by Prax Venter
No negative effects from attacking Heroes or Townsfolk.
HP will not drop below 1.
HP/MP lost will be restored on exit.
Cannot be dispelled while inside Sparring Yard.
~ Power is wasted without control.
The only parts of Jack that were fully exposed were his feet and his head and Yan scanned him from head to toe, her eyes wide. He expected her to make some type of comment, but she motionlessly swapped out one of two daggers strapped to her hip with the thin sword of slowness Haylee had warned him about.
“Attention.” The Mayor’s shorter companion and bookie cleared his throat and the growing murmuring tapered off again. “Good people of Brittlehorn, bad people of Brittlehorn, and everyone in between… This is Bone Storm!”
The crowd exploded with unrestrained excitement over the two forces about to lock horns. He cast a glance over to his friends and family all grinning at him and with adrenaline saturating his nerves, King Jack felt unstoppable.
The announcer continued, shouting with an impressive set of lungs over the berserk spectators. “All winner declarations and chit exchanges have been halted until one combatant falls to 1 HP or steps out of the Yard. When Zarda tosses the bone, the storm begins.”
Jack shifted his eyes from his opponent to the silk-wrapped Mayor who in turn waited for each fighter to show they were paying attention to her. Then she lifted her hand and threw in a severed unicorn horn. The crowd exploded with cheers all around him.
Jack took three huge steps forward as the lithe Yan made herself low to the ground, still studying him. She had never seen anything like the custom collection of many shields over his armor and went with a defensive opening.
Once he’d moved near the center, Jack dropped to one knee and pulled an extra shield from behind his back to fit over his head. When the huge slabs of metal touched the ground, they leaned inward to create a gap-less shell with only a small slit to see through- he hoped.
Haylee’s mother circle strafed his stationary position, her brow now down in either worry or confusion. It was the first emotion he’d seen from her.
“Pound her guts, King Jack!” roared Ryea from the crowd and he could barely make out Lex’s screaming below it as Yan moved out of his line of sight. Jack lifted his strapped-on fortress and spun in tiny shifts to keep her always clear in view.
The leather-clad assassin had seen enough and dashed forward as Jack pulled his top shield down, sealing him in.
A solid impact let him know she’d struck a shield and then she tried to wedge one of her weapons through to the meaty insides by prying at one, but Jack twisted the periwinkle cloth pair of pants held clutched in his right hand and was able to hold the shell formation intact. It was close and if she were stronger, he might lose his hand.
Jack opened his personal text file and made note about modifications to his prototype.
The attacks stopped so he risked a peek and saw her standing a good distance away with her arms crossed.
“This is a king?” she shouted and then shot a glance at Zarda. “Irrelevant is-”
Was all Yan got out before Jack Teleported out of his shell one step in front of her. With his own movement-speed gear reappearing with him, her wide eyes projected delicious disbelief while he used that one step to shove her backward with as much force as his Tower-honed body could produce. And the instant his arms reached full extension, Jack triggered his Data Blast ability.
Combined with the first assault knocking her off her boots, his Tier Three superpower designed for blasting away foes was extra effective, and Haylee’s mother landed on her side well beyond of the boundary of the Sparring Yard.
The only sound was a thunderclap of his ability echoing from the row of buildings by the coast, and everyone remained silent as Yan picked herself up then walked back right up to Jack. Her porcelain white face remained blank as she turned toward the open-mouthed Mayor.
“I hereby endorse King Jack and recommend Brittlehorn accept his generous offer to join Blackmoor Kingdom.”
A mixture of cheers and murmuring spread through the spectators as Haylee’s mother turned to face him.
“Before you do it, please, walk with me alone.” An intensity gathered on her features that could mean anything from hatred to desire, but didn’t last, and she stalked off toward the brittle horse corral.
Jack took in a deep breath as he locked eyes with Lex. His Bastion could tell Yan’s quiet words were not normal, and he answered her wordless question by dipping his head sideways after the woman.
Lex narrowed her gaze and nodded, but she turned to talk to the others, and he knew they would be constantly nearby wherever this known assassin wanted to lead him.
Zarda found her voice at that moment.
“You all know the King and I’ve been talking, but I’m sure there are a lot of questions. Firstly, no! You’ll never be rid of me! Collect your winnings, stick around, I’ll explain everything while generous King Jack sets the loose bones of the deal with my advisor.”
“Generous King Jack!” called out the bouncy innkeeper, and Ryea, showing uncharacteristic restraint repeated the phrase at a normal speaking volume. A few others took up the chant and it spread to most of the crowd.
He took a moment to show he respected Zarda’s place as leader of this Town by placing his hand over his heart and offering her a slight bow. Then, he turned and followed Yan into the darkness.
She wasn’t trying to get away, so Jack caught up to her in about 10 strides.
“How fares Sol?”
The words took a moment for Jack to push past all the things he expected her to say.
“Uh. Well, he’s Mayor of the capital city, Blackmoor Cove. He is a good friend, and I rely on him to keep everything running smooth. Sol is great.”
Yan nodded as she kept her focus straight ahead, leading him between the Wall and the corral.
“I want to say that makes me happy, King Jack. I want to tell you seeing my child again after so long makes me joyous, or shameful, or any type of motherly instinct. What I can tell you is that I am something that no longer feels these things.”
Jack thought of himself as a perpetual amateur leader slowly gaining knowledge and experience regarding how to deal with the spectrum of personalities out there, but what she was saying was a lot closer to a clinical sociopath and a legitimate mental condition he was in no way prepared to handle. So, he just did his go-to move. Shut up and listen.
“I run Brittlehorn if you haven’t figured that out yet. Zarda is a shadow Mayor of sorts, listens to me in all things because I put her there to do so.”
Since she changed subjects, Jack allowed himself to react in the silence she left.
“I suppose I figured you both ran it, but it’s good to know who I should be talking to about important things.”
She cast her focus to his face. “You’d still leave me in power after telling you what I have? Knowing I have two Negative Marks? Would you alter your schemes if I told you I assassinated the last two Mayors to get the pieces where they are? Would you balk if I told you I’d abandoned my family because, in my mind, they’d never be consumed by the surrounding Corruption if I’d left them still alive?”
Listening to her say all these things with no emotional inflection was unsettling, but his instincts were telling him to challenge her.
“Are you trying to drive me and my Kingdom away? It sounds to me as if you feel you aren’t worthy.”
“I’m being honest. If I am anything, I am this. And, out of due respect, I owe you this after besting me in a way I’d never knew existed.”
“Okay, honestly, would you have murdered Haylee if she wasn’t your daughter?”
She shrugged. “Trust my word or not, I normally assassinate those who are clever enough to find ways around the Subroutine’s Marks. Jesix told me a tale of a young demon girl that whispered vile magic into a boy’s ear and made him murder her husband, the Mayor of Doveport. I would have confir
med this nonsense beforehand, and I heard another version from your Farmer, Ryea, eventually. Knowing what I know now, no. I would not grant Jesix her vengeance if the target was not my child.”
Jack hated that he was starting to not hate Yan.
“I’m taking advantage of this truth promise. Will you ever betray me or the Kingdom of Blackmoor?”
She shook her head. “No one can see the future, so I cannot answer those questions with truth. But I can say that if you deliver on your promises, no one in Subroutine Sana could ever offer me more power, influence, or coin to make such a deadly challenge worth it. Especially considering the retribution that would follow.
“However, if your destiny is to push the Corruption far away from Brittlehorn, and you go on to prove this through your actions, I would then vow to not hinder such a destiny. To answer plainly, if you do not threaten my plans for Brittlehorn, I will not challenge you elsewhere.”
Jack walked by her side for a few steps as they approached the back of the corral, and the nearby brittle horses clattered their bones together in protest as they galloped away.
He knew she could feel things. Maybe it was denial or some defense mechanism burning out a circuit in her virtual mind allowing her to continue breathing after abandoning her husband and child to what she assumed would be an inevitable death.
Then a virtual circuit in his own mind clicked.
Yan was utterly terrified of the Corruption. Her Townsfolk family becoming encircled like Sevik’s wife in Angelshade- that’s what broke her, and she just ran. Brittlehorn was probably furthest from any speck of infestation in the whole world at the time.
“You are protective of this place. What are these plans of yours?”
“A home for the Marked,” she said without hesitation. “By your posture, I can tell you aren’t inherently revolted by us. Some were given little choice, others made mistakes. No leader can prevent every crime, and there is a balance of exchange in the form of permanent hindrance. Those truly evil who disrespect that cost quickly find everyday life impacted by inescapable, inspectable scars across their Character Interface. Most of the Heroes who climb Brittlehorn’s Tower carry such scars as not many elsewhere would choose to fight beside them when their lives depend on capable party members.”
“I think I understand,” Jack said, thinking of Meri, his own pure-hearted lumberjack, and the misguided Aarin up in Doveport. “Yan, I give you my word that as long as you aren’t working against me, not only will I leave you to handle things here, but I will also go out of my way to help you build the best ‘Home for the Marked’ Brittlehorn can be.”
She stopped and faced him.
“Then we have a mutual understanding, King Jack.”
They shook on their intentions and then circled around the corral in silence until reuniting with a gaggle of people still milling around the Sparring Yard.
Yan whispered something to Zarda and then she promptly vanished into the night while Haylee drilled into him with her observant grey eyes. Jack struggled with whether he should tell the Dark Prism anything of her mother’s confession to him, but he shelved that whole bag of family drama for now. It was time to add this home for the Marked to his Kingdom, and his instincts told him that despite the inherent danger of embracing what could be considered a city of criminals, his fair treatment of people already branded and punished by Mother Sana would pay dividends in the future.
As he approached the ‘Shadow-Mayor’ of Brittlehorn, he made another connection. Through the lens of this Town designed as a purposeful sanctuary, he now completely understood their random Job assignment. No matter how bad of a permanent weight any of them carried, each would have a fair opportunity to hold the more desirable Jobs. At least for a day.
Alt stepped into his mind to add to Jack’s realization. “And those aren’t system-generated tokens they draw from the Job sack. They independently crafted custom items here. It looks to be fairly recent, but Velintanna might have been correct in her initial estimation that such behavior might manifest when the game world was pushed to the brink of existence.”
“King Jaaack,” Zarda said, flashing him her gray teeth. “Is it still a ‘no’ on that pretty boat?”
“Nope on that boat,” Jack said.
“Then let’s move to making things official between you and I, shall we?”
“It would be my honor if Brittlehorn joined the Kingdom of Blackmoor, Mayor Zarda. We will all become stronger and richer for it.” He then initiated the Kingdom interface.
Kingdom Membership Offered - King Jack of Blackmoor
Capital Town: [Blackmoor Cove]
Connected Towns:
[Emberstone]
[Doveport]
[Pinefall]
Cancel
Zarda sucked in a shuddering breath before she reached out to her version of this system display and tapped two fingers in midair.
No one knew what to expect when linking two Towns through the sea, but when the sky split open and a torrent of impossible light from space slammed down on the Docks before accelerating straight north, everyone gathered moved to check for anything new.
“It’s magnificent,” the silk-wrapped Mayor said, and Jack had to agree. His Bastion slipped her fingers through his as everyone gawked at the thick, glowing ribbon of light under the pure abyssal darkness.
“It still made a road,” Haylee whispered from nearby.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “And we know the other end of this is lighting up our Cove, too.”
“Everyone knows,” Kron said, and Jack had to agree with the worry in the Guardian’s voice. This extension of his kingdom was not a secret one.
Those gathered on the main road stood silent for a little while, mesmerized by the sheer volume of liquid the underwater ribbon illuminated, and Alt used this time to relay changes in reality.
“In addition to the normal Kingdom bonus. Any vessels traveling between these two points no longer require pre-approval from a Dockmaster and gain a 10% speed boost. As both Dock structures level, this boost will improve.”
The concept made Jack remember some of the other changes and he thanked the AI in his head before seeking out the closest Brittlehorn Hero. Daylight had all but vanished, but he made out a younger man wearing thick leather- probably stacked toward HP- and approached him.
“Greetings, I’m Jack,” he said as he extended a hand and Inspected the other man.
Albore - Hero: Fighter | Level 16
Marked for Violence [-10% to all Skills and Proficiencies]
[Health: 299/299 | Mana: 150/150]
Relationship -
[Disposition: Daunted]
“There’s no one here who doesn’t know- rather… Yes. Greetings upon you.”
The kid started to kneel, and Jack caught his arm.
“No. None of that. I want to offer you a quick and easy job.”
With the slightest hint of intention, Jack pulled a single piece of leather chest armor from his ridiculous pile that was better than Albore’s current gear. He initiated a Trade interface but held his finger before tapping the emerald ‘Accept’ button.
“Do you see that this item now displays what Floor it dropped on?”
“Hey now! Floor 17. You’re the Impossible King, more like. Yeah?”
Jack raised his brows and nodded as he confirmed his side of the trade.
“You should see me be impossible within the Tower someday. Anyway, everyone who joins the Kingdom of Blackmoor can now see this information on every Tower-dropped item. I am paying you this gear upgrade to go tell all the Brittlehorn Heroes about this new feature.”
The Fighter slapped accept and flashed him a toothy grin.
“Will do, generous King Jack!”
He then met with a handful of trusted Townsfolk chosen by Zarda inside the hold of The Embrace where he secretly showed more NPCs the ‘non-system’ technique to boiling sea water. One of which was the Innkeeper, but this had become business for the ambitious woman, a
nd she was smart enough to know when pointless flirting would do her no favors.
All present were baffled at how easy it was to create something that might unlock unknown wonders and thanked him with awe in their eyes when he gave them each a full set of makeshift alchemy gear.
Afterwards they scattered to the arid wind to no doubt toil through the night with hopes of out-producing the others and Jack gave them his blessing. Then the Heroes of Blackmoor said their goodbyes to Ryea and Jip before they finally made that return trip back home.
Haylee gave them a folded piece of paper; a note for her father and Jack just told them to keep the boat docked there for now.
Later that night as he slept next to his wife in their own room, she woke him up with her hand spasming against his leg as she dreamed. In this own half-dream state, Jack looked down to see his naked leg was now a hollow skin tube filling with steam, and inside was a tiny leather shield that moved toward his toes as the pressure built within his thigh. When the shield reached his ankle, Lex’s twitching hand became a vent that let all the steam out until the shield sank back up his leg to his knee and her hand stopped. The steam built again and…
“Am’s a steam piston?” Jack muttered the nonsense out loud and Lex grunted in agreement before she shifted her hand from his thigh.
Fully awake now and blinking up into the darkness, Jack opened his virtual notepad and attempted to transcribe his prophetic waking-dream. After he put something down that wouldn’t be incomprehensible later, he realized that the idea felt almost too…
“Inspired?” the spaceship in his head suggested, and Jack knew the AI triggered this somehow.
Alt responded. “I may have nudged a stream of data in your visual cortex to hallucinate what you’d come close to subconsciously recalling. A simple diagram of an early steam engine you saw in grade school. Honestly, the white noise from the technical thinking you invested into that suit of armor constructed from retractable shields was fertile ground for, well… a skin piston with your wife’s own dream-jittering hand as a pressure valve.”
Jack laced his fingers behind his head as he sent back an image of spaceship Alt wrapped in fine silks with ornate patterns and portrayed him as a muse, hovering close to whisper in the Irrelevant King’s ear as he slept.