Player Reborn 2

by Deck Davis

  His home smelled of berries and spices. It was largely undecorated, but it still managed to retain a wholesome feel to it with lots of light and some comfortable cushions set on the floor. It beat the hell out of tombs and mimic rooms, anyway.

  “Please sit,” said Odell. “We will eat, drink, and discuss our mutual affairs.”

  He clicked his fingers and two villages, their slender frames wrapped in thin robes, approached.

  “Please could you arrange a buffet for our guests?”

  “Is there…uh…any chance of a beer?” said Rolley.

  Odell smiled wide, and some light leaked out of his mouth. Interesting; Tripp had assumed his teeth were just really white. But no, his mouth was actually full of light.

  “Our hops are the pride of the village,” said/wrote Odell. “That you would wish to try them is an honor for us. It will be done.”

  Rolley smiled for the first time in a while now, and even Etta looked comfortable.

  Odell clicked his fingers again, and two more villagers appeared. “Our guests have been through many toils. Please help with their wounds and signs of battle.”

  Tripp heard footsteps behind him, and he felt fingers working over his armor, searching for the clasps. He turned to see a pale-faced village with a bucket and sponge set next to her. He waved her away. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

  When he faced the group again, a villager was brushing Etta’s fur using a bone comb, while another was carefully cleaning the blood from Rolley’s stump.

  Odell locked eyes with Tripp now. “You are beginning to suspect who we are,” he said. “I read it on your face. Perhaps the thought hasn’t formed enough, yet.”

  More villagers entered, carrying trays of roasted vegetables, and metal decanters of wine and beer and water. The smell of the food teased Tripp’s stomach, and he gave in. He grabbed a roasted red pepper and chewed on it. The taste was incredible.

  “You’re like the monks, aren’t you?” he said, after swallowing.

  “Monks?” wrote Odell.

  “The others. The ones that look like you, but corrupted. We saw one in the passageway, but he couldn’t follow us down here.”

  “Ah. The fallen ones,” said Odell. “Your suspicions are correct. They follow the same ancestral tree as we Tower Born do, but they have hopped onto one with black roots and decaying branches.”

  “They’re part of your family?” asked Etta, still enjoying having her fur brushed.

  “Once, yes. Though they find their employ at the whims of the builder of the tower. He offered them a darker path, and they accepted. Of course, they have seen our village now. We will have to move again.”

  “We led them to you? You have to leave? But your houses and your crops! I’m so sorry,” said Etta.

  Odell gave her a gentle smile. “It is nothing new to us, my lovely bovine. The Tower Born must relocate every decade or so. Our fallen brothers and sisters always find us, eventually. Now, they will go back and ask King Bo to personally remove the borders that protect us. And so, we must retreat further into the tower, where we may find temporary sanctuary. Until next time.”

  “I'm so sorry,” said Etta. “This is your life? Settling somewhere, then having to move?”

  “Our village can be collapsed into this,” Odell said, showing them a circular blue marble hanging on his necklace. “Packed and repacked when needed. The problem is not in how to move, but where. As the tower gets older it grows more corrupted, and valleys like this are harder to find. We moved through the tower for three years before we discovered this pasture.”

  “And we led the fallen ones to you,” said Etta.

  “I told you, my love, you don’t have to pay penance. They would have found us whether it was today, or in a year. They always do.”

  Tripp wished he could do something for Odell and his tower born people. After the things he’d seen in the tower, the horrible tombs and the caves of dry flesh, a place like this was heaven.

  “Can’t you leave the tower?” he asked.

  Odell shook his head sadly. “The tower born are oathed to the tower. To leave it is to die.”

  He said goodnight after this, explaining that he and the villagers had to plan the relocation of their homes. He said that Tripp and the others could stay right until the end, until when they were ready to leave.

  He gave them a reed house of their own where they could wash up and rest. It was composed of one large living area with a mosaic flooring pattern of the valley they were in. There were three feathered beds on the floor, with plump pillows and blankets.

  After a meal of vegetables and then washing in an adjoining washroom, Tripp lay on his bed. It was a while since he’d felt so comfortable. Knowing the monks couldn’t enter the valley yet, it was ages since he’d felt so safe.

  “These guys are a lot nicer than I ever expected,” said Etta. She had a bunch of grapes in front of her on her leather chest piece, and she was plucking them one by one. “Outside of the tower, sure, there are bunches of friendly NPCs. Most towns are friendly, even if they aren’t hospitable. But it usually takes finishing a quest or two to get them to open up to you. These guys have been welcoming to us.”

  “I wish we could do something for Odell,” said Rolley.

  “Me too,” answered Tripp. “but maybe we can. Maybe beating the tower is what will finally stop them from having to move on.”

  “I don’t know. You saw Gallo. He was levels above us, and he was a sword-mage with a guide orb. Even he’s finding it tough.”

  “If Soulboxe was only about leveling up, then it’d be nothing more than a mathematical equation. Level X beats level Y. The three of us together, we can figure our way through this,” said Tripp.

  “I wonder how Barny is doing,” said Rolley. “Wish we could hear from him. Just a message, or something. I guess you can’t contact people who are still in the tower, so he can’t get a message through to us.”

  “He knows we haven’t died yet, so maybe he’s cheering us on from the outside. We’ll see him soon enough. Time to get a little sleep, and then in the morning we’ll get ready and move on.”

  The next morning, Tripp woke with fully restored hitpoints and manus. He was the first to get up. He’d always been an early riser, because he loved the feeling of waking up alongside the sun. Getting started on your day while others were still sleeping.

  This morning, he had something he needed to do before the others woke. He grabbed his inventory bag and headed outside.

  It was a crisp morning, the air alive with the sound of birds, yapping dogs, quacking ducks. Some of the villagers were doing their morning chores like fetching water from the river and harvesting crops. They smiled, waved and greeted Tripp, though their good mornings were silent, appearing only as text.

  Outside their reed house, he took his armorer hammer, artificer goggles, and his gauntlet from his bag. This was the gauntlet that he’d made for Rolley, the one artificed with undead essence. To say it had been a failure was being kind. Most artificers wouldn’t be happy if their creations strangled their owners.

  Luckily, he had something else to try.

  First, he held the Gauntlet of Undead Motion and gave a mental command.

  Do you wish to remove artificery from the item?

  He commanded yes, and it became a standard leather gauntlet.

  Now came the creative part. He pictured the gauntlet in his mind. Right alongside it, he pictured a hand. A normal, working hand. He imagined the fingers flexing, the hand making a gripping motion. Then, he pictured a link of misty essence bridging from the real hand to the gauntlet.

  Crafting card created: Leather Mimic Gauntlet

  [A gauntlet whose digits mimic imagined movements]

  Materials needed:

  - Leather Gauntlet

  - Mimic Essence x2

  - Unconcentrated Essence x2

  Hmm. That was quite a pricey recipe. Tripp only had 3 portions of mimic essence and 12 of unconcentrated essence. S
hould he spend some making this gauntlet?

  He had to. If Rolley could use even one hand, his effectiveness shot up. The rooms to come would get harder and harder, and they couldn’t get by with just he and Etta doing the physical stuff. It was no question – this had to be done.

  Tripp put on his artificery goggles, and he blended some of the mimic essence into the leather gauntlet, adding it to the square utility slot. After pouring some manus into it, a rush of light shot out.

  Item created – Leather Mimic Gauntlet.

  Tripp could hardly contain his excitement as he headed back inside. He found Rolley and Etta awake now. Etta was rearranging stuff in her inventory bag, while Rolley was rubbing his temples. There were four empty jugs beside his feet.

  “Their beer is too good,” he said, in a groan. “Or I’m too weak-willed. Why’d they have to create hangovers in Soulboxe?”

  “So that people can’t just get drunk constantly with no consequences. Check your stats, you dope,” said Etta.

  “My trap skill dropped a level! And where the heck is my manus? I’m half empty.”

  “It’ll only last a few hours. Learn your lesson.”

  Tripp approached them now. “I have something to cheer you up. Catch,” he said.

  He threw the gauntlet, which hit Rolley on the face and fell in his lap. “Very funny,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “Wait, is this…”

  “A working gauntlet that you can control. I hope.”

  “And this won’t choke me?”

  “I’d like to think I learned my lesson about creating items that kill their owner. Give it a try.”

  “Etta, can you help?”

  Etta set her bag down and helped put the gauntlet over Rolley’s blackened hand.

  Rolley flexed his fingers. The leather made a creaking sound, but it moved.

  Rolley shot to his feet, eyes wide, a smile teasing onto his lips. He turned to Tripp and made a thumbs-up gesture.

  “Tripp…this is…”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “I do. Thank you so much, man. I mean, I know this will be useless when we leave the tower and my hand is normal and I get my arm back, but still. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Tripp’s being practical,” said Etta. “We need you.”

  “Something can be practical and nice at the same time,” said Rolley.

  Tripp couldn’t help feeling a warmth in his belly. He guessed that was a flood of pride, and it grew as he watched Rolley rummaging through his inventory bag, finally pulling out the dagger that Barnard bought for him.

  He gripped it now, and he made several slashing motions in the air, before slipping it into a sheath on his belt. He took other daggers, each with different colors of artificery on them, and arranged them in the other sheaths until he had four blades handy.

  “Looks like I’ll be worth having around after all,” he said.

  “You’ve been more useful to us that you think,” answered Tripp, “but it won’t hurt to have another dagger behind us. I think we better leave elder Odell and the others to their preparations now. What do you think, guys? Ready to get the last purpose letters and then beat the hell out of the tower?”

  “You bet!” said Rolley.

  “Now’s as good a time as any,” said Etta.

  CHAPTER 31

  Elder Odell led them to the far edge of the valley, where he uncovered a door hidden in the side of a giant rock.

  “This will lead you further into the tower,” he told them. “Good luck.”

  Tripp could tell there was something else he wanted to say. Maybe he wanted to tell them how much this would mean to him and his people, if they could defeat the tower. Tripp understood, and his resolve was firmer than ever.

  “I have a question,” asked Tripp. He guessed this was worth a try. “Can you tell us the purpose of the tower?”

  Odell smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. I cannot do that. The same oath that keeps us in the tower, prevents us from sharing its true purpose.”

  “That figures. Thank you for your help, Odell.”

  And so, Tripp, Etta, and Rolley left the valley and found themselves back on a spiral staircase, the same one they’d used when they first entered the tower. Only now, they were so high up that when Tripp looked through the gap in the middle, he couldn’t even see the bottom floor.

  “The geometry of this place is messing with my head,” said Etta.

  Rolley looked up and the flight of stairs that wound higher into the tower. “At least we disillusioned the walls,” said Rolley. “The next room should be further up the stairs.”

  This became their life for the next few days. The climbed the stairs, found the door, went through the door. Rinse and repeat.

  They found room after room. They battled their way through monster after monster, dissembled trap after trap, sold puzzle after puzzle.

  It seemed endless. Over the next few days, they must have gotten through nearly twenty tower rooms. They killed goblins, ogres, more scourges. They encounter vain mimics, hungry mimics. They defeated dozens of zombies.

  Tripp had gone from level 24 to 35, managing to give his hitpoints, manus, mind, and technique stats a great boost.

  They navigated through pit-filled mazes, deciphered puzzles of color, sound, and every kind of riddle Tripp could ever imagine.

  By the twentieth room, they had depleted most of their potions. Tripp was tired both mentally and physically. Even Rolley felt it. At first, the novelty of having a working hand had filled him with energy, but even he was downcast now.

  Something was not right.

  None of the rooms gave either loot or more letters for the tower’s purpose. Tripp couldn’t understand it. What were they doing wrong?

  They spoke to each other little now, save for discussing how to beat each room. Every time they did, they left the puzzle rooms and prayed that chests would await them, that the tower voice would speak to them, but he never did.

  “I just don’t get it,” said Etta. After battling through so many rooms, her fur was matted with blood and looked dryer than broom bristles. “Did we annoy the tower god or something?”

  “We’re doing something wrong. Going through room after room…There must be another way. How long have we been in here, anyway?” said Tripp.

  “Altogether? Five days? Six? I lost count.”

  “Time is different in here, I think,” said Rolley. “I don’t think the time that passes here is the same as on the outside.”

  “I'm beginning to think we’ll be in here forever. Maybe Barnard had it right.”

  Tripp didn’t say it, but he was beginning to feel that too. He just didn’t think he could face another room.

  There was no choice. He firmed his resolve now. Even if he didn’t really feel it, he tried to steel himself.

  “The next door will be just ahead,” he said, standing up and looking at the next flight of spiral stairs. He had no idea how far up they were now. It seemed like there was no end to the tower, but that wasn’t a surprise. Outside it, when he’d looked up he could even see its peak.

  “Ready?” said Rolley.

  Etta gave a grim nod. “Let’s go.”

  The three of them climbed the staircase for what felt like the hundredth time, taking the twists and turns of three more flights before reaching a door.

  He sighed. Another room of traps and puzzles, one that probably offered little in the way of rewards. As had become automatic to him by now, he reached for the handle.

  And then he stopped.

  “It’s time to try something new,” he said.

  It should have occurred to him before now. The idea should have stuck out in his mind ages ago.

  Better late than never.

  Tripp lifted his right palm, where his skin glowed red from the firebolg essence he’d artificed into himself. He gave a mental command to remove the essence and watched as the artificery slot emptied.

  Now, he took from his inventory
the foresight dust that he’d earned in his silver loot chest, back when the tower wasn’t such a grinch with its rewards.

  “Okay, Tripp?” asked Etta.

  “I had an idea. Remember the foresight dust? If I blow it into the air, it will tell me if the path we’re taking aligns with our goals.”

  “It’ll tell us if we’re going the right way?” said Etta.

  “Right. Our goal is to find a room in the tower that will let us uncover its purpose. Only thing is, there’s only enough dust for one use. Unless…”

  “Do I sense some kind of artificery?” asked Rolley.

  “You know me too well.”

  Tripp didn’t artifice the dust into a weapon. Instead, wearing his goggles, he carefully artificed it into the new soul slot on his palm.

  He felt a strange, itchy sensation on his skin. Then something happened in his mind; he felt his fatigue ebb a little, almost as if all the tiredness was banished from his thoughts.

  He found he could think clearer now. Not only that; he had the strongest feeling that he should ignore this door.

  That he should turn left, to the wall beside him. There was nothing on it, nor anything special about it. It was just a stone wall. And yet, he could feel the foresight dust working in him.

  Following the urge, he touched the wall. He felt his way down it until he grasped a handle. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it.

  He smiled wide. “I think we did it.”

  He pulled the handle, opening a door-shaped section of the wall, and revealing a room beyond it.

  “Tripp, you’re a genius!” said Rolley.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Etta.

  Tripp ginned. “Me neither. At least it’s something. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  And with their agreement, Tripp stepped through the secret door, feeling in his heart that they were finally making progress.