by Kit Falbo
I consider lying. I think Alerin will know if I did. “Yes. That is my goal. The High Council names the king and having a Touched bring the gem of the Man of Masks back here so their companion can be crowned king is just as arbitrary as any other method for picking someone. I’ve seen nothing that says they can’t just pick someone of the right bloodline earlier if they so choose.”
He gives me a big wide smile with a little bit of mirth in his eyes, “Good. Please keep my order identity a secret. I can assure you I have been making sure any other Touched inquiring about the great crafter Chess are looking elsewhere when they ask. See you tomorrow with your gold.”
I leave not feeling great about how my plan is unfolding, but also not feeling too bad. My first stop on the way back is the bank, to see what I have to work with. I decide I want to keep at least five-months of gold for automatic tithing to the church to maintain my membership. I set aside a thousand gold set aside for that and another thousand for materials for crafting. In game terms, I am still wealthy, and it’s not like I’m saving up for the best gear. I hope two thousand three hundred and twenty-three gold will be an impressive start. The quest didn’t provide any details other than a timeline.
I decide that for the next few weeks I will adjust my auction prices, so I can bring in more gold to pay Mr. King. 51 gold can now outbid ten dollars instead of the 101 that used to be my gold to dollar exchange rate. With these changes, it is time to work.
The quests were a good break from work, but in some ways, work is a good break from the quests. There is always enjoyment in completing both, but I didn’t start this game for fun. This is rent, food, and keeping Gramps out of trouble. If I do win Kingmaker, maybe then life can be different. I get to work and plan to adjust my personal schedule too, and lengthen my work week by only taking Sundays off to hang out with Gramps, maybe stop by the park.
I’m able to bring Mr. King even more gold for the next week. The assistant I hire, Mort, a local boy Byron knew, helps me with production. His slightly high-pitched voice often cracks when just saying “Yes, Sir!” sometimes with a slight stutter. It’s strange thinking of him as a boy; he is as close to my real age as characters get.
Right now, he is using tongs to hold a gauntlet into the fire as I bang out any lumps in the breastplate I’m working on. Strengthen is the key spell for armor. I also add some elemental damage reduction to it, but Strengthen is my go-to spell. Even though I got it early, it has always been useful compared to other effects that are situationally useful for players. With that the breastplate done I’m able to take the first of the gauntlets from Mort and get working on that. Somewhere between that one and the next, I pick up an audience of one watching me work.
At first, I worry another player has found me. The extra crafting gear I need to wear to help me efficiently enchant makes me stand out more now, since I decided refusing to wear the jacket was just stubbornness. This man isn’t a player though. He is old; gray hair, deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and face. He even has a slight hunch to his body. Players can’t play as children and don’t ever look old. Even if someone tried to go the Gandalf route, they would still have vigor and smooth skin. I keep working until I wave Mort off from starting the next one and take a break to artifice the pieces I’ve completed.
As I dig through my bag looking for things to adorn the breastplate, I notice the man is still watching. I pull out a thorn bear pelt and use my artificers’ knife to cut it to the dimensions of the armor, leaving a few circles holes for other materials. This is a technique I’ve learned that lets me get around the fact that stacking crafting items on top of each other lessens the power given to the main item. I use my skill to affix and enchant it. The thorn bear pelts are part of a high-level vendor quest, so I can get them pretty cheap for a rare crafting item. Players turn them into the vender and then I buy them from him. I start affixing the other parts to finish it off, aiming for at least some symmetry of color, even if I can’t pair things up exactly. I finish, and he’s still watching me. “Can I help you, Sir?”
He snorts, grumbling out a response. “I’m judging the man who aims to control my district.” One of the voters or at least a resident.
“I’ll be working all day. It’s not very interesting. I’ll answer any questions you ask as long as you don’t mind if you don’t have all my attention.” I pull out the gauntlets and decide having them look like fuzzy mittens might not be the best use of the leftover pelt.
“You planning on using your companion to have him send government contracts or materials your way?”
I affix a stone golem’s eye to the back of each gauntlet. “I hadn’t considered that, but it’s not as if I’m lacking in work or money. Throw more work at me, and I won’t even be able to complete it.”
“You going to add more protections for Touched? Some of you folk are doing bad things.”
“Not interested in that. I agree some aren’t very nice or considerate. Jasper probably hears more about that stuff than I do. He will have better ideas on how to corral such behaviors too.” I put the gauntlets in the completed chest and pull out a mace to work.
“This is just the start of the Touched taking over our government!”
I’m silent while I work, but he’s still standing there. “You could do worse than Jasper. He’s a good guy. I don’t have time to manage any citizen politics. You’re going to get a companion as your king eventually, but I suspect at that point they won’t be taking orders from their Touched. I have my reasons for wanting him in politics, but it’s nothing nefarious.” I flash him a smile trying to exert my charisma.
“What reasons?”
I don’t like his tone, and I’m ready to start working the anvil again.
I call Mort over and look at the notes in my heads-up display on what I want to craft today. I relay to my new assistant what I need, “Get a silver iron mix ready with a staff mold and we’ll do some greaves after that.”
“Yes Chess!” Mort answers, his shrill voice not quite steady.
I turn to the man. “Curiosity. To get Jasper known in the political circle. Maybe I want to meet the High Council. Jasper will work hard and do what’s right. When I need him, I won’t take much of his time away from helping with your problems.”
I turn my back to him and get working, first enchanting the silver and iron mixture. Undead tend to be resistant to magic, and this mix will boost damage against undead assuming the player has the strength to wield it. Players have fewer issues because of all their achievement and job stat boosts.
When I finally turn back towards the man, he’s gone. Either he liked my answers, or he didn’t. I have a long day of working ahead of me, after the election I should probably find some kind of quest for a mental break from work, not that this is so bad.
Chapter Twenty-Two - David
I know this is not the best thing to be focusing on while climbing the wall of the creepy five-story watchtower, but, I can’t help thinking that accepting that quest from Chess is the best thing that has happened to me in a good long time. My specialty armor cuts my chances of being noticed by a good thirty percent on top of my abilities. I also only have an hour to complete this job and get to my date.
MoM’s sub-commanders occupy these watchtowers. Normally, players fight their way through the entrance, up the trap-filled stairs and through rooms full of fodder only to end up bloody and battered as they faced the beast down. They have very nice bounties on the masks they carry and decent drops. This will be my third one this week.
As I finally pull myself up onto the top balcony, I’m almost bitter about how rock climbing would be an awesome hobby. There I sit in stealth, waiting for my stamina to return. Pulling out my two daggers, I ready myself to fight.
I’ve renamed the daggers; I couldn’t stand one being called Thunderous Dark Strike Dagger of Night, and whatever the other one was named. They are now Thunder and Lightning. Lightning doesn’t actually have an electrical effect. I just thought the name
would go well with it.
The key thing about enchanted weapons is that they tend to combine and magnify battle abilities. Dual-one-two strike will let me critical strike off the added damage boosts as well as make the charged thunderous strike ability weaken and stun the sub commander. Damage gets even more massive if I follow up blow with lightning.
I can’t quite one-two punch for a kill, but the last two sub-commanders I faced were hardly any trouble. Stamina full, I sneak in behind my target. The first hit causes him to bend all funny sideways while the second nearly finishes him off. Easy as pie.
I don’t see the huge club at all until I feel the force of it send me flying across the room into an already broken mirror. Head spinning slightly, I look back at what hit me. My analyze threat passive displays a name, Elite Ogre Bodyguard. That’s new. Without my armor, I know that hit would have killed me. As it is, my life drifted down just below half. The sub-commander is already starting to recover, his health regeneration being crazy good. I curse my complacency and not poisoning my blades after the first assassination. It had seemed like a waste of good poison.
I throw out two vials of gaseous poison Mizzie made for me, letting them shatter. Their fumes rise in the room. I stick the antidote chew in my mouth.
I already spent a good portion of time working my way past the front lines and don’t want to give up my prize. Sure, dying would suck, but it really is the worst that can happen. I put my daggers away, their charge spent, and pull out my sword, Whiplash. I charge at the already-wounded sub-commander, his twisted hairy humanoid body looking like a werewolf gone wrong. The mask covers an even more frightening visage. as I had seen after removing the last two.
The bodyguard swings his massive club. This time I’m ready and activate Sidestep which quickly shifts me out of the way, and I’m there swinging at the recovering sub-commander before he can fully recover. I activate my once-daily use of Fatal Push as the blade cuts through its thick hide. I shove the blade to the hilt through its body, and the last of its life drains away. I quickly loot the mask and a few golds before disengaging myself from the body just in time to have a new blow from the bodyguard wing me, bringing me down to twenty percent health.
Now I’m running for the balcony and yell back, “You’re a poor bodyguard if you can’t protect your charge!” I know the truth is I got lucky. If he’d managed to get me before I landed my second dagger strike or if either of them noticed me sooner, I’d be dead
“Die!” the ogre roars as he charges after me. I make my running jump and activate one of the few charges on my armor. Chess had put nighthawk wings on the back. It doesn’t grant flight, but it does gain the Feather Fall ability. I turn in the air and give the ogre a middle finger.
The ogre doesn’t stop. Shit! He’s jumping. My heart revs from double-time to triple as I watch him leap out after me and fly forward. He falls short without the same benefits that I have and falls down fast, his large fingertips just brushing me. He plummets like a stone, straight down onto the hard ground. There is a thud, and I swear I can see the tower shake a little. If he gets up, I’m screwed.
Lucky for me his form is still as I drift down. I inch forward to check his loot, but I hear the slow creak of the rusty main doors of the tower. I decide discretion is the better part of valor and book it instead. Activating my stealth abilities while I can, I head back to the frontlines town simply named Front.
Front is one of several towns along the frontlines that move with the line. Every time a group of players or a guild manages to take and hold an old town that had been taken when the Man of Masks first captured the western part of the country, a lot of the NPC would pick up their stuff and s move in. A few would stay and try to keep the old town in shape even naming it after those who liberated it. Just one way a player or guild can literally leave their mark on the land in Fair Quest. Only two have been taken far enough for Front to move. Battleridge has had three incarnations as it moved onward.
Cosimos is one of the businesses that follows the town as it moves. It is not a popular player haunt like the pleasure or gaming houses or even most other restaurants, which is why I picked it to meet up. I am early, though not as early as I like to be. This way I can see what the atmosphere is.
I can tell from the back of her head that my date is here. I guess she is tired of always showing up and having me waiting and ready. She looks a little to the side, and I can see the profile of her face sticking out from under her spiky blond hair.
I can’t help feeling myself grin. I know it’s wrong. I know she’s not real. But all the real girls I’ve met want to meet in person. You do that once, and the pity in their eyes causes me to scream in my unmoving body. I don’t want reality. I walk over and touch her on the shoulder.
She starts speaking as she turns to me her tone flat, “If you want special training you can fetch…” She stops herself when she sees me, a grin breaking the stoic look and flat tone she was giving off. “Nox! Sorry about that. I get a lot of Touched approaching me in my off time. It’s easier to send them on some silly quest than tell them I’m not available.”
I take my seat, “Do they really get special training?”
She lets out a small unladylike snort. ”They get extra push-ups, extra laps, extra drills and I get whatever I set them out to bring back for proof. Special treatment for wasting my time while not at work.”
As for why she’s at Front, and near the war. Under new management, the Order of Officers is now offering training sessions on the front lines to get groups and guilds better at working together and using tactics for the military battles out here. Joyce Maye has been sent out here as one of those instructors.
I pull out my newly acquired sub commander mask. “I got my third one. Though now they apparently are assigned bodyguards.” I can turn in five for a large gold bonus.
“Nice. That should make pushing to the next town easier.“ Joyce really believes in taking back the part of her country that has been overrun. Many of the officers had relatives or family that were killed or driven out. It was the Order’s primary motivation before the Touched came along and took over the job.
“We’ll have to give a toast then. To victory.”
A nasally teen’s voice interrupts us. “Nice Chess set. You sell your mom’s jewelry to get it or are you just one of those wealthy brats. “
I shoot the boy a dirty look. He’s geared like a cross between a Viking and a Mongol. He has obviously maxed out his character’s height and size during character creation. I recognize the telltale style of an H&M ax and shield in his gear. Of course, everyone on the front lines has to have some kind of power item from them or Chess to be here. “I’m busy now. If you want to chat later, you can give me your name, and I can send you a message.”
Others decked out in a similar motif move in next to their friend. Must be some new guild. “It doesn’t look like you’re doing anything important now. Just ditch the cit. You can get a quest later. Unless you’re one of those Cit-Lovers?”
I find myself flushing more in anger than embarrassment. Cit is the shorthand for citizens since you get penalized for calling them NPC or AI in public. Cit-Lovers are players who feel that the Fair Quest NPC are more than just strings of code and are true AI, despite what Immersion Arts has stated. They believe that the AI have a right to life. I grab my sword only to get a prompt that Front is a limited safe zone and I can only challenge a foe to a duel.
The nasally teen laughs. “I think we got a Cit-Lover here.”
I haven’t admitted that to myself, but as I shoot the lieutenant a glance, I know it is true. It’s also why accepting Chess’s mission has been the best thing for me and why I’m hunting for masks. Of course, safe zones and limited safe zones are jokes. They only protect players from other players. The NPC are fair game if you didn’t mind dealing with the city or town guards, and the penalties that come with losing reputation. “Leave us be,” I growl at him.
The barbarian Hun whistles to his
friends, seeing a way to get me without having a fight. “Get her!” He cries out, voice cracking in the middle of his yell.
The four players rush forward, and I’m forced to watch almost completely helpless. Joyce is already moving, NPC are almost never unarmed near players. She slides out of her chair holding it’s back to lift it up as a makeshift shield as she unsheathes her sword with her other hand. All I can do is use my body as kind of a wall they can’t attack. Even then I can only manage one or two at a time. I also spam duel challenges remotely hoping one of them will accept.
They have no teamwork. Joyce could give them a large number of lessons. As I block the man with the ax and his friend who is two fisting a broadsword, a skinny one dashes forward with a charge ability his rapier swinging. Blue sparks light the air as he combines the dash skill with his weapon’s charge ability. Joyce’s sword blocks both the player’s swing and his momentum, causing a shower of sparks and freezing him in place like he’s run into a wall. With one step forward and a solid kick, she sends that player halfway across the room, demolishing two tables and a few chairs.
I shouldn’t be worried, but I am. She and the other non-players don’t respawn. The excuse Immersion Arts gives is that they want players to really feel their impact. We had sparred after she first got this training gig. Me, decked out in full gear. I only had to get her below half-life to win, while she could kill me since I don’t die here. She kicked my ass. Then she told me she was worried I wouldn’t return from the gods out of shame if I lost to her. Still, I can’t shake this little bit of worry that one day the players will get strong enough or there will be enough of them that she can’t win.
The second unblocked player, a spellcaster, reaches Joyce while the skinny player with the rapier is still recovering. A stream of blue lightning erupts from female player’s hands. Joyce catches the blast with the chair, which explodes into a fine spray of toothpick sized pieces of wood across the room. I can tell Joyce is having fun as she flips the table up to act as a wall and pulls out a poisoned caltrop I had Mizzie make. I gave her a set as a gift. She does a wind-up and pitches it at the spellcaster like a professional baseball pitcher.