The clock remained where it was, at one of 6 segments filled in.
Something flashed on the ship, and an explanation rolled out for what to do with this particular rope. He untied it, yanked it hard until the biggest square of canvas went up toward the game labeled ‘yardarm’, and he tied it off again. He repeated this on the other side, which ensured the sail wouldn’t grab the wind. They were now sailing using only smaller topsails, based on the gleam of magic in the captain’s eye.
“Abandon ship!” the snakebird screamed.
“The sea anchor, boy, hup to!”
Brian sprang forward and again tapped the Survival skill, but this time rolled up a pair of 2’s. He couldn't tell where the ship’s anchor might be. Rope and crates were scattered all over the deck. More likely the game was hiding the anchor from him based on the roll.
He shouted as two more segments flashed to life in the clock, and brought out the spell book. Limitless though the pages appeared to be, he had yet to find a spell capable of giving him a bunch of skill dice, which was evil of them.
The captain bellowed, “Grab that sea anchor or we’re done for, wizard!”
“Walk the plank!”
But he could burn off the fog, or even slow the ship. He summoned a spell that would slow the boat, which defaulted to Survival or Command. This time his dice rolled a 1 and a 5, another failure. Two more segments of the clock flashed to life. Now only one remained. He cursed and tried again.
2… and 7. Yes!
It wasn’t enough… 7 was success with a complication. The final segment of the clock filled in even as the wind crashed against the ship and slowed her down. Not a moment later, a sudden impact threw him off his feet. The clock disappeared, and another flashed to life in its place: She’s Dragged Under.
“Ye’ve doomed us, boy!”
“Keel haul the scallawag!”
The grimoire slid along the soaked and now tilting deck out of reach, and the snakebird launched itself off the captain’s shoulder to come sink its fangs into him. No, this wasn’t happening. He rolled up his Athletics, both to dodge the flashing feathered serpent, and to slide across the deck towards his most precious possession. The dice rolled… a 3 and a 10.
He shouted triumphantly and tangled the serpent up in his robes on his way past, then snagged up the book. Deep below, the ship’s hull was splintering and cracking, like strokes of lightning just under his feet. He conjured up a spell to allow him to fly. It required Athletics, Pilot or Spacecraft. Yes! He slapped the Athletics button, which clattered dice, and gave him 5 and 3. He stabbed at the reroll button, spent his only Plot Point, scored an 8 and a 5, and surged into the air.
Complication…
Unfortunately the snakebird was still with him. Oh well, he’d jump off that bridge when he came to it; for now, he blasted forward from where the ship’s bow had been facing, and into a world of thick whitish gray. Inside his flapping robes, the snakebird cursed at him and tried to free itself. Apparently it had punched one of its impressive fangs through the fabric.
“Keel haul this landlubber!” came the muffled growl.
Like… magic… the fog suddenly lifted and presented him with a huge, perfectly round, donut-shaped island. It was nearly flat, covered in sharp rocky protrusions, and in the exact center of the donut hole, a citadel floated some fifty or a hundred feet in the air. Huge stone men, the same color as the rocks below, stood motionless with roiling red fire in their eyes.
Before the spell wore off, he urged speed, to reach the floating castle. The damnable snakebird kept it up at him, telling him he was a scallawag, a landlubber, that he was going to be thrown overboard, he should abandon ship, he should walk the plank. Its strong, feathery tail slapped against his leg periodically, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.
“Come on,” he growled.
Eventually the castle drew nearer. It was an abomination, like millions of melted candles all made from some grey and black stone, only some of the melty parts were actually jagged, jutting knives ranging in size from your leg to your entire body. Atop these were snarling, furious winged gargoyles, also half melted, with their features drooping and sliding to other parts of their bodies. He was fascinated by them, which was good, because the moment he touched down on the floating island’s surface, several of them turned to behold him. Their eyes flashed with malevolent sickly yellow light.
One leapt off the parapets, such as they were, and dove toward him.
He went to dodge, but the damnable snakebird chose that moment to wrench itself free of his robe, flap up and into striking distance, then darted toward his head. His Athletics rolled 3 and 6, which was a partial success. Not enough, because although he dodged the great bear-sized gargoyle, the snake stabbed him in the shoulder and delivered a level 2 Harm. He threw a Fortitude roll in there to soak up some of the damage, but his roll ended up a 1. He watched the remainder of his Stress points bleed out all in one fell swoop, and knew there was no way he’d be doing this quest alone.
He tried to grab out his spellbook and retire to a pocket dimension. The roll, Lore, went along with a 2, 7, and 9, which was enough.
Except.
As he entered the pocket dimension, he found the veil in between it and the typical gameworld pressed in upon by some huge, unknowable creature with a head easily twenty feet tall. The veil stretched like latex, revealing a cranial ridge bloom with spikes and two, four, six enormous hands all searching for purchase.
Clearly this place wasn’t going to be a place of rest in this Mythical quest. It was beyond–
“Abandon ship!” the snakebird called.
“Seriously?”
Somehow it had gotten in through the same portal he’d used. It whirled around his head and gave him a divebomb attack, which Athletics couldn’t handle. He rolled a pair of 4’s, and the thing sank its fangs into his leg.
“Argh!” he screamed. It hurt way worse than he’d been anticipating. The rules for higher level quests must have had higher pain settings as a default, ones that you couldn’t opt out of. And now, with no Stress Points, he couldn’t resist the Harm, level 2.
A purple clock appeared in his HUD this time: Venom Overtakes You. Two of the six clock segments filled in while he produced a dagger and killed the scallawag.
“Unbelievable,” he moaned. Minus one die on all actions, and lowered effect to boot.
He had a spell for this. He had to.
He rifled through the pages, except they were blurring out and waving around. He knew he wasn’t poisoned, he knew his body wasn’t feeling weakened, yet the goddamned HUD was doing this to him. He could focus.
“Give me a Will roll,” he muttered. Instead, he was given the option to roll Fortitude. Weakened as he was, it would be two dice and take the lower of the two… which he’d succeeded before, but the stats weren’t in his favor.
He tried for Study, and unbelievably it took several waves of his hand to tap at the dancing button. He should’ve had two dice, but instead was down to one… a 3. Failure. He groaned as the room swirled again. Three more segments of the clock ticked up. He had a single roll left.
Not only that, but the thing pressing against the wall of his secret, safe place finally poked a barbed claw through. It shone with the swirling colors of a vortex and the universe falling into a black hole. Either that or the poison was really getting to him.
“Give me… the damn… spell!” he shouted, and tried for Study once again.
He rolled a 2, and the last thing he saw before the gray nothing of his pocket dimension went to black was the head of an alien, mostly mouths and barbs, chew apart the wall separating them, and push its huge head through.
Then he was dead.
His HUD brought his Harm track up to center stage, which filled up with a purple venom symbol of a snake’s fanged head. Then it read You Have Died.
***
Moments later Brian, in his original haptic bodysuit from ages ago, stood in a minimal, futuristic w
hite space. Sofa, end table, lamp, and no walls or ceiling anywhere in sight. He patted himself for the spellbook, but came up empty. He leapt to his feet and spun, hoping to find it beneath the chair or under the nondescript plant on the nothing end table.
“No… oh no, no no no, where–”
“It’s all right, it’s not even real. You can get your spellbook back.”
He whirled and found Nicole approaching him. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even without the gleaming steel of her armor setting off the freckles or the bright red locks. Here she had on a slinky black evening dress.
“Are you sure? I had notes–”
“Everything you write down is saved in your gamer account. No worries!”
“I, uh, holy shit, I died!” Brian said. His eyes were distant and his visage dazed.
Nicole giggled. “Yep. It happens. And that means, as a VIP, you get to sit down here with me and go over a satisfaction survey before we drop you back into the game.” She poked his chest with her pointer finger and lightly directed him back into the sofa, where he plopped down and sank into the downy cushions.
“Yeah?” he asked. This was all so surreal. All of that– the waves and swelling, the spray, the burning of the venom as it coursed his veins– it was so real. And that filled in circle had felt so final. You Have Died it read, the letters 96 point font in his shimmering and dimming vision.
Nicole smiled and cocked her head. “It really is an eye-opening experience. Dying in Prestige Gaming, especially the way you did, is something that sends some of the guests packing. They suddenly realize what it means to be alive, and they freak out and go find the safest cushiest retirement spot on the planet. They don’t even ask us for refunds, not that we would provide such.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Brian nodded, his face pale. But his features resolved themselves into determination right after. “I want to go back.”
Nicole sat down next to him, and gave him a wink. “I bet you do. You know, you’ve been probably the best guest I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. And I really mean that.”
Brian gulped and his face went hot. “I, uh, wow– thanks. You don’t think I’m a psycho weirdo for frying the rest of the party?”
“No way! That was epic. TPK from the inside. Booyah!” she exulted.
Consort auto-rolled, and gave him a 2 and a 4. He authorized the use of a Plot Point, since this seemed important, and re-rolled for a 4 and a 6. His HUD told him the likelihood of her telling the truth was 75%, which sounded pretty damn good. Hell yeah game system.
His apprehension vanished, and he laughed. “Alright, awesome, so you aren’t pissed off at me and you’re still my Paladin of VIP Services. That is fantastic news! What does that all mean though? Like, what is this satisfaction survey and what happens after that?”
Nicole got back up and waved her arm. A clipboard with some off-white office paper attached digitized into the crook of her arm.
“The Afterlife Satisfaction Survey and Hortatory Oversight Leisure Examination.”
“Wait… hortatory?”
She laughed. “No idea why, but it means encouraging to do better or good deeds or something.”
He slapped his head. “ASSHOLE!”
She shook her head in amusement. “Yeah. ASSHOLE. Well, basically, I ask you questions about how it has been so far. Stuff about food and fighting and all that jazz. Then you tell me your honest opinion and we spend hours figuring out how to better form your experience to suit your specific tastes. Or… I go ahead, mark down that everything is perfect, you sign up for a post-death reboot tutorial with me as your winglady and we go back in there and kick some ass!”
Brian beamed. “Do I have to buy you new stuff? I mean, yes, let’s do that! Let’s get back in there and have some fun! To the McGuffin!”
Nicole put up a hand and gazed into his eyes. “Yeah, about that. I know I’m badass but that quest is the hardest in the system. If you’re serious about getting it then we’re going to need an adventuring party…”
Chapter 10- My Baby Dragon Says Yes, Curtis!
The bar was called The 2040 Effect, and was almost literally a hole in the wall. The door didn’t close, broken bottles, rats and garbage bags littered the alley beyond, and the only indication that it was a drinking establishment was a neon sign of a bottle tipping over and spilling liquid in a puddle near the final 0 in 2040.
Brian hated it immediately. The world was crap enough paying millions of dollars to the world’s most exclusive theme park only to want to see an even crappier world.
Nicole had opted for the full-on cyber outfit: half her head shaved, the other half covering most of her face, glowing tattoos over the shaved part and down her neck, floating an inch above her skin, and an obviously cybernetic arm. She wore a pair of loose-fitting pants, but a crop top that showed off her cyberware and belly button. It was, as usual, pretty hot.
Brian didn’t want to let go of his wizard garb, but she finally convinced him that fitting in would be crucial. He was skinned in a black leather duster, with his entire neck and head done up in gleaming supersteel, like an aluminum coating over his skull. He was more like a demon than a person, but hid the worst of the metal spikeys beneath a wide-brimmed black hat and red-tinted spectacles. It was that or be a regular human with a pair of reverse articulated metal legs, and he was not a dog. So no.
He’d considered bringing along some of the Gear from Swords & Sorcerers, but Nicole had assured him the spellbook wouldn’t work, and anything he’d discovered over the course of his Questing would be available to purchase again if and when he went back, including the reanimation staff.
“You want to let me do the talking?” she suggested.
“Ah… no. But thank you.”
Without the spellbook it would be harder to kill them here, so decorum would have to be observed. Plus, this was Cyberpunk Alleys version of Franjy Ponny, so PvP violence wasn’t allowed.
Diplomacy, he told himself. It’s a thing.
He recognized the Three Muskyteers immediately and sidled over to where they were placing bets on a bot battle. The whole thing was virtual, but appeared in a large arena in the middle of the drinking area, a holo display of two wicked robos out to murder each other.
On closer inspection, one of them looked to be made of sex toys, but not the floppy type. Plastic, leather and metal all criss-crossed the thing, and it had a gimp mask on overtop its misshapen sensor array. Two sensor parts protruded from the eye holes.
Brian’s face twitched with annoyance, but luckily, his new avatar here in this gameworld had zero facial expressions.
He leaned up against the circular bar/table surrounding the holographic arena, nearest Curtis. He had some sort of implant all down his spine, though most of it was covered by a RAGE IN THE CAGE t-shirt.
He tapped on the spend Stress Points button before hitting Consort. His three dice clattered, and rolled 9, 4, and 3. A moment later, several prompts appeared in his HUD. “Who’s your pick to win?” he said, mimicking the top prompt.
“Who gives a shit?” Curtis asked. “Looking at this gorgeous monstrosity! Dildobot 5000. You ever seen anything like it? It’s a masterpiece of comedy and murder. It’s a train wreck and I can’t look away.”
“Got a job for you three, after the fight.”
“Nah, bro, our playtime’s up. It’s party night, and in the morning we hit the shuttle for real life.”
“What if I could get you a few extra days?”
For the first time, Curtis tore his eyes away from the arena fight and actually looked at Brian. He was clearly into his cups, and started to say, “I didn’t think NPCs could–” when he laid eyes on Nicole.
“Oh fuck! Taz it’s the fucking guy!”
Humming plasma pistols and vibro weapons cleared their holsters, but nobody fired. They couldn’t, because this gameworld had the same rules restriction as Franjy Ponny: no danger in ALZ0. The Cyber skin was probably a weapon nullifying field in t
he bar.
Brian stood there with his hands on his hips, waiting for the realization to sink in. They spent some time looking at their weapons before angrily re-holstering them and giving him sullen stares.
“Here’s my offer: I dip into my savings accounts, get you three another week of VIP, and that includes all the highest thread count sheets, the jacuzzis and sauna treatments, the best food, the best items, get you some credits for better Gear.”
“The fuck? What for?”
“I need your help.”
The three of them stood there in stunned silence. He was about to open his mouth to speak, but his complete success on the Consort roll flashed up on his HUD, recommending that he wait for them to speak.
Silence. Shared glances passed between a thoroughly cybernetic Taz, a thoroughly tattooed Paige, and a twitchy Curtis. Finally, they lowered their guns. Taz was shaking his head.
“You… you need our help.”
Paige caught Curtis’s eye, and he raised his hands defensively. “No, okay! No, this motherfucker cockblocked Taz and killed us both. You too, if you remember correctly!”
She kept staring at him.
“Okay look, it was a stupid idea to come here. How was I supposed to know the regular accommodations would be those coffin motels?”
“LUBE?” Brian suggested.
“Dude, what the hell?”
“The Legality User Browsing Encyclopedia, the rulebook. You could have just checked the manual and found out what standard accommodations were… and now you don’t have to worry about it. We can go have magic underwater bubble hotel rooms. All you have to do is fight for me.”
“I still say no,” Curtis said.
“Plus I can offer Paige a baby dragon.”
It was like if you set off a grand finale of fireworks in her eyes.
“No! Paige, he killed us!”
“Yes, Curtis,” Paige said.
“Paige!”
“Baby dragon, Curtis.”
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