by Deck Davis
He needed to be as silent as the air in the tomb. To sneak like a ghost in the night, to place each foot with the utmost precision so as not to…
“Let there be fire!” bellowed a voice.
A sudden flurry of lightning bolts crashed through the room. They scorched and sizzled, the blue light so bright that it blinded him.
It didn’t hurt Rolley, of course. And there was a good reason for that.
The lightning had come from the staff of his buddy, Barnard. His best friend, a guy he’d trust with his life, both digital and real.
But a guy who couldn’t cast the right spell. Ever.
A guy whose attention span was like a matchstick ready to snap.
The lightning dispersed, revealing an angered spider rearing up on its back four legs. It bared fangs bigger than longswords and coated with venom.
Rolley saw Barnard move out of the shadows, staff raised.
“Damn it, Barnard! What the hell?”
His friend shrugged. He was wearing a bright yellow wizard robe, and his staff had a chicken head figurine on the end. He was goddamned ridiculous.
“Sorry, Rolls. I got bored.”
“I figured.”
“See you at respawn?”
Rolley sighed. He wanted to be mad, but he could never stay angry at Barnard for longer than a second. “I guess so.”
It happened in milliseconds. The spider tore Barnard’s head off in one bite, and then it turned its attention to Rolley.
Well, there was no sneaking his way out of this one. He stared at the monstrous beast and kept a look of calm on his face. You never knew who was watching your player stream, and Rolley was damned if he’d die screaming.
He woke up back in Windborne, having suffered a strange death penalty. Even with the changes in Soulboxe, the game had retained its sense of humor. For the next hour, Rolley’s steps would be accompanied by loud cymbal crashes whenever he tried to sneak.
Even though Windborne was the biggest city in Soulboxe, it was especially busy today. Not just with newbies, either. Most players gravitated toward Windborne in their early levels. The creatures in the Bone Plains around it were low level and gave lots of exp, making them a good place to grind levels.
When they got tougher and earned better skills and spells, they’d explore the vast world of Soulboxe. They hunted for dungeons and tombs and quests.
Today, there must have been a thousand players in the streets of the storm-battered city. It was an especially rainy morning, with water pelting down from the sky as if being thrown by an angry god. It was a sign that Windborne was going to enter a storm cycle, which was another reason people didn’t stay long.
Rolley looked around until he saw a stupid-looking mage in a sunlight-yellow robe. Barnard was in the open market, where the vendors were closing their stalls so their products didn’t get destroyed by the storm.
“Come on, man,” Barnard said to the old crone who was packing potion vials and papyrus scrolls into a box. “Just let me have a quick look. I need a new spell.”
“No. Storm’s coming. Need to pack.”
“Call this a storm? It’s light rain, is all.”
As if to contradict him, a great rumble sounded overhead. Whichever god was throwing down rain was getting angrier now. It sounded like he was roaring.
“Light rain? I can tell you’re not storm-born.”
“Well, yeah. Course not. Come on, just let me have a quick look.”
Rolley approached them both now. “There’s no point arguing. Once NPCs get something into their heads, there’s no changing their minds.”
“Damn it. I only wanted a new spell.”
“Another?” said Rolley. “Barny, you’ve bought two dozen spell scrolls this week. How many more do you need?”
“They were all rubbish.”
“More like you got bored trying to cast them. You’re like a kid with a new toy. Honestly, it’s getting worrying.”
“How do you mean?” asked the wizard.
“You’re a hoarder, Barny. It’s becoming an addiction or something. Every time we ever sell loot, the first thing you do is blow it all on spell scrolls. What was the last one you got? The one you bought from the weird hermit by Brucker’s Bridge.”
“Scroll of minor sunburn?” It lets you-”
“I think I get what it does. Question is, why’d you even need to learn a new spell when you can’t even cast all your hundred others properly?”
“You don’t get it, Rolls. You’re good at everything. Outside of Soulboxe, I mean. You’ve got a great job, your wife is hot, you speak German, Italian, Spanish. On a bad hair day, you look like me at my best.”
Rolley put his arm around his buddy now. “How many times have I got to say it? You’re friggin awesome, Barny. You just need to have a little more confidence and stop playing the victim.”
“See, people who are naturally good at stuff don’t understand when they speak to people who aren’t. I know you mean well, and you’ve always done right by me. But just let me have this, yeah? There are no limits here. I can learn all sorts of spells. I know they aren’t real, but it just feels good. I mean, I must know more spells than every mage in the whole damn game.”
“Yeah, and you haven’t gotten a single one of them beyond the first level. And most of them are frigging ridiculous. Like, the spell of perfect recall.”
“Hey! That sounded really useful. Who wouldn’t want to be able to remember everything they ever saw or heard?”
“Except, that isn’t what the spell does, is it? The spell of perfect recall lets you teach any dog in Soulboxe to come back to you by saying its name.”
Barnard nodded. “They really need to start identifying their spells better.”
“If you want to be good at something, you should stick with it. Stop moving from one spell to the next. Pick one, use it, level it. There’s a reason my stealth and lockpicking is so good. I don’t waste time learning eight thousand different spells. I don’t try juggling, then dancing, fletching…”
“Maybe. I wish I hadn’t chosen the dice mage class. I thought I could do something different, but it’s a dud, and I already used my 5 class changes. I’m stuck with it.”
“Tell you what,” said Rolley. “Let’s go to the adventurers guild and check the jobs board. We’ll take a few quests, earn some gold, and then go to the mage college in Loskeet. I heard some of the spells they sell there are mind-blowing. We’ll pick one for you, one that actually does something useful. Maybe you can pay an instructor mage to help you master it.”
“Perhaps.”
“Just give it a try. For me.”
Barnard nodded. “Okay. If it’s going to shut you up.”
Adventurers’ guilds in cities of Soulboxe were usually the busiest, loudest places. Each of them had NPC trainers who would teach a player certain skills in exchange for gold. You could level your skills the old-fashioned way, by using them, but that took time. For impatient people, gold solved that problem.
As well as trainers, each guild also had a job board where NPCs would post quests for players. They ranged in difficulty and reward. Rolley and Barnard usually took the difficult ones, relying on Rolley’s stealth.
The job board was almost empty today. Rolley studied the sole quest that had been posted.
“’Wanted: a hero to get rid of the rats in my basement. Reward: 2 gold.’ Yeah, right. Not even worth the time.”
When Barnard didn’t answer, Rolley looked around. It was usually easy to find his friend because of his yellow robes and chicken head staff, but there was no sign of him .
Strange. They’d walked in together, so where was he?
He walked through the guild, threading through the other players until he got to the common room. This was a giant atrium with a domed roof, and the windows were made from stained glass. If you looked at each pane, the colorful images told a story of how the guild was formed. The room stunk of spilled beer and barbarian sweat, and the air teemed wit
h the sound of jokes, songs, and boasts.
Rolley spotted Barnard at the far end of the room, standing in front of a different corkboard. As he made his way to him, he overheard a snatch of conversation between a bard and a hunter.
“The door hasn’t opened all day, I heard.”
“Yeah, the latest riddle is a real bitch.”
“Someone will get it eventually.”
“Well, I’ve been wracking my brains. Can’t figure the damn thing out. I’ll just wait until next time.”
Rolley knew what they were talking about; the Tower of Windborne. He and Barnard had seen the tower, of course. Rolley had been desperate to get in. He loved sneaking around places he had no right to be. He loved disarming traps, picking locks, and finding secret loot. A mysterious tower that rarely admitted players was sure to have lots of that.
The problem was that he was a dunce. If he said it out loud Barnard would tell him to stop putting himself down. He was his best friend, and he was just being nice. Truth was, Rolley wasn’t the brightest guy. He’d made peace with that, though. Nobody was perfect.
Barnard was clever as hell, but even he couldn’t figure the riddles at the tower doors. They got close, once, but then some wiseass falconer figured it out before them.
So, with regret, Rolley gave up on the idea of getting into the tower. It was destined to be a piece of Soulboxe history that he couldn’t be part of.
“What are you looking at, buddy?” he said when he joined Barnard at another corkboard.
This board was much like the one where NPCs listed jobs, except only players could leave messages on it. This was the party request board. Players left requests for others to join them in questing, leveling up, or to have someone to explore with.
Rolley always played with his best buddy so he never needed to post a request, but it was something about the game that he liked. It was a place for lonely people to hang out, to find friends. Soulboxe felt so real that when you were with someone here, it was as real as seeing them on the street.
“Getting bored of me?” asked Rolley, slapping his friend on the back.
Barnard jabbed one of the paper requests. “See this?”
Rolley read it. “Looking for loot? For secrets? For mystery? An orc and a minotaur seek two fellow players to explore with. Must have rogue or thief and mage skills.”
“Thought this might interest you, Rolls.”
“Secrets and mystery. Sounds worryingly vague.”
“It’s well known that these boards aren’t what they seem. I read about it. There are secret guilds in Soulboxe, ones that don’t recruit publicly. They leave cryptic messages on boards like this, and they wait for people to figure them out.”
“This one seems pretty straight forward. An orc and a minotaur are looking to form a party.”
Barnard nodded. “But they don’t say why, and they purposefully don’t say where they’re going. And what would be the only reason to be so vague? If you didn’t want people to know.”
“Then why leave a message here?”
“Because whoever posted this has some kind of special quest. Or maybe they’ve found a dungeon that nobody else knows about, and they don’t want it flooded with other players. They don’t want a guild to swoop in and take the best loot.”
That had never occurred to Rolley. Deep down, he was an honest guy. Too honest, actually. It meant he struggled a little to read between the lines. He took most things people said at face value. He didn't realize that what people said, and what they meant, were two different things. That was why he was glad to have Barnard with him. His buddy might be cynical sometimes, but cynicism had its uses.
“You think we should see what they want?” asked Barnard. “Secret places often have special loot.”
“Which means more gold. And more spell scrolls for you.”
“We could afford to go to the mage college, like you said.”
“Okay. For you, then, let’s check this out. Wait – they haven’t left their player names. How are we supposed to contact them?”
Barnard looked the common room, before tapping Rolley on the shoulder.
Rolley turned to see, way across the hall, an orc and a minotaur sitting at a table with two jugs of beer in front of them.
“They might not be too hard to find,” said Barnard.
CHAPTER 10
Tripp and Etta sipped their beers – thank the Soulboxe devs for making it taste so realistic! – and watched the rogue and the mage standing by the request board. The mage was a strange guy, with his bushy, curly hair and yellow gown, and that weird chicken head on the tip of his staff.
The rogue was dressed a little too fancy, from what Tripp knew about rogues. A set of leathers with gold trimmings and glittering jewels didn’t speak of stealth. That was what had made him unsure whether these were the right guys.
After he expressed this to Etta, she made him see sense.
“Rogues earn the sneak skill,” she told him. “And it's powered by manus, just like my paladin spells and your artificery. He could be wearing a clown costume, but as long as he activates sneak, people won’t see him. If they’re perceptive they might see a kind of glimmer. A warping of light, kinda hazy like the horizon when it’s really hot. But most critters aren’t that perceptive.”
The rogue and mage had approached them. The rogue strutted over confidently, while the mage seemed a little awkward. They both flashed wide smiles and introduced themselves, and Tripp felt at ease. There was just something likable about the pair.
So, after chatting for a while, after asking them questions and getting a feel for them, he gave Etta a look. She nodded at him.
After Rolley got a whiskey on the rocks and Barnard bought a jug of milk, Tripp explained everything.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed voice. There was no need, since the common room was so loud that it was just one big orchestra of noise, but he wanted to be careful. “We’ve found a way into the tower.”
“You cracked the riddle?” said Rolley.
“We think so. The latest one, anyway,” said Etta.
Rolley’s eyes widened now, and he gave a toothy smile. Tripp couldn’t help but notice that Etta was strangely fascinated by him. He knew what that look meant, but it was a shame. She seemed to have forgotten that here in Soulboxe, she was a giant minotaur. Unless Rolley had a thing for bulls, she was out of luck.
“What is it?” asked Barnard. “What do you need to get in? A secret word? Is there a hidden lever? A puzzle?”
“We need blood,” said Tripp.
Now it was Barnard’s turn to widen his eyes. “Blood?”
“Let me explain.”
Tripp told them about the library, the ruins, and how they’d figured out what the basins inside the alcove were for. Barnard watched him as he spoke, and Tripp could tell that he was a little dubious. That was good; he sensed that Barnard was more of a critical thinker than his friend, and they’d need that in the tower.
Rolley drank the last of his whiskey. His stubbled cheeks flushed a little. “Let me get this straight. We each cut ourselves and dribble our blood into the basins.”
Etta nodded. “The ones with our symbols above them.”
“And then the doors will open?”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” said Tripp.
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“Terms and conditions,” said Tripp.
“Huh?”
Barnard looked at his friend. “They don’t quite trust us yet.”
“What’s to trust? We party up before we go in. It’s not like we can hurt each other.”
Tripp nodded. “There’s the matter of loot.”
“Ah.”
“We need to work out how to divide it.”
This was the thing. Loot was the beating pulse of Soulboxe. It was why a lot of players trained their skills, joined guilds, and sought out the deadliest dungeons. Every player wanted to get their hands on
the best, rarest loot, but not all loot fell equally.
The developers experimented with many ways to divide loot, settling on the loot point system.
This worked by having players earn loot points each time they leveled up. Then, when a party of players defeated a monster, they entered into a kind of loot auction. Here, each player decided on how many loot points to allocate.
The person who gambled the most points got the best of the loot. It meant that it was a little like poker. Since points were finite, you didn’t want to use them all up on one post-battle auction. You had to try and read the other players, guess how many points they had, and how many you could risk allocating.
“I get it,” said Rolley. “You brought us into this, so you want the best loot for yourself.”
Tripp shook his head. “Nope.”
“Then what?”
“The only condition I have is that anything crafting related goes to me. You, Barnard, and Etta can keep your rare swords, crazy amulets, or whatever. But any items that directly relate to armorer or artificery skills go to me. No questions asked.”
Barnard narrowed his eyes now. “There are swords in Soulboxe that are worth a fortune. Hundreds of real dollars. You’re telling me that if we find something like that, you don’t want it?”
“I’m here to make my own weapons. You can keep the other stuff, but I need the crafting supplies. The three of you can sort the loot auction between you as long as you agree to that.”
Rolley nodded, spat on his hand, and stuck it out. “Done.”
“What’s with everyone around here sealing a deal this way?” said Tripp, before shaking hands with Rolley.
The mage was slower in agreeing, staring at Tripp as if he wanted to delve into his mind and see his thoughts. Finally, he nodded. “I agree.”
Rolley gave a beaming smile and stood up so suddenly that he rocked the table, spilling Etta’s beer. “Let’s go enter the cock tower!” he said.
“See? I told you it was phallic!” is Etta.
A few heads turned their way now. “Quiet about cocks and towers,” said Tripp. “We better hurry, but I have something I need to do first. I suggest we all go get ready. Buy whatever you need in town, and we’ll meet in front of the tower in thirty minutes.”