by David Petrie
Crap!
Max didn’t even know what level the guy was. To find that out, he’d have to look closer at the embellishments around the man’s class emblem on the back of his hand. And really, he didn’t want to poke his head up long enough to check.
Klaxon set up another round of pulse and crystal shard spells and dropped them into his quick-cast queue for later as Max peaked through a crack in the table. Then the mage snapped open his second caster.
Crap!
Max’s eyes widened, the additional equipment telling him that he was up against a high-level mage.
Klaxon held out his wrist, above which a small circle of crimson light appeared. He reached into his robe with his free hand to produce a pouch of red velvet. The circle glowed brighter as he dumped the contents of the bag into the portal. He cast another pulse in Max’s direction as he dropped the pouch to the floor.
Thaumaturgy was the ability that set the Cauldron class apart from other mages. Max knew at least that much. Sure, they still had access to a spellcraft menu like Kira’s, but that was just for basic incantations. The rest consisted of two things—a Circle of Power and ingredients to fill it. Depending on the recipe, the results could be far more destructive. Fortunately, the whole process took time to prepare. For most Cauldron Mages, the time it took to brew left them defenseless. Unfortunately, Klaxon’s second caster allowed him to rain down a hail of quick-cast spells to buy time, making him into an offensive powerhouse.
Max ducked as the table behind him was pelted with crystal spikes, forcing him to move from one spot to another for cover. He needed to find an opening. Max swept his eyes over the room, settling on the red pouch that had held the ingredients for whatever spell Klaxon was brewing. Most Cauldrons he’d partied with had used colored pouches to differentiate what the resulting spell of their contents would be. Granted, each mage’s preferences were different, so the color could mean anything. More likely than not, the mage was probably brewing something fire based. Considering they were indoors, even in such a large room, it would have to be something without much range. A flamethrower, Max assumed.
Armed with that knowledge, He started moving. He couldn’t just keep jumping from cover to cover. That would give Klaxon too much time to brew. Plus, he would run out of tables eventually.
Max drew his pistols and blind-fired a couple rounds over the top as a distraction. Then dropping to the floor, he leaned out from the side and fired a twice more, this time taking the care to aim. The hits almost scored a solid critical, but the Cauldron raised an arm faster than Max expected.
In PVP, criticals were everything. Especially for Max, who depended on them to dish out enough damage before having to reload. Of course, he considered unloading both magazines at the guy and hoping for the best. But that would leave him open, and he wasn’t sure how much health the Klaxon had. Granted, hiding under tables wasn’t working either. He had to tip the scales back in his favor or at least do something unexpected.
Max glanced to the door at the far end of the tavern, Klaxon standing in his path. I’m not gettin' out that way. Apparently, expecting a second exit, to comply with proper safety standards, would be asking too much of the tavern’s designer.
“Well, time to bring this place up to code,” he said to himself as he tried to remember what had been around the building. What’s on the other side of that wall? He was pretty sure it was a stairway to the level below. Like, seventy percent sure. Of course, that also meant that he was thirty percent sure that there was nothing there but a fall straight into the river below. He nodded, accepting the odds.
Holding one pistol in front of his face, Max whispered the words, "Custom Rounds," followed by the first level of the skill, "Fracture." The resulting bullets wouldn’t cause much damage, but they would weaken any structure that he hit. He stood just as Klaxon finished brewing his attack.
Max just hoped he was right about the spell being a flamethrower and not something that would kill him outright. He thumbed the select-fire switch on both pistols down to full-auto. Then all hell broke loose.
Power blazed toward Max from the Cauldron’s hand in a torrent of orange flames as he backed away and fired half a magazine at the mage. Klaxon threw up his other arm to protect his head, his robe covering his face.
Gotcha! Max fired again until the slide locked back empty, this time at the man’s exposed casting hand.
Klaxon whipped his arm back, clearly forgetting that he was still spewing fire from his palm as he set half the room ablaze. He stumbled, struggling to keep up his defense and get his aim back on target.
Max took the moment to unload his Fracture rounds into the nearby wall before the jet of fire swept back toward him. Bullets peppered the surface, throwing jagged fragments of wood into the air as Max ran toward safety. Well, safety might not have been the right word for it. Regardless, he jumped on to one of the few remaining tables and leaped. His shoulder hit the wall with a victorious crack, the fire licking at his back. The wood splintered, and fresh air filled Max’s virtual lungs as he soared into the air over… nothing.
“Oh, holy shit, mother–” was all he got out as he flailed his arms in imitation of an injured flamingo being thrown out a window.
As it turned out, he was right about the stairway being outside, but he had been wrong about its position. It was there alright but two levels below and with a gap of empty space before it. The momentum of his leap carried him across before dropping him nearly twenty feet on to the rickety stairs. He landed with a loud crack, as the stairs creaked in protest.
Max let out an embarrassing ompf as the fresh air evacuated his lungs, getting the hell out of there before he got into any more trouble. Then as if on cue, the stairs gave way, dropping their burden down another level to the next flight along with a collection of broken boards.
Max wheezed as he struggled to roll to one side so he could access his item bag. He downed a health vial, watching his hit points fill back up to half on the display inked across the underside of his wrist. Then it stopped and began ticking back down. Max raised an eyebrow at the readout. Then he smelled the smoke wafting up from his boot that was still on fire. He blew out a labored sigh.
“That could have gone better.”
Chapter Seven
Farnsworth pushed against the heavy door of the House Registry in Lucem. Intricate carvings swirled across its surface like the ridges of a fingerprint. It was the same pattern that marked the doors of all of Noctem’s House registration offices. Up close, each line was made up of rows of tiny figures, players joining together as one.
Farn probably wouldn’t have noticed the suggestion of unity that the door’s design implied. Then again, she didn’t have a choice as she slammed her face into its surface. She peeled her cheek off the door and turned around, rubbing her nose.
“It’s a pull door,” the statement fell out of her mouth like a bit of lettuce, embarrassingly dropped whilst eating a salad on a first date.
“I see that,” Ginger shifted her hip to one side, “and you’re going to be my bodyguard tomorrow night, huh?”
Farn rubbed at the tip of her nose. “You can always have Max.”
“I’m not sure which is worse.” Ginger reached past her and grabbed the door handle to head inside.
“You’re welcome to be my bodyguard.” Kira hopped forward and walked backward through the threshold, her hands tucked behind her back.
“I suppose that would be appropriate. We are still linked here.” Farn held up her hand where a black onyx ring hugged her finger, its mate still sitting on Kira’s.
“True, but I’m still going to keep taking mine off every time we’re in combat.” The corners of the fairy’s mouth tugged down as she spun to walk forward. “I don’t want to see you die for me.”
The rings had been a contract item that Farn had stumbled across in a shop the year before. They had the ability to pass one fatal hit from the fairy to Farn in exchange for increased stats, lasting five min
utes before killing her. They were a last-ditch option for when things went bad. Kira avoided using them, always taking hers off when things got messy. She didn’t seem to hold her own life at the same level of importance.
Farn opened her mouth but shut it again. It would have been easy to call the little hypocrite out, especially since she had almost given her life for real the year before, but that wasn’t really something to use as a comeback. Instead, Farn tucked her thumbs into her belt and followed Kira through the door.
Inside, the House registry was huge, with mahogany filing cabinets lining the walls and paintings of the night sky filling the opulent the ceiling. Clouds drifted through the murals despite being made of paint. Below, several jerobin clerks hurried around the marble floor. The little kangaroo-looking NPCs carried ledgers and files, moving them from one cabinet to another. Farn stopped short as one hopped past her, a sheet of paper falling from a folder that it clutched in its rodent-like hands. She dropped to one knee to picked up the paper as the NPC stopped short and turned around. Its movements were quick and jittery.
She held out the sheet, and the thing hopped once toward her, lowering its mousey face. It raised its eyes to make contact as it reached for the paper, uttering a quiet, “Thank you,” as it slipped the sheet from her hand. Its voice cracked a little, like a teenager trying not to make a mistake on his first day of work. He hopped away without another word.
Farn smiled. The little guy seemed to be working hard, even if he was just an AI repeating the same tasks to make the place look busy for the players. The NPC probably dropped that piece of paper several times a day.
Farn pushed herself back up to her feet and caught up to the others as they approached a row of service windows, where a bored looking woman filled out some paperwork. She wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose and robe that looked like it had been freshly ironed. A severe frown marred her face. Farn decided to let Ginger take things from there.
“Pardon me, but we’re here to register a new Hous–”
The woman held up one finger without looking away from the paper on the counter.
Farn let out a snort as Ginger flinched back at the sudden rudeness. Only when the NPC had finished the line it had been working on did she place her pen down and look up.
“Yes?” she asked in a sharp tone.
Ginger took a second before responding.
“Well spit it out, dear,” the clerk snapped.
“Ah, we’re here to register a House.”
The NPC clicked her tongue. “And who will be the Lord or Lady in charge of this House?”
Farn took a step backward, leaving Ginger standing at the window, bumping into Kira who did the same. Ginger didn’t look back but sighed nonetheless.
“That will be me.”
“And you have at least two other members with you, including a mage and melee class?”
“Yes, right here.” Ginger pointed over her shoulder.
The NPC reached forward and pulled a few sheets of paper from a bin beside her window. “Please place each of your hands on the forms to swear loyalty.”
Farn grimaced. It wasn’t as if swearing loyalty actually meant anything. The oath only gave access to the bounties in Lucem’s territories. Still, her heart sank a little as she stepped back up to the window and reached for the sheet of paper.
“Are we sure we have to do this?” Kira’s hand hovered above the registration form like it might bite her.
Farn pulled back her hand, leaving Ginger alone lowering her fingers on the paper. The word Lady faded into existence across the top of the page in a decorative script font. It vanished as she lifted her hand back up. “I know. I don’t like it much either, but we’re in a hurry, and we don’t have much of a choice.”
“Is there a different city we would rather join?” Farn leaned around Ginger. It wasn’t that she disliked Lucem, just that she didn’t feel much of a connection with it. “We could probably teleport somewhere else without losing much time.”
“I don’t know.” Kira dropped an elbow to the service counter and sank her cheek into one hand. “I don’t really feel close to any of the kingdoms in Noctem. I’ve spent most of my time in dungeons with Max and you guys.”
“Well you can’t be loyal to a dungeon, so you’ll have to pick something.” Ginger crossed her arms and inclined her head at the mopey fairy.
“It’s too bad we can’t choose somewhere like Rend. I mean, it used to be a city, at least according to Noctem’s lore. And we had a pretty epic fight there last year.”
“The city of Rend fell decades ago.” The NPC shifted in her chair, several wrinkles appearing on her forehead.
Farn’s heart skipped a beat as she gasped. As far as she knew, NPC’s worked off preset dialogue scripts, keeping things vague so that it didn’t seem obvious. If there was a line programmed in about the city of Rend, then that meant something. Farn studied the woman.
“See, you can’t pick Rend. It fell years ago.” Ginger didn’t seem to notice anything unusual, holding out a hand toward the woman.
Kira bobbed her head in a mocking gesture. “It fell years ago–”
Farn slapped her gauntlet down on the counter, making the fairy jump mid-sentence.
“Woah, what was that for?”
“Sorry, but something just hit me.” Farn let her excitement show as she held up a finger. “NPCs usually ignore players when they talk amongst themselves.”
“And?” Ginger leaned against the side of the counter.
“And, this one just chimed in on your conversation about Rend.” Farn let that sink in, then spun on the NPC, leaning into the window. “Is there a way to create a House loyal to Rend?”
The woman sighed and crossed her arms across her chest, making it clear that there was a programmed response to the question. “You are lucky enough to be here in Lucem, and that question is an insult to this Kingdom.”
Farn smiled. She was right. There was something there. If there wasn’t, the woman would have just skipped back to her earlier dialog. “Sure sure, but that’s not an answer. So is there a way to pledge loyalty to the city of Rend or not?”
“Not here there isn’t,” the woman snapped.
“Then where?”
The clerk stood and jabbed Farn in the breastplate with a finger hard enough to emit a hollow clunk. “The city of Rend fell to the darkness, and it should stay that way. If you would like to join it, you are welcome to take your House there.” The NPC ended her declaration by reaching up and slamming the service window’s shutter down.
Farn flinched backward, blinking. “What just happened?”
“You just got told off by an AI.” Kira let out a snort.
“So much for getting things done fast. I should have known things were going too smoothly.” Ginger buried her face in one hand.
“I thought I was on to something.” Farn took a shallow breath. “I thought there might be a way to join Rend.”
“Well she did say we can go there, so maybe there is.” Kira raised her eyebrows, hopefully.
“We don’t have time to go all the way to Rend.” Ginger shook her head.
“You don’t have to,” a meek voice said from behind.
Farn glanced around for the source. “Who said that?”
“I did.” The voice came from beside one of the mahogany filing cabinets. The same jerobin that had dropped the piece of paper earlier peeked out from one side. He glanced back and forth, then beckoned with one tiny hand.
Farn walked over and took a knee. “What do you mean we don’t have to go there?”
“Shhh.” The little guy reached up and pressed his fingers to Farn’s mouth then shot a worried look to the closed service window. “Not here.”
Farn played along, peeking back at the window and lowering her voice to a whisper, “Okay, where can we talk?”
Kira joined in, happily dropping down on all fours. “And what do you know about Rend?”
“S
hhh,” the jerobin repeated, this time covering both of their mouths. “Go to the alleyway behind the registry. I’ll send out my…” His eyes darted around the room as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “My brother. Yes, he will meet you there.”
Farn and Kira held still, with the rodent’s hands pressed against their lips. They both nodded in unison. He pulled his fingers away as soon as they did. Again, he glanced at the window, then gave a shooing motion at the pair on the floor.
Farn stood, Kira following her back to Ginger, who was watching with a smirk. The timid, little jerobin scurried off to meet two more of the small clerks at the edge of the room. They seemed to be whispering to each other. Farn couldn’t make out what he was saying to the other jerobin, but at one point, he turned and pointed at her.
Farn hesitated as the three NPC’s hopped out of the room through a door in the back, grabbing a folder of papers on their way out.
“Well, that was a little weird.”
“Yup, but interesting,” Kira chirped, her violet eyes sparkling as she started for the door. “Let’s go.”
Ginger caught the fairy by the back of her belt. “Are you just going to rush off every time someone invites you to meet them in a back alley?”
“Clearly, I am.” Kira struggled to drag the Coin behind her.
“Okay, why not?” Ginger let go to watch the little mage fall forward, flailing her arms.
“Let’s not keep our friends waiting.” Farn ignored their antics like a mature adult and pressed her hand against the door, this time remembering which way to push.
The alleyway behind the registry was darker than Farn expected. Lucem was a city of light after all, so it was odd to find a part of it that felt so gloomy. The walls were plain stone without the decorative flair that Noctem’s designers seemed to prefer. It was as if the place was meant to be overlooked. A few wooden barrels were stacked along the wall and into the alley, an easy place for someone unsavory to hide.
A form moved from the back of space, too large to be the little jerobin’s brother. Farn stepped to the side and threw one arm out in front of Kira on instinct. She gripped her sword just in case.