“As you please, Abigail,” the paladin relented. “Do with them as you will.”
The priestess nodded. An inexplicable force drew me up out of the soothing hot liquid and left me hanging in the air. The cold immediately fettered my body and my mind, but before I blacked out, I heard the order: “Lorgus, we need more stretchers! We are taking the tieflings with us.”
My consciousness returned in a couple of seconds; at least, that’s what the system clock showed. I was lying inside a warm dome, which is why I no longer felt cold. The lake among the cliffs had transformed into a stony dungeon with steel bars at the window and a small iron door. Apart from myself, and two wizards holding up the dome, there were also two elves: the familiar snow-white Abigail, and a certain Uldaron, dressed in leather with chainmail reinforcements.
“I’m not sure,” said Uldaron, looking me over like a horse at the fair. “Too many disadvantages, too much hassle. The fiery nature and demonic essence will need suppressing, otherwise he’ll die. But that will make him weaker. What do I want with a warrior like that? The first weakling he runs into will knock him down with a stick.”
“His enemies are demons. He has good defense against them. All the rest is irrelevant. He’s a Free citizen, he can come back from the Gray Lands. If they knock him down with a stick, he will get up, dust himself down, and continue. Such warriors are exactly what we need now.”
“Then let him be a warrior!” muttered Uldaron, dissatisfied. “Why make a demon hunter out of him?”
“Because these are the only two left,” said the priestess. “You should have come to the assembly on time. Then you could have chosen your own Free citizens. They all came. Uldaron, you know you can’t not take them. Either you take them, or your training camp will be closed down and all the recruits redistributed. The choice is yours.”
“Oh, I’m riddled with doubt now,” he quipped. “Let me think. So, either they shut down the training camp, or I take these two waifs. I really don’t know, it’s such a difficult choice.”
“Quit clowning around. Consider the tieflings a challenge.”
“Purify them and dispatch them. I’ll figure it out as we go along.” This was already the second NPC to concede an argument to Abigail. Did she have high Charisma or something? On the surface you wouldn’t say so.
“Brother Lektor, he’s all yours,” called Abigail, and another priest entered the cell. This time a human. I got goose bumps just from the look of him. Brother Lektor had a malicious look about him. Not spiteful, but just that — malicious. And heavy.
“Dome!” he ordered, swinging his censer harder and filling the cell with smoke. The wizards lowered their hands, and the heat sphere around me disappeared. “Now get out!”
The NPCs vanished into thin air, and for the third time recently the cold descended on me. I hunched over on the floor, searching convulsively for the Escape button. However, either the cold affected my brain that way, or I wasn’t allowed out according to the script, because there were no buttons on the status bar. The game did not want to release me until the end of the scene.
“Don’t hold your breath, you’re not going to die.” Gentleness was not brother Lektor’s strong suit. He waved the censer above me until I was totally enveloped in black smoke. The cold left me, giving way to weakness. The priest proceeded to whine a prayer in a mind-numbing recitative in an unfamiliar language, and then sprinkled my head with a gray power. Resigning myself to my current situation, I shut my eyes and waited for the end. The cold was gone, and sooner or later the script would finish.
“I name you Kvalen!” After the purification process, Abigail preferred to endow me with my name herself. “Henceforth you are a tiefling — half-demon/half-human. Arise, Free citizen of Barliona!”
I tried to get to my feet, but it was futile — my body was wooden. Every movement was a struggle requiring maximum effort. My sensations and perception of the world were too natural. During the scene I forgot a couple of times that everything around was virtuality. Which is why I remained lying on the ground, waiting for whatever would happen next. I wasn’t in the habit of putting myself out much in the real world, and I couldn’t make myself overcome pain just like that and stand up in a virtual one. It wasn’t about pressing buttons in a comfortable armchair.
“And this is a demon hunter?” asked Uldaron in disgust. “He can’t even get up off his knees. Take him to the training camp. I hope he’ll have the brains to escape from there by himself.”
Birth of a Tiefling scene completed
Description: Race-specific Birth of a Tiefling scene completed. We wish you a pleasant game!
Some control buttons appeared on the progress bar, and I pressed Exit. Fuck Barliona with its continuous immersion! I should have agreed to that fishing date.
Chapter 2
JUMPING AROUND the room, shivering, while trying to get dressed, I couldn’t seem to get my foot into my trouser leg. Shit, why was it so cold? It felt like the next ice age had decided to kick off in my house. Having eventually dealt with my clothes, and tapping out a Morse-code message with my teeth, I skipped sprightly to the kitchen in search of something warming. Oddly, the thermometer was showing the usual 23°.
Bundled up in a blanket and armed with a cup of cognac-laced coffee, I hit the Internet to find the answer to the perennial question: WTF? The cognac entered my system in small doses and was exclusively for medicinal purposes. Namely to warm up and calm down. It worked.
The seasoned gamers on the forum assured me the cold I was experiencing was absolutely normal after the first few immersions. It was like a phantom pain, the body continuing to feel what it had recently experienced in the pod. With time the brain became used to virtuality, and would react appropriately to changing conditions.
Next in line for research were the tieflings. Who were they, and what did you eat them with? Ha ha. If I was honest, I didn’t understand the nature of the bonus I’d undertaken all this for. The more I read about Kvalen’s race on the official website, the more questions I had for the developers.
Reference information
Tiefling
A closed race. A half-demon, born of a fire demon and a creature of another race. Appearance depends on the demon parent, but all representatives have horns, a tail, hooved lower limbs, and monotone black eyes. In order to adapt to life in Barliona, tieflings have lost their demonic power, fire resistance, and enhanced survivability. Their demon ancestry has resulted in Barliona residents’ negative attitude toward half-demons.
Race abilities of fire tieflings
Increased basic value for Agility (+3 each 10 levels) and Intellect (+3 each 10 levels)
Increased fire resistance (+50%)
Increased demon magic (+30%)
Increased resistance to demon magic (+50%)
Total-darkness vision
Race weaknesses of fire tieflings
Decreased basic value for Strength (-3 each 10 levels) and Stamina (-3 each 10 levels)
Increased damage from Barliona magic (+30%)
Inability to study Barliona magic
Weak reaction of healing incantations to Barliona magic (-50% to healing)
Growth rate for Agreeability to NPCs decreased by 50%
A search for the term “closed race” bemused me. If the guides were to be believed, players could not choose their own race, class, or anything else marked “closed.” However, apart from myself there was another player swimming in the lava, and he was on a social contract. Interesting.
Over and over I reread the information and weighed up my prospects. I categorically disagreed with the developers that having a goat as your character was a great bonus, but there was nothing I could do about it. According to the rules of random generation, I would have to run around cloven-hooved for a month, maybe longer. Things weren’t looking good. Not only would NPCs be hostile to me because of my demon genealogy, but players would also turn up the heat.
I didn’t know how to go on. If I dele
ted my account and created a new one, I could only recoup my money in three months’ time. And the refund system was very unclear. I wasn’t about to risk my savings, so I wrote an official enquiry to client support concerning a refund and having being made a tiefling. Everything by the book.
“Hi. Are you asleep?” After finishing my letter I called Matty, only glancing at the clock when it was already too late.
“Hi,” he replied croakily, before yawning into the microphone. “Yes.”
Sleep in Barliona was never sound, but social players had no choice. They had no time or place to relax.
“Shit, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Bro, call whenever you like. There’ll be time for sleep.”
When I understood how stupid my reason was for waking him up at half six in the morning, I hesitated. “I wanted to ask you… I’ve created myself a character.”
“Ah,” he said and was silent, either groggy from being half asleep, or surprised at the fervour with which I’d dived into Barliona. “Great. What’s your name? Height? Weight? Are we going to wet the baby’s head?”
“Horns, more like. They called me Kvalen. Have you heard of tieflings?”
“The half-demons? I read something in the news. I don’t remember. What, have you made yourself a tiefling? They’re hardcore!”
“It wasn’t me.” I had to confess what a genius I was to have found such a great random generation scene. “I’m sitting here wondering whether to delight in my goat-legged bonus, or delete it in a month.”
“Ah, that’s why you’re calling?” Matty sighed with relief. “I was worried something had happened. Ditch it and create a new one. The simple name is cool, but it’s not worth the hassle — nobody likes demons. It’ll be a massive pain in the ass. Even demonologists are getting strange looks. It’s not much of a bonus.”
“I can’t delete it straight away, only in a month. What am I going to do? A whole freaking month on my butt, then start all over again?”
“Well… let’s meet today and discuss a strategy. I’ll think of something to keep you busy for a month.”
“Why bother meeting? I’ll call you when I get back from work.” It occurred to me that every time we spoke Matty suggested getting together.
“No, let’s have a beer,” he insisted, although he quickly added, “Or are you busy? In which case we can meet tomorrow.”
“I’m not busy. It’s just a ninety-minute journey for you. And what the hell for? Just don’t say that evil foes are tapping our phones and stealing ideas.” I heard a deep snuffling sound, one that I’d known since childhood. Matty was brooding. “Well? Say something.”
“What is there to say?” he mumbled. “Just a bit longer and I’ll be back, Bro. In there I’m a druid with a unique task. Out here I’m a vagrant whose wife and kids have left him. Nearly everyone’s gone from our block. They live in Barliona. And all the rest come out looking angry and bottled up. You can’t talk to them, or have a drink with them. I reckon I’ll lose it soon and get stuck in there. I’ve already got no reason to leave the pod every day. I see the kids once a week, and that’s for an hour. I don’t have time for anything else.”
I felt for him, but didn’t know what to say. I’d always felt awkward when it came to showing sympathy and support. “Okay. I’ll just sort work out, buy some beer, and be on my way to yours. I’ll call.”
“I’m not going to say no. I’ll be waiting,” he said. I was just about to hang up when he said, “Wait! I’ve just thought about your tiefling. Nobody knows anything about them. Or about demon hunters. It’s a new race, a new class, a new continent. Just smell the cash! Don’t be too hasty about leaving the training camp. Go for a walk, have a look around, make a video, draw a map. You can do a lot of trading in a month, make some contacts in the top guilds. What’s wrong with that? Then you don’t need to delete your guy.”
“Agreed. I’ll do some thinking.” Whichever way you looked at it, Matty was right. I hadn’t seen any rates for information about the new continent. With the proper handling, my goat had a good chance of becoming a golden antelope.
“Matty, can you do me a favour? Sometimes I don’t get obvious things, just because I don’t think about them. Next time tell me straight, without that spy paranoia. You heard it yourself — I’m socially challenged. I’ve even got a psychologist’s note.”
“Go to… work, socially challenged. Pack it in with the self-reflection. I’m going to sleep.”
The situation with Matty worried me more and more. Was I a friend or what? He definitely needed dragging out of the shelter. Yet again I prowled the expanses of the Internet, trying to work out how to restore him to normal society. After flicking through a couple of legal reference bases, I realized I knew lots about turning citizens into vagrants, but nothing about the reverse process. My entire experience was not enough to render the legal documents unambiguously. They’d done it deliberately. It was advantageous to the government to have everybody sitting in Barliona instead of exacerbating the situation in the world with their irrelevance. With the thought that I needed a consultation with a good lawyer, I closed my laptop and went to work.
All contemporary learning had long since been transferred to virtuality. People slid into their pods to mingle with teachers, other students, and simulation programs, getting excellent results in no time and with minimal expense. But Right Decision Ltd. didn’t cut corners, and out of a sense of duty I decided to comply.
Helen was waiting for me in the empty hall, ready to absorb the wisdom of my experience. Just like a million years ago, instead of a tablet she had a graph-ruled exercise book and a ballpoint pen. Where did she even manage to find them? Couldn’t you find an ink pot, my little eager beaver? Instead of the expected lecture, I dumped a stack of printed sheets in front of her.
“Right. We are not going to waste each other’s time. Memorize this lot by Monday. Inside out, down to the last comma. If you learn it earlier, call me and we can start putting theory into practice. If not, I’ll punish you on Monday.”
“How?” Aghast, Helen looked from the papers to me and back.
“I don’t know yet.” I frowned and said, “Helen, don’t think about the punishment. Concentrate on fruitful work.”
“I’m not asking about the punishment,” she said, raising her voice. “How am I supposed to learn all this? Don’t you have an electronic version? I could throw it in the emulator and listen to it in the pod.”
“Not likely, my girl! It wouldn’t be corporate to use the blessings of civilization like that. What’s your character in Barliona?”
“A paladin.”
“There you go. You like facing hardship head on. Open the first page and read it to yourself. If you don’t get it, read it again. Quote it from memory. If you make a mistake, read it again. Repeat the cycle until you’ve learnt it all by frigging heart. During this time I will allow you to use swear words in conversation with me, to make the learning process easier.”
“I… I’ll tell grandma! This is absolute nonsense!” shrieked the girl.
“Then I’ll punish her too. I choose the teaching method. Of course if grandma doesn’t agree, everything’s open to discussion,” I said calmly.
“Hch-hm,” resounded the diplomatic cough of the HR boss from a speaker. “Maria sees no need to interfere and revise the terms of your socialization. Old methods of instruction are just as valid as new ones.”
I broke out in a wide smile. “As you wish.”
“We’re not allowed to spend personal time on work. Had you forgotten?” continued the girl stubbornly.
“You will learn everything by end of business today,” stressed Maria.
“But there are two hundred and thirty-six pages of font size ten! I’d sooner die than learn all this using your old-fashioned methods.”
“Helen! Don’t be so childish! Have you been given a task?” barked Maria in such a tone it went right through even me.
“Yes,” said the girl in a whisper
. Grandma was perfectly capable of becoming a strict department head when she saw fit. The faded Helen collected her papers and headed for the door.
“Helen, why are you such a muddlehead? No one’s taken the scanner away,” her beloved grandmother grumbled after her. Helen paused for a second, and with a shriek of, “Thanks, grandma,” flew off to fulfil her task.
“Maria, I could use a lawyer,” I said before the lady signed off. “I want a consultation on a personal matter. Would that be possible?”
“It would. They’ll help you in reception. Come and see me afterwards. And Brody, don’t scare the girl. Otherwise it’ll be me doing the swearing, and we don’t want that now, do we?” came the reply, before the intercom shut off.
A Second Chance Page 6