As constructs, Mercurions are sexless and genderless. Instead, there are six types of Mercurions made to fulfill certain social roles, such as combat, music or magic. They are also painfully short-lived, though this is not so much of a concern for the rare Starborn among them.
Their pages were pretty detailed: just as well, given how alien they were. I queried 'Aesari' out of curiosity, but nothing came up. A mystery, then.
I was really tempted by the Joh build Mercurion - described as tall, muscular and masculine - but I wanted to play someone who was on good terms with dragonkind, not purpose-made to kill them. My eyes were drawn back to the Tuun. When I thought about the male avatar, he appeared in the mirror in front. I liked the compact, tough, confident look about him. He looked like someone who could build something for himself, make his own way in the world. He looked free.
My whole life had been spent in a cage of other people’s needs. My parents had pushed me and Steve both to the limit at school. He’d done well, while I had my first breakdown in late elementary school. My dad said I got bad grades were because I was a lazy sinner who played videogames instead of working. In reality, I just couldn’t read. My eyes would skip over the words, and I couldn’t concentrate on them unless I was moving. Neither of my parents believed me, because their son couldn’t have a learning disability. I was just supposed to pray more.
I got into VR games as an escape from the pressure and batshit religion, because games had text-to-speech options and the freedom of swinging a sword, riding a horse, owning a house. And I was good at it, just like I was good at riding. In the months before the war, I’d found freedom in motorcycles and had started auditioning for stunt work in Los Angeles. I rode Mona in stunt competitions, and had just made a friend in the racing business when the Second Total War broke out and they called the draft. Steve hadn’t had to serve, because he was working for Ryuko and the corp filed a petition for him.
I didn’t have anyone on my side with that kind of money. I was a dyslexic revhead who was good with bikes and games and not much else. It was the rank and file for me… and the brief taste of freedom I’d had vanished forever.
The reflection in the mirror shifted, and suddenly, I was looking at a cleverly blended composite of my face and body meshed with that of a Tuun. The AI had even selected my preferred hairstyle. Tuun men had varying hairstyles with a common theme: two thin braids that started from the back of the neck, wrapped in red cloth and bound with metal rings. They could be worn down the back or front. The one I liked had them at the front, while the rest of my hair was shaved along the sides and braided along the top like a mohawk. I chose that one, and my hair changed to match.
Overall, my character looked... well, pretty damn awesome. Ripped in a natural warrior-fit kind of way; masculine, energetic. I changed my eye color to a dark storm blue, made myself a bit taller - around five eleven - and that was that. But I hesitated to confirm my selection. Character creation was usually the fun lull before the challenges of the game, but this felt serious. Like, really serious. What if I'd picked wrong? Tuun didn't start out with much money. Just how 'real' was this going to be? For all I knew, I'd just signed up for Oregon Trail: The Next Generation, and if I died here... what then? My body was gone, probably. It's not like I could take off the headset, get out of my cryofreeze tank, and head back home to Base.
No. I wouldn't hesitate. Maybe it was life or death, but it was still just a game. They wouldn't go to all the trouble to bring me here just to knock me off.
The Narrator lady’s voice came back online as my resolve to play the Tuun cemented.
“Now that you have chosen your race, it’s time to choose your starting class. New adventurers can choose from four basic starting classes: Warrior, Specialist, Artificer and Mage. Each Class has multiple Paths, which become available at Level 5. You can explore Paths in your Paths menu. At Level 15, you may acquire a second Class and a second Path: but remember, you only have so much EXP!
There are special Advanced Path (AP) skill trees which can be unlocked through certain Class and Path combinations. For example, if you take Warrior at Level 1 and Specialist at Level 15, you gain access to the Ninja Advanced Path. You can explore the Paths menu to discover some Advanced Paths and their requirements. Others might come as a surprise!
The Class starter packs all seemed pretty balanced, and the Paths were quite diverse. Warrior covered all your essential non-ranged combat Paths, while Specialist led to Rogue, Scout, Ranger, Gunslinger, and other squishy and ranged DPS Paths. Artificers used magic to build attack and defense units and artifacts. Mages had a variety of Paths, nearly all of them related to elemental specialization.
I normally played Warrior/Fighter types mixed up with the occasional Rogue, but the former was more appealing. I skimmed the Warrior Paths that would be available to me later on, which was fairly extensive: Swordsman, Barbarian, Duelist, Monk, Lancer, Knight, and a number of others. I played around with combinations, looking at the advanced paths. There were some specialized Racial Advanced Paths for Tuun, which included the Baru class - a kind of assassin-healer monk with some badass stamina-based abilities. There well as more general APs, too: Mounted Archer, Assassin, Lancer… Dragon Knight.
Dragon Knight? I could actually be a freaking Dragon Knight? Hopefully they meant actual dragons, and not just some cheesy dragon-themed character. My mouth actually went dry as I brought up the description of the Path:
Dragon Knight (Advanced Path)
The undisputed masters of Archemi’s skies, Dragon Knights are warriors who have undergone and survived the grueling rites required both by the Orders who train these warriors in the arts of honorable combat, chivalry and skycraft, and by the dragons themselves. To gain levels in this Path, you must choose the Knight Path and undergo the ordeals to bond with the dragon who will serve as your life companion and mount. When your dragon reaches the Young Adult stage, this AP becomes available. But be warned: only the chosen few can become true Dragon Knights.
My heart hammered. “Hey, lady - where do I sign up for dragon school?”
I waited in hopeful anticipation for a couple of seconds, but there was no reply from the Narrator, so I selected Warrior and had a look over my sheet. I got a couple of starting Combat Abilities by default - Basic Weapons Training and Armor Mobility - plus a free selection, plus my native Racial Abilities.
I went straight to Combat Abilities and had a look through. The ones you could start with were fairly basic: Power Attack, Charge Weapon, blah blah… my own fighting style was based on a philosophy of ‘hit it as few times as possible as hard as possible until it’s dead’, so I selected the scalable extra-damage ability, Doubletap. It would be meh at low levels - it allowed you to five of your Adrenaline points to do double damage on a single strike - but at higher levels and stacked with other bonuses…? 19,998-point damage strikes, here I come.
At the end of it all, I got to review my sheet and get a good look at my new avatar:
Hector - Level 1 Dauntan (Tuun)
Level 1 Warrior
==Stats==
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 14
Stamina: 12
Will: 8
Wisdom: 11
Intelligence: 12
HP: 140
XP: 0
Adrenaline Points: 100
==Abilities==
=Racial=
Blessing of Burna: +10% bonus to resist disease; +5% Stamina bonus to recover from illnesses. Immune to Pox and Lockjaw. +10% cold resistance. All physical needs accrue 2% slower.
Plateau Native: No Stamina penalties in thin air, -2 Stamina penalty at sea level.
Saddle Born: All Riding skills increase 5% faster.
Sun-sight: No vision penalties in bright or very bright light, -5% penalty in dark environments.
Blessing of Tarn: +15% movement speed.
Blessing of Hrrun: No airsickness, reduced inertia at high altitudes, no vertigo.
=Traits=
Introvert: With a preference for their own company or small groups of loyal friends, the player gains a 5% bonus to accumulate skills in solitude provided they are not disturbed. Fatigue accumulates 10% faster in large groups and crowds outside of combat situations.
Dyslexic: The written word is something of a mystery to the player. Books take longer to read, and all language-related skills gain -%5 slower.
=Combat Abilities=
Basic Weapons Training
You are trained in the arts of war, and fight unarmed and use all simple and martial hand-to-hand weapons without penalty. Does not include exotic weapons. Train with specific weapons to develop specializations.
Armor Mobility
You are used to wearing armor and bearing heavy loads. +10 Defense in armor (L,M or H), no penalty to Inventory weight.
Doubletap
Required Level: Warrior 1
Required AP: 5
150 x 2 Damage
Cooldown: 2s
Increases Accuracy +10% for 5s
Adrenaline Recovery +10 every good hit
Pushes Enemy
Flow combinations possible
=Path Abilities=
None.
==Skills==
=Combat Skills=
Martial Arts 1
Polearms 1
Swords 1
Daggers 1
Clubs 1
=General Skills=
Riding 1
Navigation 1
=Crafting Skills (Common)=
Foraging 1
=Crafting Skills (Advanced)=
None.
There was no mention was made of starting equipment, but that was fine. I’d sort that out once I spawned in whatever starting town they dumped noobs into. I breathed in, and my chest lifted. My hands balled into fists, and so did the work-worn hands of the character in front of me.
“Confirm character.”
Chapter 5
There was a sound like a set of massive studio lights turning off, and the room went dark. For several seconds there was nothing… but then a haunting song sung by several voices broke through the darkness, a hypnotic multilayered chant in a language I didn't understand... until I did. They were singing in Tuunhar, the native language of my character. And with the song came memories: the taste of thin soured milk flavored with a sweet floral syrup, like smooth yogurt; the feel of the wind on my face, the sight of a million birds migrating through a mountain pass, and weirdly, a memory of hiking along a trial and coming up over a bare bluff of stone that was covered in giant metallic red flies the size of small dogs. They weren't monsters: they were something important to the Tuun, something I still didn't know the full significance of. They weren’t my memories. But they could have been.
I was still wondering how the fuck I knew this stuff when I woke up to the stench of human filth.
My wrists hurt. Everything hurt. My teeth, knees, muscles. I felt like I'd run a marathon... or that I was, well, deathly ill, and had just come out of a very bad fever. The room was smoky, the air tinted with a deep brownish haze, and it stunk like hell. My head was pounding and hot, my guts cramped with real hunger and real thirst.
There was a thump beneath me, and creaking, and then my stomach dropped out from under me with a very familiar sensation: Air pockets. The wall I was slumped against began to rumble and shudder, jostling me back and forth in the nest of heavy iron chains that were snapped around my limbs. People around me began to moan: some in fear, some in pain. Worse, some of them began to cough, and my head began to pound for another reason. Pure animal terror.
I was in the hold of a flying ship, sitting on the floor among a crowd of other people. It was too dark for me to make out much in the way of features, but we all looked pretty miserable. I was dressed in what looked like torn buckskin rags. I was cold, and people were sick. I'd agreed to this to get away from dying of some horrible illness, and I'd ended up stuck with a bunch of sick people. What the actual fuck, Steve?!
My first instinct was to test the strength of the manacles on my wrists, ankles and neck. They were looped onto long chains that ran through stout eyelets on the hull behind me, connecting me to the other people in my row. To my left, another Tuun man slept an unquiet sleep, frowning even as he snored. To my right was an elf woman with brilliant platinum hair. Her restraints were even more severe than mine: a leather mask that only left her nose bare and that laced tightly around her jaw. Her hands were encased in cages that followed the shape of her fingers and didn't allow her to move them. Her clothes were torn and dirty, like mine, the collar of her tunic ripped down to her chest. Only the collar and mask stopped her shirt from falling down around her waist. A captured spellcaster?
Magic, right. This sensory hell is a game.
Normally, you spawned somewhere kind of neutral in an MMO. The bunny slopes, or a tutorial garden… some kind of cutesy village or the Altar of Recombobulation or something - not a crowded slave ship. It felt so real that it was actually weird to call up the menu, but sure enough, my HUD came up on prompt.
“Do you want to set up auto-alerts?” A message appeared over the HUD display.
“Sure.” I agreed aloud before I thought about what I was doing. The bound mage's head turned toward me for a moment, but then she fell back and curled against the wall as best she could.
“Auto alerts enabled.” The message cleared, showing me my main tabs: Inventory, Character, Crafting, Quests, Options, Artificing, and World Map. The Path menu was greyed out.
If nothing else, my predicament gave me time to have a look through everything. The UI was gorgeous: light on dark, clear layout. Seeing my blank inventory and being able to remind myself that this was, in fact, meant to be fun made me feel a little calmer. No matter how much everything stank and how realistically my stomach lurched, this world was a game. There was a way out of this situation - somehow.
I thought across through the tabs. Nothing happened. Annoyed, I tried to manually select something by thinking the name. Still nothing. I couldn’t interact with the menu at all.
Before the panic really had time to set in, an alert pushed its way into my vision:
New Quest!0021FETCHNUMBER?
Escape the Slave Ship… or Die Trying
The Arabella, an airship contracted to carry slaves, is headed for the dangerous mana mines of the frozen North! Slaves live out their brief, miserable lives digging mana from the earth before their mutated bodies are cast into the crushing waves of the Sea of Blades. You must escape before the ship makes landfall. Look around for tools to Difficulty: ??72m4q24fphttttodsl-0021FETCHNUMBER?
Reward: myj3thkoark120kslz—0021FETCHNUMBER?
“What in the holy fuck…?” I muttered to myself. I tried closing the Quest Journal, but it was frozen. So was the HUD.
Shitballs.
Calm down, Hector. Calmity calm calm. As my limbs thrummed with fear, I took a deep breath of stinking humid air and took stock of my manacles, shaking and pulling at them. The iron cuffs weren't budging. I could use my hands and move my feet, though I wouldn't be able to stand. The cuffs had crude padlocks holding them closed, but I wasn't getting them off without tools.
Well, fine. Okay. I looked around the floor for anything I could use to try and pick a lock, squinting through the frozen HUD, and came up short. No tools. The guy beside me had turned over, so he was no help, but the elf woman was now sitting up stiffly. She looked... undefeated, somehow, despite the hood. Now THAT was something I could work with.
“Hey, miss,” I said. My voice came out as a heavily-accented gravelly rasp that threw me off for just a moment. “Uh... can you hear me?”
Her head and shoulders turned toward me, but she couldn't really nod or properly shake her head. The hood was tied onto what looked like some kind
of posture collar. Kinky.
“Want me to try and get that mask off?” I asked. “Just, uh... wiggle your nose once for yes, twice for no?”
The way her cheeks bunched, she might have smiled. She twitched her nose once.
“Alright. Hang on.” I struggled up as the hull continued to jolt up and down with turbulence, and yanked my chains in to give me a bit of room to move my arms. They pulled on the limbs of the guy beside me, but he just rolled with it and continued snoring away.
The mask was laced to the collar with tight knots, but my fingers were callused, nails thick and strong. I sawed and picked at them until they came away, zoning in on the work until I was able to get a look at the collar. It had a bolt instead of a padlock. When I touched it, the metal and the ends of my fingers both turned ice-cold. Some kind of magic. We weren't getting that off in here.
I pulled the mask from her eyes first, and then her mouth. The mouth part had a gag attached to the inside, and she had to work it past her teeth to spit it out. This woman was very pale. Her beautiful silver hair was snarled, but glossy and bright with health. Her mouth was full and sensuous, her violet eyes fierce in the dimness of the hold. Her lower lip was split and puffy, flaked with dried blood.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded as dry as mine, parched but sweet. She had a British accent, the kind that made me think of Pride and Prejudice and strict boarding schools. “That was a kindness you didn't have to offer.”
“Can't agree with that,” I said. “That looked seriously uncomfortable.”
She smiled faintly, but it was pained. “Not all men are so honorable. Not that it will go far... the bastards will lock me up in it again as soon as we reach land.”
“You know where we are?” I felt a stir of hope, something clearly not reflected in my companion.
She sighed, and rolled her shoulders with a grimace of pain. “No, but I have a terrible feeling we're headed north toward Zaunt.”
“Zaunt? Where the fuck is Zaunt? Why?”
Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset Page 5