by Domino Finn
Over the last few weeks, I'd sold the promise of things to come and getting in on the ground floor. After a slow build, we were finally eclipsing our original count at 49. Now we just needed that defining number 50.
"There you are!" A weathered man with wild white hair and one eye larger than the other stomped our way. "What's taking ya so long? I'm on a schedule. You know I don't tolerate loiterers and slack-jaws!"
I chuckled. "I think I've heard that before. How is my Buildmaster General?"
"Bah! I hate that title. It's a fancy way of saying I got two jobs."
Trafford was a lovable grump, and he wasn't kidding about having two jobs. He was an NPC who used to be on the city watch, or at least that was part of his programmed history. Without Lash as the general of my armies, and with Gladius, the head of the city watch, unable to stray from his official town duties, I had to assign the role to Trafford. He was a loyal friend and gladly took on faction work on top of managing his store. It also helped that a dearth of new players meant fewer people were patronizing the welcome shop.
Trafford, it turned out, was a victim of his own expertise. In addition to being a capable soldier, the old man had secondary artisan skills. With consort classes, Haven allowed overlapping specializations, similar to how an explorer like me had a bunch of soldier abilities for combat.
Artisan skills have numerous trees. Kyle specialized in alchemy and art for, well, alchemy, jewelry, and glasswork. Other available trees were textiles, metalsmiths, bowyers, and leatherers. Which was all to say that Trafford was my sole representative of the builder tree, encompassing stonemasonry, carpentry, and planning.
It would surprise no one that, at the time, in the absence of any headquarters and building menus, not many players had pursued such professions. I wanted to change that.
"Trafford, I appreciate everything you've done. We're about to see big gains today. I promise."
"Aye, I believe ya, but it'll only do so much good unless we can get more builders."
"You've been doing okay since Grug and Grom joined."
He scoffed. "Those pillagers? We're lucky they're not stealing the raw materials and selling them on the side!"
He was being overly hard on the band of pirates who'd joined us, but it was fair to say they weren't great builders. They were warm bodies more than anything, tag-teaming in and out to barely account for normal manpower. "I hear you. We'll find someone worthy of being your apprentice. Fair enough?"
"Either that or find my replacement and leave me to the army duties. I'm an old hand at weaponry, I am." The old man raised his head high. He was a solid soldier, no doubt about that. He eyed the seven-foot-tall white knight trailing us. "How about you, miss? You know anything about stonemasonry?"
"Psh," she spat. "Look somewhere else, abuelo."
He shook his head. "It's a thankless job, I tell ya."
I smiled as we made our way along the strip and toward the looming tower that overshadowed Oldtown. Dragonperch was an impressive piece of ancient architecture—the only structure in the district that had withstood the ages, in no small part due to its mystical wards. Halfway down the street, it still watched over us. Beside it, the petrified remains of a kneeling titan reached skyward. Another enduring symbol of Oldtown, the cyclops was now reduced to half the size of Dragonperch.
The tower was a sanctum. Dragonspear in hand, I'd slain the titan and reclaimed the mystical keep. After opening, it had initially remained dormant—at least until the Black Hats were founded.
According to the undocumented rules of Haven, a sanctum and a faction combined into something greater. The dormant sanctum awoke at level 1, and all of a sudden I had unlocked a new interface: the headquarters menu.
It was a way to invest our money. To claim worthless Oldtown property. We'd bought out the central portion along the river from the tower to the main thoroughfare. Then we started building.
Just because the land was neglected and available didn't mean it had come cheap. Acquiring the large lot seriously taxed our resources, hence the faction tithe. I rationalized that we were breaking new ground, pioneers in the virtual afterlife, but the pros weren't without cons.
As we passed the respawn building, I grumbled. It had been our second construction project after the guildhall. For a burgeoning society in need of resources, I could think of many choices more appealing than a brothel.
I opened the headquarters interface.
Black Hat Headquarters
Level: 2
HQXP: 4 / 8
HQR: 52
Daily HQR Production: 10
Current Buildings
Guildhall
Brothel
Barracks
Lumberyard
The brothel sticks out like a sore thumb, doesn't it? Well, it comes with the territory when half your faction are pirates.
Guildhalls and respawn points were common buildings, as far as I could tell, but I had a feeling that construction theming was a combination of location, sanctum, and faction members. Both the barracks and brothel were respawn points, and I was upset I had to build any at all. With them, Black Hats could choose to respawn here when they died instead of in their homes. That was next to useless considering most lived in the city.
That said, it needed to be done. Explaining why requires backtracking over the course of the month.
Black Hat headquarters started at level 1. It's a little confusing because factions and headquarters have separate leveling tracks. Factions are about membership and level up by gaining recruits. Headquarters involve physical structures and progress through construction. With our noob resources, it was a slow grind.
A level 1 headquarters accumulates 3 headquarters resources per day. Trafford was a skilled enough builder to contribute +1, and the jumble of other pirates amounted to another. Our first goalpost had been the guildhall.
Guildhall
Meeting place for faction members.
Cost: 20 HQR; 3000 silver
Man Hours: 60
HQXP: 1
Limit: 1
+2 HQR
Guildhalls were relatively cheap when it came to headquarters resources and man hours. The price in silver was less modest, but money was our least constraining variable. Besides, guildhalls were important. Aside from cementing a communal gathering area for Black Hats, it added 2 additional HQR to the daily.
Since we were limited to building a single guildhall, respawn points were the next cheapest buildings. And building fast was key. Not only did we have very limited man hours to assign to projects, but a total of 3 buildings provided enough headquarters experience points to bring us to level 2. That was a huge milestone because it increased our daily HQR from 7 to 10. With that in mind we'd built two respawn points, a brothel and a barracks. Seeing as we were populated by a bunch of pirates, transients, and ne'er-do-wells, it was a popular move. A beacon of respect it was not, but it sure served its purpose.
"I can't believe this," complained Trafford. "Grom!" he shouted. "Get outta there this instant and report for duty!"
The pirate deflated. He stood on the brothel's porch with a woman in one arm and a man in the other, and he appeared to have already paid.
"Business first!" warned the buildmaster.
"By the Maelstrom!" spat Grom. "I don't get a day o' rest."
"I haven't seen you for two days!"
The pirate shrugged. "I weren't restin' though."
Grom eyed his supervisor and me and Lash's cold helmet. With a forlorn sigh, he released his expensive distractions and came along. It was a wise decision. I'd seen the lad try to outdo the grumpy shopkeeper before, and he'd fallen woefully short. Trafford huffed and marched forward. I followed his lead until an arrow whizzed right past my nose.
1110 Ranger X
I recoiled as the projectile hammered into the nearby remnant of a stone wall. Lash immediately cast an attack buff. Golden light washed over us. My first instinct was to go into full attack mode, but two things caug
ht my eye. Arrows weren't usually able to penetrate stone, and this one had a silver head. Silver was currency in this realm. To use it for combat necessitated great expense and required hardening enchantments.
"Dune," I snapped.
The ranger hopped off the distant ruins, green cloak flowing behind as he approached. I yanked his signature arrow from the wall and held it out to him. As he converged and reached for it, I snapped it in half. "Oops."
"Hey, those things aren't cheap."
"It broke easy enough." I tossed the components back to him. They bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. "What's the big idea?"
He chuckled. "I just figured you'd like to see what a real assassination attempt looks like."
"You heard about that already?"
The ranger gave a heartless shrug. "It's the buzz of Oldtown. Everyone who's anyone knows. Or is it anyone who's everyone? Wait..."
I sighed. Dune was a level-8 ranger with his own party, as well as one of the aforementioned players who'd temporarily joined the faction and subsequently quit. A lot of people thought he was a cocky douche, but I liked the guy. Despite his playful hijinks, he hadn't been a troublemaker as Lash and some of the others had. He was a strong, confident ally who surrounded himself with capable people. He was just too proud to serve anyone but himself.
I kinda felt stupid wearing the glowing buff in the middle of town. "Forget it."
Dune laughed. "Come on, Talon, don't take it so personally. Think of it as a christening. What self-respecting bar doesn't have a good brawl once in a while?"
The corner of my lips crooked. "That's right. I wouldn't run any other kind of operation."
"That's the spirit."
"Hey, you sure you don't wanna join the Black Hats? If you do, the faction levels up. You'll get sweet combat and crafting bonuses."
"No, thanks." He clapped my shoulder. "A 1% buff isn't my idea of a good trade-off. Besides, I have my own legend to make."
"It would be 2%," I weakly pointed out.
Lash canceled the combat buff and pulled off her helmet. "You make it sound like a bad gig. The faction doesn't stifle me. I get to do whatever I want."
He arched an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were on babysitting duty."
She scowled. The full helm abruptly slammed on. Lash was back to intimidation mode.
"Speaking of my legend," continued Dune, unabashed, "I was wondering if you had any pointers on how to get a mantle for myself. I could use my own faction."
"It's not the constant joy you think it is," I admitted.
"Don't sell yourself short, my man. This city used to be scared of you. And jealous. And kinda pissed off because of the pain thing and the death lockdown and—"
"Can we speed up the banter?" grumbled Trafford. "We're on a tight schedule."
Dune frowned. "Sorry, I was trying to be earnest. What I meant was you're famous now. Everybody likes you, Talon, even if they don't wanna give you 10% of everything they earn. You're a rock star."
"I'd rather have a rock worker," I returned. "You haven't met any stonemasons lately, have you?" He shook his head. "What are you doing in Oldtown anyway?"
"Looking for my physicker. She's taken to that new brothel of yours."
"Caduceus?!?"
"What can I say? She's an assertive woman. Anyway, try not to get killed before lunch." He started to the respawn point. "And keep an eye out for more legendary mantles."
Grom waited until Dune turned away. In a smooth motion he swiped the silver arrowhead from the ground and stuffed it into his inventory. "Stupid green man dropped his money."
Trafford shook his head. "Loads of fun, this job."
We veered off the road and cut into rougher terrain, stepping over rubble and abandoned property that had withered into scrap. The latest construction project had to be in a secure location so it was off the main path and somewhat close to my tower. We were almost there when we were interrupted by muffled demands.
"What now?" groaned the buildmaster.
We turned the corner and found three intimidating gangsters surrounding a diminutive man.
"Last chance," warned the tall one while waving a jagged knife. "I want everything you have, or yer gonna find out what yer guts look like."
1120 Blood Money
Combat within city limits used to be toggled off by default, literally impossible unless a player was defending themselves or there was a city event going on that allowed it. It was a player-only limitation because NPCs had been expected to obey their programming. Why prevent them from doing something they would never do? Then Haven NPCs went and became sapient. No longer slaves to the narrative, they were free to make their own choices—which just so happened to manifest themselves as a wildly overpowered bishop from Oakengard attempting a takeover of the core city.
It was this momentous occurrence that had spawned the Black Hats. It had emphasized how wildly unbalanced independent NPCs were. They were free to engage in combat with players in town, and while those players could defend themselves, it opened the populace living second lives to ambush from the populace leading their first.
Having seen it work in Shorehome, I'd been a huge proponent of removing the ban on town combat. The saints, in an effort to equalize the shift in power, agreed.
The new law of the land was compliance through answering to the city watch, which was very similar to the old law except the choice was now an overt one. The city watch was forced to up their patrols and keep a sharper eye. In most cases, the threat was enough. It didn't hurt that guards were immune to friendly fire and were essentially invincible.
However, incidents did slip through the cracks and, despite the city watch's vigilance, their presence in Oldtown was sparse ever since we'd bought it up. That made Black Hat territory the "bad part of town." Perhaps not as bleak as the slums, but it was the Wild West out here.
Which explained how Poe had managed a legitimate shot at me. It was also why we'd stumbled on a poor noob being harried by a bully and his NPC underlings.
The small bald man stumbled over his words. "You... you want everything I have?"
"You heard me!" barked the gangster.
I already knew the noob, Drummond. He was a particular man, slight and unassuming. The main aggressor was [Nooner - Level 5 Gangster]. I cleared my throat loudly.
All four men turned to me.
"T—Talon!" yelped Nooner, stiffening. "This ain't yer business."
"You're in Black Hat territory. Everything's my business. What's going on here?"
One of his tough-guy enforcers stepped forward with a sneer. He was a wide man with maybe a hint of ogre blood. Lash coolly answered his challenge and stepped between us. The NPC shivered as he appraised the knight.
I snickered. "I don't know who you are or what your deal is, Nooner, but I know a shakedown when I see one. I won't have this in Oldtown."
"Oldtown ain't yers. It's a historical watermark."
My brow crinkled. "I think you mean landmark."
"Well, it's on the water, ain't it?"
Black Hat land comprised of only half the ruins. I had no authorial claim to the rest. Then again, neither did Nooner. His philosophical argument didn't come into play because he was definitely smack in the middle of my territory, beneath the ancient majesty of Dragonperch no less.
Though the gangster talked tough, he pulled his enforcer out of Lash's range. With the size of her cleaver, he wasn't pulling far enough. It was obvious he preferred to avoid a fight, and it was obvious why. His level was average and I doubted his NPCs were stronger. I was confident enough to take the trio myself. With Lash in the mix, and then Trafford and Grom, we wouldn't even break a sweat.
"Drummond's a level-2 banker," I stated. "Everyone knows he's not affiliated with anyone. That's the deal to invest with him. You give him your money, minus a fee, and he keeps it safe."
The banker nodded excitedly. His body was backed into the interior corner of a collapsed structure. Trapped, helples
s, and already grateful for my intervention. While I had never dealt with the banker directly, I'd heard good things. Drummond purposely squatted at level 2 so he wouldn't have the death penalty that included a permanent money drop. That exploit was the key to his banking empire.
"Safe?" scoffed the gangster. "He kept my money safe, all right. Safe in the hands of my rival."
"He was your second hand," insisted Drummond. "Your trusted partner."
"Key word being was." Nooner leaned in and the banker flinched. "You could say we had us a schisma."
A few of us traded puzzled glances. Drummond blinked. "A musical interval between an acoustical pure and a tempered fifth?"
"What?" Nooner scowled. "A discord. A rift. A break."
Drummond's eyes lit up. "Oh, a schism!"
"That's what I said!" The gangster shook Drummond by the collar.
I placated him by showing my hands. "Wait just a minute. I thought players under level 3 were immune to PvP?"
"Only in a fashion," Nooner obliquely replied.
I frowned and Drummond explained. "The relaxing of city combat rules had an inadvertent effect. New players can be attacked now."
"Can't the devs patch anything right?" I huffed.
"It was just the NPCs getting a little rough at first, because they could. But after the city restrictions were lifted and the players joined in, things got worse. I don't take damage, per se, but it still hurts."
I winced. He was talking about torture. All those changes were my fault. I had helped Lucifer awaken the NPCs. I'd hacked out the pain filters of the populace. And I'd convinced the saints to allow free combat. Seemed my actions in Haven had all but destroyed the poor man's business model.