teamwork wasn’t also beautiful, but their struggle against the players was much, much more mild in comparison to Eliza’s slaughter of the NPCs.
He managed to jerk his eyes away from her long enough to see that Sampson was still working away at the Dryad with her axe, taking furious swipes, as the first Minotaur got back on his feet. The second Minotaur moved forward and tried to hit Sampson with his own two-handed weapon, a giant maul, but Sparky was there in a second, deflecting the maul to the side and digging her sword into the Minotaur’s ribs before backing up and putting herself between the first Minotaur and Sampson again.
The maul-wielding Minotaur lunged again, trying to hit Sparky this time, but she deflected the attack as smoothly as she had the first time. Just like before, she stabbed her sword right between his ribs and returned to her defensive position. The first Minotaur, the one she had slammed into the White-Wing, finally returned to the fray and attacked Sparky with his two axes. He jumped toward her, swinging down with both of his weapons at the same moment the second Minotaur brought his maul down in an overhand attack. Somehow, Sparky managed to deflect each of the weapons as if they had all been hanging motionless in the air. She slid her sword into the second Minotaur’s ribs once again as she blocked the one-handed axes from the other Minotaur plus the maul from her poor victim, all three weapons clanging off her shield in a quick succession of deafening clashes that echoed through the tunnel above grunts and shouts of the fray.
Watching Sparky work while Sampson finished off the downed Dryad, slowly whittling away his bar with her fiery attacks, was less like looking at art and more like watching a steroid-enhanced schoolyard bully push around a scrawny kid three years younger than him.
“Snare is up. We can get out of here now,” Reginald told Tubal and the group.
“Not without finishing off the players,” Sampson said, killing her own target and spinning around Sparky to hit the maul-wielding Minotaur with her blazing signature horizontal slash.
“I agree, Tubal. We need to kill them before we move,” Sparky added, seconding Sampson’s notion.
“Fine, do it quick,” Tubal said, but he wasn’t able to assist her. He and Locke were doing everything that they could to maintain the gas bombs and the deadly barrage of arrows on either side of the melee fighters so that they wouldn’t get crushed by White-Wings pressing in from the sides.
As Sparky’s sword slid into the maul-wielder for the last time, she called out to Eliza, “Hey, we need to move quickly. Can you help us with this newcomer?”
Eliza didn’t bother wasting her time with words but switched her pattern of attack all the same. She lashed out at two of the closest White-Wings with a violent series of attacks designed to create some space before gracefully removing herself from the engagement altogether and moving over to join the other two girls.
Then, almost as if the dual-wielding Minotaur’s worst nightmare had come true, Sparky’s sword, Sampson’s axe, and both of Eliza’s blades popped into him like he was the last Swedish meatball at a party, and everyone with a toothpick had decided they wanted it at the same time.
“There! Let’s go!” Tubal called out to the group, and Locke did his best to cover their retreat with explosions as they ran through Reginald’s snare.
“How long will it hold them for?” Locke asked, taking one last glance at the three dead players and eighteen dead NPCs laid out across the floor behind them.
“You think I took that long setting up something small? Have faith in me, Shy. As Tubal always says, I’m actually really good at some things.”
“I never said that,” Tubal said, denying it immediately.
Locke looked over at Reginald. “You do seem pretty good at dodging a question.”
“It’s a super-long cast time, but it’ll hold them at least two minutes. That should be plenty of time for us to reach our allies and disappear before they can catch up with us again,” Reginald said.
Two minutes might not seem like a long time, but in game time, it could be an absolute eternity. Being stuck anywhere for a hundred and twenty seconds was certain doom on most battlefields, and at the least, the spell that Reginald had laid out was going to be a definite problem for anyone who tried to follow them by coming down through that passageway.
“So that’s why we had to kill the players,” Locke observed, finally putting two and two together. There was no way the creators of Tiqpa would allow for a two-minute snare in player versus player combat. It would be cheating.
“Yeah. It’ll have no problem holding the NPCs for the full extent of its duration, but if a player runs through it, we’ll get fifteen seconds at best,” Reginald said.
So, that’s why they were so insistent on killing the players. They weren’t just turning a little psychotic. They actually were just making sure the escape route was clear. “Do you think that other players won’t be coming down that hole?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your mom about play--” Reginald started off with a rather juvenile ‘your mom’ joke, but didn’t get to finish it before Sampson popped the back of his head so hard Locke was sure he was going to roll forward and faceplant into the ground. “I mean, I don’t know,” he corrected himself after the beating.
“That’s a good, Reggie,” Sampson laughed.
They finally found the passage leading up into the bar, and Locke found himself making his second trip up the secret stairwell that day. When they topped the stairs and slid back the hidden entrance to the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head, they were greeted by a tavern full of players who were all fuming.
“What the heck? When did the Holy Alliance get the right to push us around?” one of the patrons shouted angrily as he smashed his beer onto the floor.
“Yeah, screw them!” another one shouted. “I only have one day to go out and level, and they do this to me?”
Locke looked around to see that, rather than a few customers, the bar was so densely packed one would have to fight just to squeeze through. Right in the middle of everyone, on top of a table in the skimpiest outfits he had ever seen, were Bianca and Katherine, inciting the growing indignation of the crowd below.
“That’s right,” Bianca answered back and put on a pouty face. “Sure as we’re standing right before you, I was listening to them spout out the vilest things. They said that we’re nothing but low-level noobs who can’t do anything without their say so.”
“Hey! They said that about you? How could they! You’re amazing!” a Naga player answered.
“Not just that . . .” Katherine said as she slipped her arm around Bianca and pretended to comfort her, but it was clear to Locke that she was just trying to angle Bianca, squeezing her chest and the like, so that she would appear more flattering to the crowd. “They said that you all aren’t real men, and that because we’re women, we’re automatically bad at the game . . . that we should just quit trying and go back to the kitchen and wait for a real man, not a bunch of suckers like you guys, to come by and eat our sandwiches . . . whatever that means.”
“What?!” The crowd almost simultaneously burst into outrage as cries of sympathy and anger erupted from around the room.
Those . . . conniving . . . little . . . Succubi. They don’t just role-play their race; they role-play the full-on damsel in distress. And these great, white knights are eating it up. They’re nothing more than a bunch of mindless guys waiting to instantly rush to a woman’s defense in a video game. Those two’s lines are clearly fake and o
ver-exaggerated. How dense can this crowd be? Women may have been proven to have slightly slower reaction speeds than men, but this is a fully-immersive game. I’m not even sure that statistic applies here. No one would seriously ever think that a woman couldn’t game. Locke wanted to headbutt the wall as he, Tubal and the others all watched their allies dumbfoundedly.
“I think we should have asked for more sashes,” Reginald said and nudged Locke.
“You mean to recruit these guys?” Sampson answered.
“No, just to sell them. They’re really good,” Reginald laughed, causing Locke to finally crack into a cackle that he had been suppressing from the moment he saw the table-top women.
“Eliza, don’t let them see your face and your eyes,” Locke quickly warned her. “We need them to think we’re not biased for this to work. Tubal, they’ve set the stage, so can you play the part for us?”
Tubal looked over at Locke and gave him a nod that conveyed a special understanding between two people who were well-versed in using their words to get out of trouble and shared the same determination. “I got it.” He flashed a brief smile, but it immediately changed to a frown.
Tubal rushed into the room and began pushing his way through the assembled players. “Bianca! Katherine! I came as quick as I could. How could you not tell me that the Holy Alliance killed you outside of town for traveling by yourselves?” he asked her so loudly that everyone in the entire bar could hear. “That’s the second time this week. You should have let me know sooner! I won’t let you go out on your own again!” He rushed over to the two girls and climbed on top of the table.
“We . . . We just didn’t want to worry you. We know how hard you worked to get a mercenary contract for our guild with the Holy Alliance and how tough you fought for them. We didn’t want to cause any problems for you that might result in a split or something . . .” Bianca pouted. A hush had fallen over the crowd as they watched the reunion, but it was clear to Locke, who was watching from the back of the room, that they were all silently fuming.
“But, but . . .” she said, trailing off and sniffling. She was laying it on thick. “I just don’t think that we can take it anymore. I’ve had to stay in this tavern so much. We were out trying to kill a few mobs so that we could get a little bit of loot and experience, and we wanted to meet up with you, but they came through and killed our party since we couldn’t afford to pay them another ‘protection tax’ for keeping the land safe. They said that the one we paid a few days ago wasn’t enough and that we had to settle up with them . . . but we just couldn’t.”
“It’s so stupid!” Katherine yelled in frustration. “I just wanted . . . I just wanted to level . . . and . . . and . . . those jerks!” She swung her hands around as if she were having a fit and trying to take out her irritation towards the Holy Alliance by beating up the air. “How are we supposed to pay them a tax when they won’t let us even farm?”
Locke scanned the room, watching people’s faces in the crowd. How is everyone buying this so easily? It was clearly a farce. There is no way someone would ever act so overly dramatic in real life, but it didn’t even seem to matter. Does the Holy Alliance already have such a bad reputation that these people are willing to believe anything someone says about them? Could a rumor be spread so quickly? Locke realized that something had to have happened to put the idea in their minds already. There was simply no way that seeds of discontent weren’t already planted somewhere within them.
Actually, they were put there earlier at the market, weren’t they? It was a realization that struck him, and an idea came along with it. There had to be some way that he could use this to his advantage and capitalize on the crowd's anger.
He looked back toward the center of the room to where the act was going on and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that Tubal was still playing his part. Somehow, he was managing to look even more shocked and outraged than anyone in the audience--which was saying quite a bit.
Each and every word that Katherine and Bianca spoke managed to create a new shade of red on several of the Human players. Their faces were more likely to express emotion in sync with the player’s own feelings than any other race. Minotaurs and Vampires, for example, had built-in facial cues that were designated by the game. Not that they couldn’t blush or express themselves, as Sampson often did, but it was generally just far less evident than in their Human counterparts.
One or two players, he noticed, were already opening up the forums from the in-game console and getting ready to make some post. It was clear that they were buying the entire bit hook, line and sinker, and they were about to get everyone they could on board.
“But if you had told us . . . then . . . we could have helped you!” Tubal said emphatically, and Locke noticed that a few people around the crowd were nodding right along in agreement with him.
Why didn’t you say something? Why were you just playing the victim silently? The same questions that were going through the minds of the onlookers were going through Locke’s as well. He could tell that those nodding along were trying to communicate to the two Succubi via their gestures and expressions that they would have gladly assisted Tubal, but not everyone was completely convinced yet.
“And what? Cost you your precious relationship with those jerks?” Bianca harrumphed. “Look at you! You’re wearing a bathrobe that you out-leveled a long time ago just because you are so proud of how much you helped them.”
“What relationship is worth that type of behavior?” Tubal opened up his menu as he spoke and switched out his bathrobe for another outfit. The old bathrobe was replaced by a standard light-blue archer’s garb that would have looked right at home in a Robin Hood movie if it had been green.
“What group of people is worth my loyalty if they lock my friends--or anyone for that matter--up in a bar? Everyone here pays good money and works all week just to log on,” Tubal spat. “What right do they have to tell us what to do with our free time? Am I supposed to work a forty-hour week just to come home and find out that the one night I have free to play games-- when the kids are actually doing their homework instead of bothering me, when my wife isn’t needing help with the chores, and when there isn’t mandatory overtime--to find out that some idiotic fourteen-year-old on a power trip has blocked me from spending that time with my friends?” Tubal gritted his teeth, and he was so red that veins were starting to pop out in his neck.
“Tubal has kids and a family?” Locke asked Sampson quietly.
“Oh, no,” Sampson managed to whisper back as she giggled. “You don’t have a monopoly on lying, Shy.”
“Hey! Not telling the truth isn’t the same as lying!” Locke argued.
“Sure, sure,” Sampson said and then turned her head back to watch the show.
“But . . .” Bianca and Katherine both said in unison, each using puppy-dog eyes, batting their lashes and sticking out their lower lips. Their act was definitely on point.
“But nothing! You should have told me. Heck, you could have told anyone in here! We all know what it’s like to be told that we can’t play something we pay for. We don't work for our money just to let kids with too much free time tell us what we can’t do, right?” Tubal turned to address the crowd as he spoke this time, not the girls. While it wasn’t a resounding ‘yes,’ those who didn’t outright agree with him verbally still nodded along like bobbleheads on a car dash.
“That’s right!” an Earth-Walker in the crowd yelled. “Who said they were in charge? Are they GMs?”
GMs . . . Wait! GMs! That’s right, if I recall correctly, there was more than just those in the Holy Alliance wondering what happened to my blacksmith character. If I were to say that Anthony got him banned, Ash would be all over me . . . but if I were to just reference it . . . The idea had some plausibility to it, but Locke wasn’t entirely comfortable taking this risk. However, Bianca and Katherine’s act might work on the white-knights, but it wasn’t going to hit home hard enough for those who were more self-interested. They had
done a wonderful job of winning the crowd, but letting everyone else know that they had something to lose, too, definitely wasn’t going to hurt. There were always going to be some players who would think it ‘isn’t our issue’ and just dismiss stuff like this entirely. Likewise, there were others who would just hope to wait out the entire thing and pray for other opportunities to come along, people who bought into the excuse that ‘nothing I do will be worth the trouble that starting something with the Holy Alliance will cause.’ Players like that, more often than not, were the majority amongst gamers. They made up the bulk of the population on every gaming server, and Locke needed them to be on his side if they were going to win this fight against the Holy Alliance. Most of the rebellious players in the city wouldn’t be either as organized or as well-equipped as the Holy Alliance, but Locke needed their numbers nevertheless.
Alright, here goes nothing. “Sampson,” Locke began, looking up at the burly Minotaur standing next to him, “you know how there are rumors floating around how Locke is missing?” Locke felt weird talking about himself in the third person, but there was no avoiding it if he was going to pull this off and not expose himself at the same time.
“Yeah, why?” Sampson asked.
“I need you to pin it on Anthony after I finish my case,” Locke instructed, taking a deep breath. Please don’t hit me with a banhammer, Miss Friendly Neighborhood Ash, he prayed silently. He removed his Fire-Walker insignia and prepared himself to push through the crowd. It had grown tighter since Tubal had made his way through as everyone jammed together toward the center of the room and watched the display that Katherine and Bianca put on, but he was certain that he would eventually be able to elbow his way to the front.
