By beating and robbing a defenseless person, you gain 50 infamy. Total infamy: 50. Rank: You don’t scare me. Points to next rank: 450.
Riccon walked briskly back to Hugin, the bloody strips of cloth still wrapped around his hands to help discourage anyone from harassing him. He needed to level and did not want to get bogged down with some time-consuming nonsense. He was a noob, and he would probably lose a straight up fight with most NPCs. But that would soon change. Riccon knew the game better than almost anyone playing right now.
He and Ben should be able to level faster than just about anyone thanks to his beta testing. As if on cue, Riccon received a message alert. He clicked on the icon and read the prompt.
You have received a message from Darvin Sepret. Visit an arcanagraph office or use a communications item to read the message.
QM also handled communications differently than other online games. There was no ingame chat. You had to communicate the old fashioned way for the most part. There were arcanagraph offices located in most medium-sized and larger towns where players could get messages to each other. The game pretty much said yes to telegraphs but no to cell phones. Players could buy magical communication scrolls, but they were a bit on the expensive side and usually single use.
At first, Riccon had found the limitation aggravating since it made planning raids and communicating within your party difficult to say the least. But after a while, he began to appreciate it. Good communication was the key to warfare, and since NPCs and mobs were not able to use ingame chat, it helped level the playing field a bit. It did not take long for him to enjoy the realism and challenges it presented.
Riccon knew the message could only have come from Ben. He was the only person who knew his ingame name. Riccon figured Ben had finished rolling his character and wanted to group up, but he wanted to turn in his quest first before finding the nearest messaging office. He increased his pace and finally found Hugin after asking around for him since he was out collecting rents from his other tenement houses.
Hugin looked down at the bloodstained rags around Riccon’s hands and smiled. “You look like a man who’s been busy.”
Riccon tossed the coin pouch containing ten silver pieces to Hugin. “Yep. Job’s done. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with my work. I’ve already taken my two silver from the purse.”
The corners of Hugin’s mouth turned down as he gave Riccon a nod of respect. “Honest and efficient. Some of my recovery contracts like to come back and tell me he didn’t have the full amount, thinking they could pocket a little extra. I never fall for it. Not for long. Then I send a contractor out for them.”
Riccon leaned in and whispered. “Just between you and me, he actually had a little extra. Poor Arin really had a bad day today.”
Hugin threw his head back and bellowed with laughter. “I like you! Tell you what, you pop in from time to time and I might have more work for you.” He took one of the silver pieces he was counting in the palm of his hand and flicked it to Riccon. “A bonus for a job well done and for giving me a good laugh.”
Riccon caught the coin in his hand and gave Hugin a closed fisted salute. Time to hook up with Ben, or Darvin as he was calling himself ingame, and really get to grinding some levels.
Chapter 3: The Mad Smith
JANDAR WOKE THE INSTANT the dim ray of light found its way through the narrow gap in the shutters. He rolled over, his calloused hand questing for the soft but firm body of his wife, but he found only the cool touch of rough sheets. Jandar forced his eyes open and sat up, willing his recalcitrant brain to wake as well.
The gears inside his head slowly began to turn, reminding him that his wife and son had gone with Grady, the master blacksmith beneath whom he apprenticed, on a delivery and resupply run to Middale. It was two days travel by wagon each way, and they had only left yesterday. That meant it would be at least three days before they returned.
His wife, Lenora, had family in Middale and had taken their son Jesse with her to visit them. Jesse was only five years old and was excited to take his first journey out of their small town. Jandar ate a hurried, bland breakfast of oats and a cold sausage tucked inside a roll before getting to work on the many orders he needed to fill.
He entered the shop attached to his small, single-room home, or his home attached to the shop to be more accurate. It had once been Grady’s home before his moderate success allowed him to build a proper house for himself and his family. Jandar glanced at the few pieces of weaponry hanging or resting against one wall with a twinge of envy. As an apprentice, his job was to forge tools, nails, and the occasional piece of cutlery. He had to reach journeyman before being allowed to craft swords and battleaxes.
Jandar checked the water level in the slack tub and lit the forge. He worked the bellows, fueling the burning coke to create a searing heat that felt good on such a chilly morning, but it took only a few minutes before it became oppressive. It still didn’t bother him much. He had practically been raised in the smithy and was accustomed to the heat it produced.
The shop was short on triple and quadruple-ought stock horseshoes, so he started the day making those. They did not take long to make, so he could get to work on customer orders later with plenty of time to complete them.
Jandar had finished the shoes and was shaping a new hoe blade when he heard someone calling out his name. He stopped his pounding and cocked an ear toward the commotion. He heard his name mixed with the sound of pounding hoof beats against the town’s hard-packed dirt street. He recognized the lathered horse before he did the man whipping it furiously with a lash.
Several things came into focus almost faster than his brain could process them. The rider was Carlton, a young man Grady often brought with him to help with mundane tasks like loading and unloading the wagon. Jandar then saw the arrow poking above and to the side of his right shoulder as well as another shaft sticking out of one of the two horses used to pull Grady’s heavy wagon.
The horse skidded to a stop, and Carlton slid from its bare back. Jandar rushed from the anvil and caught the young man just before he fell to the ground. He pulled him away from the pained, agitated horse as it stomped its hooves.
Carlton grabbed Jandar’s sweat-soaked shirtfront before he could ask what had happened and gasped out, “Bandits! Bandits took the wagon…killed Grady.”
An icy chill ran up Jandar’s spine despite the lingering heat soaked up from working the forge. “Lenora? Jesse!”
Carlton clamped his eyes shut and shook his head. “Alive, last I saw. Taken I think.”
“Where?” Jandar demanded as he shook the young man.
“About a day’s ride from Middale. Maybe a couple of miles south of Meliforte Caverns.”
Meliforte Caverns was a popular staging and stayover location for people who preferred to avoid the random guard patrols on the primary roads connecting the towns in the region to the larger cities. If that was where they had attacked the wagon, then the bandits were most likely holed up there, but they probably would not stay long.
Jandar stood and pressed through crowd beginning to gather in front of the smithy. Some of them would tend to Carlton and the horse. He needed to find help, but Whitbell did not have a standing guard, only a few men acting as a city watch, and they would not be much help in a fight like this even if they were willing to come along.
He stood in the middle of the street, desperately trying to think of someone who was willing and capable of helping him. Jandar hastened his steps. There was an inn in town popular with adventurers, those people who dedicated their lives to accruing wealth and power and said to be touched by the gods, granting them a sort immortality. More and more of them had been showing up recently. They did not tend to stay long in a small town like Whitbell, but maybe there were some still about.
Willie Quickpaws cocked his furry felonian ears toward the inn’s door. “I hear someone coming this way shouting for help.”
“Me thinks it smells of a quest,” Girgaar, the elv
en mage said.
Harmony, the group’s healer, sniffed the air. “All I smell is Clash’s stanky gorilla ass.”
“No one asked you smell it,” the simian barbarian replied with a snort.
A young man in his mid-twenties wearing the heavy leather apron of a blacksmith and gripping a hammer burst through the inn’s door. “I need help!”
Clash cracked his knuckles as he stood. “Looks like it’s time to get our quest on.”
Riccon had a long walk to reach the nearest arcanagraph office. This was a specialized mages guild and rarely set up shop outside a town or a city’s better districts. He had tossed the bloody hand wraps but still drew a few looks from the business district’s proper denizens. After a bow and some light armor, decent clothing topped his list of things to acquire.
He located the arcanagraph office, identified by a sign bearing an eye inside opened lips backed by an arcane symbol. Two mages worked behind a long counter, but they were mostly for service and support and were not needed to send or receive messages. Upon entering the office, Riccon opened the message notification and now had an option to read it. He clicked the READ icon and the message displayed across his vision. He was not prompted for payment, which meant Ben had not sent it COD. That was good of him.
Riccon, I finished rolling up my character and am in game. Man, this place is more amazing than I could have imagined. It’s so freaking real! Anyway, I hope you stuck with spawning in Ambercross so we can group up. I assume you know where the Templar’s citadel is.
Darvin Sepret, AKA Ben, Initiate of Endros.
Riccon chuckled at Ben—Darvin’s—character choice and now knew one reason why he had not sent the arcanagraph COD. The Templar citadel, like most large organizations, had their own in-house arcanagraph facilities and were free to use for anyone affiliated with them.
He pondered finding a weapons shop so he could buy a serviceable bow but discarded the idea almost immediately. Darvin would get a discount of at one of the Templar stores and probably a better weapon out of the deal. He might even be able to find one just “lying around.”
Getting free stuff was one of the best things about playing a rogue class. Even if you did not gear your build for thievery, you always had the option. The city was crowded with NPCs as Riccon made his way toward the citadel. Several times, he wished he had the pickpocket skill, but he was not about to risk being arrested this early in the game just to learn it by trial and error.
He spotted a few players, or so he thought. There were no identifying icons or features to set them apart from your average NPC, but an observant person could often tell the difference by studying their expressions and the way they moved. It was kind of like playing spot the tourist on the boardwalk back home.
The citadel was a walled and guarded compound not far from the castle and every bit as well defended. More so in most regards. A massive portcullis barred the main entrance, and three Templar initiates and one squire stood guard outside the wall and stopped Riccon as he approached.
The armed and armored squire raised a hand palm out. “Hold. What is your business with the citadel?”
“I’m an adventurer and friend of Initiate Darvin Sepret. I’m here to assist him in spreading Endros’ judgement and to help him rise in strength to better serve the order,” Riccon replied, knowing exactly what they wanted to hear.
One of the initiates flipped through a ledger, found Darvin’s name near the last of the entries, and nodded. The squire waved a hand in the air, and a sally gate opened behind them. He motioned the adventurer through, and another Templar closed the gate once he passed. An older Templar, a seneschal given the sash of office draped over one shoulder, stopped him once he entered the fortress itself.
“How may I direct you, sir?” the seneschal asked.
“I’m here to meet initiate Darvin Sepret.”
“The initiates are currently in an orientation seminar. You may wait for him outside of the auditorium if you wish. Do you require directions?”
Riccon grinned. “No, I’m quite familiar with the citadel.”
“Very well. Please conduct yourself appropriately while visiting the citadel. We do not tolerate misbehavior.”
“I certainly will,” Riccon replied, meaning he would conduct himself appropriately for his class.
The rogue made his way toward the training grounds. With all the initiates in orientation, the expansive grounds were not very crowded. A handful of squires sparred in the fighting pit. A Templar sergeant instructed several others on sword and shield techniques, and a few stood at the archery range.
Templars were primarily a melee class, but all militant organizations required some ranged weaponry and corresponding skills. Crossbows were the missile weapon of choice in the order, but they also had bows to fill the requirements of certain roles and missions. Riccon approached the knight responsible for the training yard.
“Sir, do you mind if I practice the bow while I’m waiting for my friend to finish with his orientation?”
The man’s long, white and grey moustache quivered as he looked Riccon up and down. “I suppose you can. Take a bow from the rack and return it when you’re done.”
Riccon ducked his head. “Yes, sir.”
He grabbed a bow and a sheaf of arrows and walked over to one of the archery lanes. The lanes were seventy yards long with staggered targets of varying distances. The ground sloped upward so the farther targets were visible above those placed closer to the shooter.
Shooting targets was the fastest method of training weapon skills without an instructor, but it also had the fastest declining rate of return. By the time an archer reached level 5 in bows, it would take 250 accurate target strikes at least fifty yards distant to raise the skill to level 6. Target shooting or dummy training with melee weapons was meant to familiarize players with their weapons of choice, not make them masters.
Riccon nocked an arrow, sighted down its length, and aimed for the nearest target. He loosed the shaft and struck the target a few inches below the bullseye. He adjusted his aim, shot another arrow, and hit slightly left of the bullseye.
Riccon continued loosing arrows for the next hour, shooting at subsequently more distant targets whenever he was able to score ten consecutive hits within the target’s two inner rings. Judging by the sun, he guessed it was about time for the new initiates to be finishing their orientation, so he retrieved his arrows, surreptitiously slipping every other one into his player inventory as he pulled them from the targets.
He stood near the head of his shooting lane and inspected his bow while also watching the training yard master.
Ash Self-bow. Common. Quality: Average. Damage: 8. Durability: 28/30.
It was a serviceable bow for a newbie archer wannabe, especially if he could get it for free. Several Templar trainees were leaving as a new group was arriving. With the training grounds master distracted, this was his best chance at swiping the bow without raising any suspicions even if they discovered it missing. Riccon hastened toward the rack of bows, dropped his half sheath of arrows into the arrow box, and made as if to rack the weapon. Several bows clattered to the ground as he knocked them off the rack.
“Sorry!” Riccon called out as he scrambled to rack the weapons, slipping one into his player inventory as he did so.
Now if someone discovered a bow missing, the training master would swear he saw him return his and certainly didn’t have one in hand when he left. Player inventories were not proof against getting caught pilfering. If an NPC thought he saw you pocket something and searched you, he could discover the item on your person, the system’s filters making it seem as though nothing about the stolen item suddenly appearing was at all unusual.
Riccon made a point of waving at the Templar as he left the training grounds to find Ben—Darvin. He needed to get in the habit of calling him by his character name. Riccon entered the hall just as the auditorium doors swung open and disgorged a score of brand new Templars.
It was then he realized that he had no idea what Darvin looked like. It wasn’t an issue. A tall, broad man approached him and gave him a curious look.
“Riccon?”
Riccon grinned up at him. “That’s me.” He cocked his head. “Really? A Templar? Copycat much?”
“Hey, after listening to you talk about how OP the class was, what do you expect?”
“Fair enough. What you think so far?”
Darvin’s eyes widened and flashed unsuppressed excitement. “This place is freaking amazing! It’s so real. I thought I was prepared for it after listening to you go on about it, but I still didn’t expect this.” He swiped a hand across the wall next to him and held it up for Riccon to inspect. “Look at this! Dust on the wall! I mean, it’s perfect.”
Riccon nodded. “Yeah, almost.”
“Almost?”
“There are some things built in to make playing more enjoyable that remind you you’re in a massive simulation.”
“Like what?” Darvin asked, having not seen anything he could discern from the real world.
“It doesn’t rain nearly as often as it should, and when you do get wet, it doesn’t feel as bothersome. No itchy rashes and such from walking around in soggy boots and wet clothes covered with armor. Things like that.”
“Yeah, that would kind of suck.”
“You ready to get out of here and start earning some XP?” Riccon asked.
“You bet. All the new initiates were given a quest in order to officially become Templars.”
“What’s yours?”
“There’s some bandit gang robbing and kidnapping people near a town called Whitbell. I’m supposed to help an NPC rescue his family.”
Riccon gave Darvin a broad smile. “Dude, you lucked out big time.”
“How’s that?”
“Assuming they haven’t changed any of the quest rewards since beta, the bandit boss drops a sweet sword if you complete it in a certain way. It’s almost an Easter egg.”
Chaos Unchained- The Mad Smith Page 4
