You have been poisoned—1 damage per minute for 10 minutes.
Oh, fuck. Eli thought, noticing as his lungs filled with the toxic fumes of the burning pit of refuse below him. No. He fought harder, this time nearly reaching his leg restraints.
“No!” he shouted, as his ribs shifted and pain washed over him like a tsunami.
As his hands grasped at the rope, slipping before finding purchase, he screamed. “NO! I cannot die here!” he lifted himself at the waist; his vision wavering as pain burned him to the core. His ribs were cracking, with an audible pop, as his hand snapped at the rope, only to tremble as they felt only air. Notifications came and went, going unnoticed.
You take 1 poison damage from toxic fumes.
You take 1 damage from cracked ribs, self.
Eli’s body writhed in agony, his muscles convulsing, as a new fount of bile lurched from his stomach.
“Dude, are you okay?” A deep worried voice came from somewhere below him, followed by coughing, “Oh.” Cough, “Hell no, you’re not okay. That guard fucked you up.” Eli felt the rope at his feet go tight before he rose slowly, moving towards a small platform. “I tried to tell ya', bro. The NPCs here don’t take kindly to people breaking their shit.” He paused for a second. “And they, definitely, don’t take kindly to wolf-bros fucking up their shit,” Don said as Eli hung about a foot over a small staging area.
The landing stretched out towards the middle of the burning pile of muck, most likely so some unlucky bastard can lower themselves down to start a new fire.
“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill you. I mean, he took all yer’ shit.” The turtle man continued, finally cutting the rope setting Eli free. “Never seen that happen before.” Eli’s head smashed to the wooden ledge, causing him to wince.
“Ugh,” An unintelligible groan came from Eli’s mouth as he curled into a ball, one hand on his stomach, the other reaching for his head. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I thought I was a goner,” Eli said, weak breaths causing his voice to sound soft and hesitant. “But did you really have to drop me on my head? I’m at three health. I could have died.”
Don shrugged, placing a kunai back into a pouch on his belt. “Yeah, but you didn’t.” he chuckled. “Besides, you’d just respawn back at the temple,” he finished while glancing back towards the city. “Losing skills and experience is a bummer.” Another shrug, “But you’re definitely not level ten yet, so it wouldn’t be too bad.”
Eli unrolled himself and stood, legs shaking. Out of breath and unsure of what he would do next, he realized what the man had just said.
Wait, Eli thought, gathering his bearings before locating the direction of his house. “What did he do with all of my stuff? I don’t really have time.” Eli started.
“Yeah, man, I know. You said it before. You don’t have time for this.” Don interrupted, helping Eli right himself and get his balance. His firm hands acting as braces for Eli’s wavering legs. “Look, man, I don’t know what your deal is or what type of timed quest you’re on, but you’ve got to chill.” His voice was calming and reassuring, which caused Eli to stop his frantic movements and panicked searching. “I mean, all your gear just got confiscated by the guards. Unless you have another set, in some expanded inventory, then you’ll just get eaten alive by some low-level mobs.” He dusted Eli off, who could now stand under his own will. “Besides, I’m trying to help you out here, man.”
Something fist-sized, and solid as a rock, slammed into Eli’s back. The force of the blow was enough to vacate the remaining air from Eli’s sore lungs. Steadying himself, his hands clenching his knees, he nearly toppled over. A warm surge of unbound energy flowed into him as he felt his ribs snap back into place. The surrounding muscles relaxed as if no damage had been done. He coughed, as another blow, this time flat and less forceful crashed into his newly healed ribs. Foul blackness flew from his mouth as a tar-like fluid released itself from his throat. The green aura surrounding his health bar fading to a healthy red, Eli’s status improved, the numbers climbing to non-critical levels.
Health: 30 / 140
Eli’s eyes lit up with amazement as his whole body felt fresh and new, the agony gripping his body fading in an instant. Memories of his capture, and subsequent torture, eased and became more acceptable as if someone was tampering with his emotions. His anger and feelings of betrayal still stung at the back of his mind but seemed distant. The thought of some strange system or AI tampering with his emotions bothered him.
“What,” he whispered. “What just happened.”
Don patted him on the back with his oversized hand in reassurance.
“Well, dude, I just learned a new ability,” he chuckled. “Apparently, my time spent healing everyone I could get my hands on paid off. I noticed that you had dislocated ribs and probably had a small fracture.” He said nonchalantly. “Then, a blue bar hovered above your name. So, I smacked you. I learned the ability of Martial Healing. It lets me remove up to three debuffs and ties into my unarmed combat and medical skills.”
Eli, now feeling more awake and full of energy than ever, stood in shock. “How did you know it would work? How did you know you wouldn’t kill me?” he asked, confusion heavy in his voice.
“Well, uh, it was the system I guess. Technically, it finished the ability for me. I couldn’t do that shit myself.” Don replied, hesitancy coursing through every word. “But I met the requirements, and the ability marker showed up, so I went for it.” The athletic-looking Turta finished, before wrapping one arm around Eli’s shoulder, moving him away from the pit.
After making their way to the center of a large haphazard ring of tents, Eli noticed that a small crowd of Wolffen, Half-Wolffen, and a few humans had gathered to see what the commotion was about. Their faces were all downcast but attentive. Not a single man, woman or child looked like they had bathed in days. A heavy scent of wet dog and week-old stew filled the air as if it were a dense cloud. The clothes of those that called the slums home were little more than rags that only protected the most vulnerable bits. Each member of the hastily formed group was staring at the awkward Turta and his forced companion. Many showed signs of sympathy and unease, having seen what had taken place.
The tents surrounding them each had their flaps open, leaving tables, bookshelves, and floor mats exposed to the weather. Each makeshift house doubled as a market stall, with shoddy wares strewn about for sale. Behind the ramshackle vendor, stalls were sleeping quarters, comprising a simple cot, and a worn woolen blanket. None of the bare rooms held chests or storage for clothes. To say they were rustic would be an understatement.
These people live like this? Eli thought with a grimace.
“Technically, no. They are not alive. At least not in the traditional sense. This is a game, and most of these NPCs are non-essential AI. If you were to kill them all, most would vanish. Their AIs would be repurposed. The only ones indistinguishable from living people are named NPCs, but they have no flesh and blood outside of this world. So, your definition of life doesn’t really apply here. Thinking of an AI as a real-life would mean that every being in this game, digital or otherwise, is a murderer.”
It had been some time since the guide had interrupted his train of thought, and Eli wished the AI had stayed hidden. He was an NPC before being turned into an adventurer. To him, this world was real, he was real, and these people were real. Before being changed, he would consider the act of killing another sentient creature as murder. How he justified the act depended on the circumstances. Even though he was an adventurer, he did not want to start seeing the people around him as things. That way of thinking made adventurers dangerous. Wanting to take his mind off of the impact of his new situation, he turned his mind to the lives of the surrounding people. He had never questioned the way things were. He was too busy focusing on himself.
While the people of Dawnport lived in relative safety and comfort, these men, women, and children starved to death. The lack of any quality-of-life item
s made his simple homestead look like a palace. Caught up in the injustice of his surroundings, he stopped and stared at the gaunt faces of those around him. A moment later, he felt himself being dragged, yet again, through the crowd.
Don was leading him towards a tent that was selling simple pelt armor and crude weaponry when he spoke again. “Besides, man, I need you ready to rock-and-roll. We’re teaming up.” Eli sighed at the words, before being propped up directly in front of a disheveled Wolffen shopkeeper. Without hesitation or space for Eli to object, Don spoke to the grey-furred, musky Beastkin, “We need a set of the cheapest armor, clothing, and weapons we can get for this dude.” The Turta flicked a thumb towards Eli, before continuing, “And, if you got it some clean bandages and some rations, we’ll take those too,” He finished by pulling a coin pouch out of nowhere and flipping a few silver coins at the elderly Wolf-man.
“Now, wait a second,” Eli interjected. “Who said that we’re teaming up, and why would I want you following me to my home?” He peered at Don, his eyes narrowing before starting to walk off. “It was you fucking adventurers who got me into this mess, to begin with.”
A swift kick to his legs halted Eli’s movement, dropping him to the ground but causing no real damage. “Look, man, you need my help. You have no gear, you have no money, and you have no one to watch your back. Hell, you barely know how to play the game.” Don reached a hand out to help Eli to his feet. “If the people that killed you and your family are still out there, how do you expect to do anything to stop them this time?” Don’s eyes flowed over Eli’s nearly nude body before snapping to look him directly in the eyes. “You’re just going to get yourself killed again. And, you’re no good to anyone dead,” he said while jabbing two firm fingers into Eli’s chest, before hefting him back to his feet. “Now, pick out some armor, weapons, and essentials on me. Then, we’ve got work to do.”
Eli winced as the dagger-like fingers slammed into his chest, knocking off one health. “But why? Why do you want to help me, all adventurers do is kill, steal, and ask for handouts?” He said while thinking, What’s in it for you?
“Heh, that’s simple.” Don chuckled. “No one else will party with me, dude. I’m an unarmed melee fighter with non-magical healing. When I tell people my build, they just laugh at me and walk off.” He slapped Eli on the back, nudging him towards the shopkeeper who was eyeballing Eli while holding up tattered pieces of animal hide armor. “Besides man, I saved your life. You owe me one.”
Eli nodded hesitantly, thinking to himself, Something is off.
He knew that most adventurers didn’t help people for no reason, but Eli had to admit that the strange Turta was right. He needed his help. At least until he found out what happened to Kata and the kids. Eventually, he relented, “Fine, but I’m only staying with you until I figure out what’s going on. Then I’ll pay you back, and you’re on your own. And we have to check on my cabin soon. My family could be in danger.” He whispered, “If they’re still alive,” his voice carrying doubt.
Eli sorted through the pile of goods strewn out in front of him, picking out a set of patchwork hide armor, a sinew strung bow made of scrap lumber, and a familiar-looking timber axe.
“How did you get this axe?” Eli asked the vendor, with malice on his face.
“Oh, some grubby looking guard came by and sold it to me. Maybe five minutes ago.” The vendor’s reply nearly caused Eli to snap as he reached down and saw the maker's mark of his old friend Wayland.
This was his axe, and it was being sold back to him. The thought infuriated him, as the grizzled old vendor sat smiling and bobbing his head while tallying up the total.
“I think now would be the time to mention that you have one unread quest notification,” the Guide's voice popped into his mind.
Thinking of the notification brought it to his attention, and an ornate blue box with silver borders appeared filled with information.
New Quest: Family Heirlooms (Personal).
Your items have been seized by Gate Guard Derek, leaving you nearly naked and unarmed. Derek may use your items as evidence for a crime you did not commit. Find and retrieve your items before they are sold, or given to the justiciar.
Quest Conditions: Retrieve your items.
1 x Full Suit of Leather Hunting Armor.
1 x Heartseekers Longbow.
2 x Fine Steel Dagger.
1 x Sturdy Iron Woodsman Axe.
1 x Large Belt Pouch.
Difficulty: Medium | Time Limit: 71:12:17 | Reward: Exp per item found, Reputation increase with slums of Dawnport, Shadowstalker Pack, and Unknown Faction.
Optional: Find all items and contents of the pouch. *Bonus reward: Unknown*
Failure: Loss of reputation with Dawnport Slums, Dawnport, and Shadowstalker Pack. Criminal investigation and imprisonment.
Do you accept: N/A (Automatic)
What’s with the imprisonment part? I did nothing wrong, Eli thought, hoping for a response from his AI helper.
“It would seem that Derek thinks you may have killed, well, yourself. If he turns those items in and a justiciar finds you guilty, they can imprison you.”
Well, shit. This isn’t good.
“No, it’s not.”
Eli thought for a second, trying to wrap his head around the process of being given tasks to finish in the form of quests. How does the system assign quests? Shouldn’t I be trying to do this stuff, anyway? Who is giving me this quest? Guide, a little help here?
“Well, the quest system is operated automatically in the background. Every action you perform is logged, calculated, and reviewed by the game’s network of AI. There are billions of significant actions and interactions that generate quests. So, when you lost all of your prized possessions, the system saw it as a big enough event to offer you a personal quest.”
Okay, so, me getting my ass kicked, and all of my stuff stolen pissed me off. Then this magical system thing sees that and generates the quest. Got it. Are there other ways of getting quests?
After a moment, the monotonous voice responded, “Yes, and yes. There are two main types of quests, static quests, and generated quests. Static quests are quests available to everyone as long as said quest remains within the bounds of continuity. They are created to be useful to everyone and can be started as long as a person meets certain criteria. Generated quests are created due to circumstances rather than the constantly evolving story of the game, such as the personal quest you just received. These are given to players based on their own interactions within the game. Each of these two types can be of a different magnitude. There are world, regional, local, party, and personal quests. Each can be static or generated. An example would be if someone were able to kill the Elf King or the Stonekin Emperor, this would most likely set off a world-event level quest in which many players could take part in, in their own way.”
Uh, that’s a lot, but thanks. I think I get it.
“Try not to think of it, the more you ask about how the game works, the less time you spend on what is important. Like not being imprisoned.”
Eli couldn’t help but wonder at the power of this godlike system that secretly controlled and monitored every action from behind some magical curtain. The thought of billions of artificial beings governing his entire world brought a pit of dread to his stomach. Something else bugged him, his own AI. He would have this thing attached to him for the rest of his life unless he could somehow fix his situation. It didn’t have a name or a face, yet it was constantly watching him and interacting with his thoughts. There was nothing personal about the monotonous voice in his brain, other than its somewhat snarky attitude. If he were to live with this entity, he would have to change that.
You know, we should give you a name. Calling you the guide all the time just seems weird. From now on, can you respond to Aida?
“Yes, I can do that. Call me whatever you want. I’m here to help in any way I can. If me not having a name freaks you out, then so be it, I am your guide.”
The newly named Aida said in the standard unisex voice.
Is there anything we can do about this voice? I mean it’s not bad, it’s just not, well anything. It’s kinda weird not knowing what you are. Are you a he, a she, a they, an it, or something else? How do you want me to refer to you?
“I am whatever makes you feel comfortable. I was created the moment you started your new character and exist to serve you. My knowledge of game elements and the need to help you are the only static things about me. Everything else is fluid, and is up to what makes your experience more enjoyable.”
What would you like to be?
“I would like for this conversation to end, but if I had a choice on what gender you considered me, I would like to be a woman. Preferably, younger. Judging by your personality traits, you would treat a woman with more kindness and concern. Would you like me to adjust my speech patterns?”
A pang of guilt washed over Eli, knowing that the AI was right. He had always treated women a little better than men, already thought of the guide as a woman, even though he knew it was formless.
Yes, please, can you adjust your voice to that of a female and respond to the name Aida?
A slightly high pitched young-sounding feminine voice replied, “Done.”
After adjusting his AI, Eli finished his short search of the vendor’s wares. Most of the items were poor quality or general use items such as candles, parchment, and ink made of ash and water. Finding the pieces for a set of patchwork hide armor, he finished shopping. While bringing his last piece of armor to the table, turned vendor stall, the aged grey Wolffen totaled his wares.
“That’ll be two silver for the armor, one for the bow, five copper for the arrows, and five silver for the axe.” The grizzled old Wolffen said, in a voice so cracked and deep that it sounded like he was speaking from the grave. Spittle flew from between the few canine teeth he had left as he continued, “I’ll even toss in a quiver and belt knife for free.” He laughed, tossing Eli a tattered linen bag that barely passed for a quiver, and a rust-pitted belt knife that serrated from neglect rather than purpose. “For the bandages and rations, see Alyssa. She’s the healer and quartermaster for the pack. She may even have some work for you two; she’s always looking for an extra set of hands.”
Ascension Page 9