by John L. Monk
At one point, a berserker named Mark said, “I have an idea…”
“Everyone shut up, he has an idea!”
“Arrest him!”
More group laughter, and Mark just smiled.
The berserker class was sort of rare, but only because the starter had to be purchased from a special shop in Ward 2. I took this to mean he had a high-level friend or had lucked into a random act of charity. For a berserker, he wasn’t overly loud or boisterous, but in fact soft-spoken.
“What’s your plan?” I said when he seemed to clam up.
Mark suggested I kill some of them for cheap wraiths.
At ten percent vit regen an hour, I could manage two PVP wraiths permanently, so it wasn’t a bad idea. If I started with more wraiths, Mark reasoned, I could quickly take out any elementals that showed up.
Everyone took to the idea—a strange feeling after Jane’s righteous hatred.
I shook my head. “Much as I appreciate the offer, I can’t.”
Sarah said, “Why’s that?”
“You’ve heard of the karma system, right?”
Among the group, only one of them nodded.
Once again, I assumed the role of instructor and explained how the game would react unfavorably to such an overtly dishonest strategy—how death was supposed to be treated as death, and not as a way to win XP we otherwise couldn’t.
What I didn’t tell them—because I was keeping it secret—was that my amulet would let me kill them repeatedly, nonstop, completely ignoring the griefing system. The last thing I wanted were rumors spreading about a mighty necromancer stalking the land. I had enough problems with one paladin coming after me, let alone all of them.
“But if you lose karma slowly,” Mark said, “couldn’t you just do it for a little while and then stop?”
I nodded. “Already did that. My karma’s in shambles right now. Here—I’ll show you what I mean. Take out a coin. Let’s play heads or tails.”
Mark pulled a coin from his pouch. “All right, I’ll be heads.”
“Actually,” I said, “you be tails. I’m always heads, and I don’t want to confuse things. It’s all about intent with this stuff. All right, flip the coin.”
Mark tossed it in the air and caught it. It came up heads.
“Looks like you’re fine,” he said.
“Do it again. We’ll go a hundred times. Who wants to keep count?”
“I will!” Sarah said
We started flipping. When it was over, I was surprised to see I’d gone from twenty-five out of a hundred to twenty-seven. A good sign, but nothing to write home about. There was always some variation between rolls.
My companions subjected me to a lot of oohing and ahhing after that, and various others began flipping coins to see how their karmas stood. Every one of them, it turned out, was in the forty-seven to fifty-three range of heads to tails. Which made sense, because none of them were professional cheaters.
Things almost went south when Mark got smart again.
“Hey,” he said. “Maybe that’s why we got fanatics and not normal raiders. Because you’re so unlucky right now. Random encounters are based on percent chances over time, right?”
I was about to reply when Sarah squealed with laughter at something Zor said, causing Elliot to flinch and spill his beer. More laughter after that, and Mark seemed not to have noticed that I hadn’t answered him.
His idea held merit. Fanatics were semi-rare in this desert, but we’d gotten them as soon as we crossed over. The game would build up to the next encounter over time. If we got fanatics again, there’d be no doubt my bad luck was causing it. Maybe Mark would forget tonight’s lesson in karma. If he remembered, hopefully nobody would mind.
The next day, we were hit by more fanatics and two air elementals. Despite the odds, we actually did better than the previous day’s battle.
Before setting out that morning, Sarah and Zor worked out a plan with the other players and the newly regenerated lucid guards: They were to call out whenever an enemy was about to die. If I was in earshot, I’d quickly run over and Harrow it down. This gave me a workable amount of bonus vit to maintain for the duration of the encounter.
Between the callouts and my own efforts, I quickly built up a sizable army of eighteen wraiths. This time, when I attacked an elemental with the full complement, I had enough health to burn it down before its lightning attacks killed me. I did fall into deficit, but Sarah—our wonderful healer—restored me and my aura to full. Afterward, I started on the other one, which she’d held banished while I fought the first.
All this earned me my first encounter reward since starting the journey: 65 thousand XP and 8550 gold from the fanatics’ coin purses. A drop in the bucket, but I’d take it.
“Heya, Mark,” I said later that day after jogging up to his wagon. “How goes it?”
“Good,” he said, eyeing me curiously. “Something you need?”
“Thought we’d talk about the fight earlier.”
“You mean how your bad luck keeps drawing fanatics our way?”
I looked at him sharply and saw a slight smile on his face.
“Looked at in the right light,” I said cautiously, “our bad luck could be good luck. I mean, we won right? That’s more XP. And Elliot got that box of figurines.”
The figurines were of monsters that could be thrown and summoned to fight for you, though doing so would drain their magic for good.
Mark nodded. “True. But we also got two elementals this time. The desert gets more dangerous the deeper we go. If it’s three tomorrow, I’m not sure we can win. If we do, we’ll have to camp a whole day waiting on our dead lucids to repop. Gotta admit, I’m getting sick of these dunes. Up and down, up and down…”
I nodded. “They do sort of go on.”
As if sensing my worry, Mark’s smile widened. “Hey, man, you’re one of us. A major asset and a nice guy, whatever your luck is. We’ll figure it out.”
Hoping he was right, I nodded my appreciation and returned to my station.
The next day didn’t bring either fanatics or elementals. No, we were attacked by a group of Zha’hathian zealots, and they were a helluva lot worse.
Though I was hard-pressed to differentiate the semantic difference between the word zealot and fanatic, from a game perspective, they could be compared as follows:
Fanatics attacked with bows or sabers. They had roughly 1100 health points each, and unless you were plagued with bad karma, you only ran into them around ten percent of the time.
Zha’hathian zealots were so rare in this desert as to be almost legendary. They wore scarlet robes, fought with holy magic, and had roughly twice as much health as fanatics. Another notable difference is they didn’t spring from the desert in ambush, but rather waited patiently in a long line across the road, blocking all traffic.
After the caravan crept to a halt, one stepped ten paces out from the line and shouted in a magically amplified voice, “Lo! Ere, it was in the second age of Apsu—that calamitous many-eyed sifter of burning sand—when Prince Nanir wept ten thousand days and nights and turned the seas to blood! Rebellious was the sky, forever made vagabond, a broken crown on a lifeless king. Then were the graves of false prophets exposed, their bones scattered and made dust! Hark, ye trespassers, for thou might slip this fate! Prepare thine sundries and giveth over as tribute, lest ye be sacrificed unto Mazhahoon, that hooked and winged terror of the shadow realm, where fools and wise dare not tread! Thou hath until the sun doth start its weary descent. Be warned, for when it doth, so shalt thee, nevermore to rise…”
My place in the caravan was at the back—the better to keep me safe during an ambush and to allow easier summoning as I swept forward. Zor was on the next wagon, shielding his eyes against the sun to see.
He looked back at me. “Why aren’t they attacking?”
I smiled. “Because they’re more civilized than fanatics. Come on. Let’s see what we can do.”
I jumped down a
nd ran forward, calling other players by name to join me in front of the opulent lead wagon where Ezinsio, the merchant, lived.
“Dammit,” he said. “Of all the bad luck. I swear this journey’s been plagued from the start. Whatever will we do now?”
I was about to reply when Zeke—Ezinsio’s bodyguard—said, “We drop everything but our water and what food we can carry and cut our losses, that’s what. ’Cuz sure as hell, this lot’s no match for them. They could barely take out a couple of air elementals!”
Over the years, I’d cultivated thick skin when it came to lucids and their quirks. Most were friendly enough. Others had bizarre traits meant to amuse, like Lord Snoot, or Bernard and his nosiness. But some were like Zeke here. They liked to push your buttons. And because of the guilt I felt at the luck we were having, he was succeeding. It also didn’t help that he was right. We couldn’t beat them.
Rather than reply, I bit my tongue and waited for the others.
When everyone was there, Sarah said, “What now?”
“I’ve heard of these guys,” Mark said, peering at the quiet and unmoving line of zealots not sixty paces in front of us. “They use holy fire.”
I looked at him sharply. They did use holy fire.
Mark smiled sheepishly. “Friend of mine’s a high-level. Too busy to level me up, but told me a lot. She got me an interview with the Sigil.”
The Sigil was short for the Crimson Sigil, a popular Ward 1 guild. Despite our danger, some of the others asked him about it, and whether he could put in a good word for them.
Sarah frowned. “Hey—idiots! Worry about that later. We have to plan!”
“She’s right,” I said.
“Yeah—because of you,” a thief-thaumaturge named Audrey said. “You’re a damned jinx!”
Rather than deny it, I said, “You’re right. I caused this. But if you listen to me, we can defeat them together without losing our gear. We’ll get a good bit of XP and treasure, too.”
“Why should we trust you?” she said. “You’re a necromancer, for crying out loud. You get off on killing players! Heck—this bad luck thing is probably part of your plan.”
“Why don’t you shut up?” Sarah said.
“Why don’t you make me?” Audrey said.
Sarah’s voice deepened to a near growl. “If I make you, you’re gonna need ten healers.”
I shook my head. Just like that, my merry band of friends from the night before had turned into a burgeoning mob looking for a scapegoat.
“The second-worst thing that happens,” I said calmly, “is you lose your gear and fail the caravan quest. After that, we get killed hiking our way out and rez at our previous bind point.”
“What’s the worst thing?” Zor said nervously.
“The worst is they burn us alive, we lose everything, and rez at our previous bind point. But that’s not gonna happen if you listen to me.”
Nobody said anything after that, each lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually, the merchant said, “Well? Out with it. What’s your big fancy plan?”
“We talked about it before,” I said, though only to the players. “You let me kill you three times each and I build us an army.”
Zor blinked in confusion. “Wait a minute. You said that was illegal. Are you trying to get more unlucky?”
“It’ll drop me deeper, that’s for sure. But you all have plenty.”
“And what about tomorrow?” Audrey said. “Undead dragons? Behemoths? Vampire ogres?”
Smiling sadly, I said, “You’ll be fine, trust me. After we kill these zealots, I’m leaving the caravan.”
Chapter Sixteen
Judging by the position of the sun, as well as the official game time, we had just over half an hour before the sun reached its zenith.
I was committed to raising back only three wraiths per player. Even if I revealed the power of the Amulet of Ethan, I couldn’t get more than four kills per in the time remaining. I could probably squeak out a fifth after the fighting started, evading and ordering my wraiths to frenzy, but I’d have to survive without the others for six long minutes. If the zealots caught me, they’d burn me down fast, aura or no aura.
Beyond the math, a different part of me balked at the plan in general. To varying degrees, I liked my companions. I wished them well. The upcoming battle would be a great learning experience for them. Unfortunately, by raising back suicides, I’d be teaching them a dangerous mode of thinking. But I didn’t see another way.
“You can’t leave us,” Zor said, punching me lightly on the arm. “You’re our badass necro buddy!”
“We’ll figure something out,” Sarah said with a concerned look.
There were concerned looks in quite a few eyes, and I felt touched.
Mark said, “This just sucks, man.”
Kind words, but I could tell by his tone he agreed with my decision.
“Times a-wasting,” I said, squinting overhead to emphasize the point. “Okay, Elliot, I’m gonna need those figurines.”
He smiled nervously. “Uh … what?”
“I can’t do this with thirty wraiths. We’re gonna need those figurines you won.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “They only have a hundred health each, so they’re useless against the zealots. But they’re technically monsters, which means I can raise them back. How many did you win?”
“Fifteen,” Elliot said helpfully.
Beside me, the lucid merchant growled and shook his head. “You can’t go taking his hard-won loot, boy. You gotta pay him! Those figurines are pricy. Easily 50 thousand gold at Crunk’s, and I’d personally pay more for them. They’re collectors’ items, if you didn’t know. Collect them all and you get a flying mount that talks and fights beside you!”
On cue, Audrey said, “Damn right he’s gonna pay for them. And only if Elliot’s selling.”
I could have cursed the nosey merchant. He was right, of course. My luck might have been terrible, but the friendly druid had hit the jackpot, albeit a smallish one. Now I was asking to take it away from him. Luckily, I had enough gold. Well, unless he jacked up the price…
“Well, Elliot?” I said. “How much do you want?”
“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” Audrey cautioned him.
“Such a troublemaker,” Sarah muttered under her breath, drawing a scowl from the object of her scorn.
Elliot looked from Audrey to the merchant and then to me. “I don’t mind, if it’ll help. How much do you think?”
“Can I see them?” I said.
Elliot reached in his bottomless bag and pulled out the lacquered case they’d come in. Each set had its own motif—demons, safari animals, elementals, tribal warriors, that sort of thing. This one’s theme was avian. Beautiful birds of paradise, specifically. I opened the case and found, as he’d said, fifteen pieces, and they were all lovely.
I hadn’t collected figurines in years, but every set had duplicates to fill out the box. Occasionally, you’d get one or two rare or semi-rare pieces. To my surprise, Elliot was even luckier than I’d originally thought. His set came with two semi-rares and one piece I knew to be exceedingly rare: an obsidian nighthawk with ruby chips for eyes. The set would command around 70 thousand at Crunk’s, but the nighthawk was double that, easily.
“What is it?” Sarah said.
I looked at her and grinned. “I always sucked at poker, that’s what.” I handed the nighthawk to Elliot. “Keep this. It’s worth a fortune. I’ll give you 65 for the rest.”
Elliot looked from me to the merchant, who nodded.
“Deal,” he said.
A ranger I hadn’t talked much to said, “He shouldn’t have to pay it all himself. He’s helping us, after all.”
“You mean after getting us into this mess,” Audrey said.
Zor rounded on her. “Either help pay, or when we win, you don’t get any zealot loot. How’s that?”
Everyone sided with Zor and Audrey gave in.
“What next?” the merchant said with a worried look overhead.
It was 11:23 a.m.
“Before we start,” I said, “we need to mark up those zealots. Anyone got a knife? Non-magical.”
Zor handed me a camp knife.
Wincing in anticipation, I held up my arm, made a small cut, and said, “Raid start: Zealot Killers United.”
My game log filled with a new entry:
RAID GROUP FORMED: Zealot Killers United
Everyone but Mark stared at me like I was crazy.
I handed him the knife. “Cut yourself—no need to say what I said.”
With a grimace, Mark cut himself and a game message appeared.
RAID UPDATE: Mark, the berserker, has joined Zealot Killers United
One by one, the others joined while the lucids waited, seemingly unaware of the odd ritual in a state I thought of as lucid blindness.
“What did you mean by mark them up?” Sarah said.
“Just a sec.”
I toggled the setting in the raid tab that handled what happened when teammates attacked other teammates. This would allow me to kill people without getting kicked out of the raid.
Afterward, I said, “Look in your character sheet. There should be a brand-new tab that says Raid.”
Ten pairs of eyes turned glassy and unfocused.
“Oh, I remember this!” Zor said. “They talked about it in orientation.”
“They talked about a lot of stuff,” Sarah said. “Too much. I forgot most of it.”
I waited while they looked over the various settings—assignable raid roles, XP sliders for divvying out points, designated loot assignments, subgroup headers—then called them back to attention.
“Now, watch what I do,” I said.
I pointed across the intervening desert to the line of zealots, who still hadn’t moved. One by one, numerals appeared over their heads as I added them to our Targeting List. I then changed the list-type to Kill Order. When this happened, the 1 over the first zealot on the far right converted to a blazing skull symbol.
