by Kevin Murphy
A stirring at the bottom of the staircase reminded the adventurers what it was the relic really did. They assumed their fighting positions, when the little goatman hopped up the stairs and picked up his gladius before waddling up to them without a trace of malice, bending down and picking up his bearded axe, then tucking the weapons away. He climbed up on his throne, and smiled. “Thanks,” he said in a voice that was far more civil than the rough sounds made by the other goats. The little trest nodded towards Dakkon.
“What the hell is this!” Mina yelled, in a rare loss of her composure.
Melee gently put her arms on her friend and attempted to calm her down. “Just forget about the last five minutes. We killed the boss, we finished the quest, and nothing else. Oh, look, there are bodies to loot. How lucky,” the crimson haired brawler said in a voice that was drained of emotion and far from sincere.
Roth held out his hand, “Book!” he said. A large tome appeared and he flipped through the pages. “It still says we need to kill or drive off the goatmen. Killing the boss wasn’t enough?”
“I think I need a break, guys,” said Cline. “Today’s been… a bit of a rollercoaster for me.”
Dakkon looked at the squat goatman sitting on the throne before him as though he owned the world. “What’s your name?”
“Yill,” said the little ball of man and goat parts.
“Ok, Yill. You’re the boss of the trest, right?” asked Dakkon.
“I’m the boss here, anyway,” replied Yill.
“Did you have plans to burn the crops and salt the soil, Yill?” Dakkon asked.
“…” Yill sat there without a look of shame. “Perhaps,” he replied.
“Can you tell your subordinates to not do that, and to get the hell out of here and stay away from Greenburne?” Dakkon suggested.
“Hmm,” Yill looked more thoughtful than one might expect the face of a goat could manage, then said, “Sure. I owe you more than that, at any rate. I have ambitions to carry out before I depart from this world.” The little goatman hopped down from the throne, walked down the stairs like a man lost in thought, and strolled down the corridor.
Mina looked over to the group, still distraught. “What if the goat just rallies his forces and marches back here to finish us off?”
“Hold on,” said Roth, still looking at his quest log. “It says that we’ve convinced the leader of the goatmen to have them leave. We just need to have a word with Barrcus and we’re done.”
Cline’s stress melted away instantly, “We’re done? We actually did it? I can get my reward?”
“Looks like our little ranger is getting a bow,” said Melee with a grin.
The look of pure joy on Cline’s face lifted the spirits of the party, and they set to looting the two remaining bodies.
|Name: Felling Hatchet
|Item Type: Weapon – Chopping
|Durability: 40/60
|Damage: 28
|Attributes: +15 damage to plant-class creatures.
|Description: This axe was created by a renowned craftsman for a powerful noble’s son who played at being a lumberjack. It has been enchanted to greatly improve a person’s ability to cut down trees.
|Name: Chanter’s Bead Focus
|Item Type: Accessory - Stone
|Durability: 22/30
|Armor Rating: 0
|Attributes: -5% chanting time, +5% chanted spell efficacy
|Description: The wearer of these beads can focus upon them to cast spells more efficiently.
|Name: Prowler’s Boots
|Item Type: Armor - Leather
|Durability: 39/50
|Armor Rating: 9
|Attributes: +5 Agility
|Description: These boots made of thin, high-quality leather have been enchanted to make their wearer nimbler. This style of boots is particularly popular amongst thieves.
|Name: Mighty Greaves
|Item Type: Armor - Iron
|Durability: 65/90
|Armor Rating: 22
|Attributes: +5 Strength
|Description: The weight of these heavy metal boots is partially offset by their strength bestowing enchantment.
|Name: Archer’s Vambrace
|Item Type: Armor - Leather
|Durability: 35/40
|Armor Rating: 10
|Attributes: +5 Dexterity, +1 Strength
|Description: The lacings on this atypical vambrace are intended to be worn outwards, allowing the string of a bow to slide past unhindered. The vambrace has been enchanted to improve aim and helps its user to better grip their bow.
|Name: Large Shield
|Item Type: Shield - Wood
|Durability: 82/100
|Armor Rating: 30
|Damage: 4
|Attributes: May prevent some or all incoming damage.
|Description: This common shield consists of two thin layers of wood set perpendicular to one another with a hand strap and an iron band around it.
The loot was varied, and for the first time each of the party members would be able to have their own item of uncommon rarity. Dakkon took the prowler’s boots, Mina the beads, Cline had a vambrace perfect for his calling, Melee happily put on her new heavy, iron boots, and Roth replaced his stash of human bone clubs with the hatchet and shield. The party decided that it was important to search the temple, even if only cursorily, in search of any other additional treasures that the temple might have. After twenty minutes of searching, Yill reappeared and let them know that the temple’s treasures had been almost entirely cleaned out even before the trest had arrived. They hadn’t even broken every statue.
The players decided that they all deserved a short vacation from hunting and, after collecting their portion of the quest’s bounty, they would spend a leisurely day looking for equipment upgrades before hunting again. It was far more practical to carry gear with them than money, as dying ensured the loss of a large portion of a player’s coin. After giving their rushed goodbyes, Mina and Melee logged off together to eat and Roth tried to keep pace with Cline as he rushed ahead towards Greenburne to be the first one in the glorious spotlight, and then he’d be off to finally get his very own bow. Dakkon suspected that the entirety of Cline’s reward money would go towards the very best bow he could afford.
Dakkon was the only player who opted to remain behind. He was happy about his new boots and completing the quest, but he still felt robbed on some level. He held a new and wonderful life in the palms of his hands and, just as unforeseen circumstances in the real world, something unfortunate stopped him from achieving his goals. He knew the sentiment didn’t do him any good, but it remained and tortured him nonetheless.
After brooding for a bit, he thought to ask the former leader of the goatmen another question that had been brewing in his mind. “Yill,” he began, “How is it that you were able to use skills to dodge and counterattack me like some sort of duelist, buff and heal like a cleric, and cast powerful elemental spells like a wizard? You must have used skills from at least three different classes during that battle.”
Yill thought for a moment and then motioned for Dakkon to follow him. “For my life, this again is asking too little.” The two walked into the main hall, past the heaps of battered sculptures, to a pile of rubble right at the back and center of the room. “Dig,” he commanded “I hid it.”
Trest and man pulled apart the pile of crumbled stone, tossing aside bits of ancient art and wall alike. After thirty minutes, a hole remained that was just big enough to squeeze through. Yill wiggled himself in then held up his right hand which streamed forth radiant, cascading light in all directions. Then, Yill led the way down a long, thin passageway which opened into a cubic room with a large altar at its center. Yill set his hand on the brazier to the altar’s left side and it burst into flame. He did the same to the brazier on the other side. Dakkon looked up and saw that on the altar there lay a large stone tablet with characters that were unlike any language he’d ever seen. “Read,�
� Yill said.
“Yill, I can’t read it. I’ve never seen that language,” Dakkon protested.
“Read it anyway,” said Yill.
Dakkon sighed and looked back up at the ancient characters chiseled in stone. “It’s impossible, Yill. I just don’t—” Dakkon’s eyes glazed over as he looked far beyond the script, the tablet of stone, and the room in which he stood.
The foreign characters began to glow and dance before him. Images filled his mind. In an instant, he watched the story of one man as he went on adventure after adventure beyond the scope of any epic. He traveled the world performing miracles and uncovering lost lands. He was a master, unparalleled in anything he set out to do. Eventually he grew old and weary, then—again—he traveled the world, creating large stone tablets which told pieces of his story and hid his closely guarded skills before finally making his way to the great stone hall of his own construction. There, he sat atop a throne and spent his time watching the world as he withered away. Dakkon’s mind was then filled with a voice. He heard a weathered, raspy, and very old voice say to him and him alone, “This tablet holds the secret of my class, the edgemaster.” A window appeared before him.
|You have discovered a relic: Mordurin’s Class
|Would you like to make the class ‘Edgemaster’ your primary class?
|Note: You cannot remove this class.
|Yes No
A rare class that belonged to what appeared to be the most successful human to ever walk this world? Dakkon wanted it more than anything he could think of. Why, though, did it give him an option to refuse? He was aware that any player could change their class during a period of downtime. They could even have two classes at once if they didn’t mind taking a 30% loss in power for the versatility it provided them. Dakkon couldn’t think of any reason to refuse, so, of course, he accepted.
The old man’s voice grew stronger, and younger, “Close your eyes and be reborn, edgemaster.” He closed his eyes and made the connection that had been lingering at the back of his mind. Mordurin must be the name of the unknown wizard who first revealed Chronicle to the world. He opened his eyes and the world shook.
The ground beneath Dakkon’s feet quaked violently. He could just make out the silhouette of Yill running desperately back the way from whence they came. A rock smashed the left brazier, scattering embers and ash into the air. Dakkon coughed and watched as the whole ceiling fell in on him.
[You have been crushed by falling rock for 8,571 damage. Remaining HP 0/425]
[You have died.]
[You will be barred from reentering Chronicle for 11 hours True Time.]
Chapter 12: Time Out
Corbin pulled himself from his pod and checked the time. It wasn’t even 4:00 yet. Over the last real-world hour, Corbin had met a group of strangers, bonded, and formed a friendship with them. He laughed with them, hunted with them, and together, they challenged a dungeon. They overcame that dungeon, completing a quest that no others had been able to. Only moments ago, Corbin had held an object so rare and valuable that he could have sold it and never worked another day in his life. He had smashed that very object, and felt the real pain of a hard loss. He even found a rare class, one that was possibly even unique to players: edgemaster.
“Chronicle is one hell of a game,” Corbin said aloud, despite his being alone. He didn’t feel tired in the slightest, despite both the stress and elation he had felt in game. He didn’t feel hungry, either. Not even enough time had passed for him to need to use the restroom. He felt shaken and elated. At that moment, there was nothing more Corbin wanted to do than hop right back into the game. He did, however, have another great desire that he could explore while on the outside. He pulled up the wall-spanning virtual display of his AugSys and set to work.
Corbin scoured the internet looking for information on his new class. The first search taught him that Chronicle had hundreds of classes. New classes were created by the game to fill niches whenever the need arose. Because of this, there was no massive class database that listed what each one did. Sure, there was information, but that information almost entirely focused on the most common classes, or a smattered few that less guarded powerful players made public knowledge. The number of players who had made an impact on the world of Chronicle with an exotic class was small enough, but the ones who had done so and shared their secrets? Their ranks were few, indeed. For these reasons, Corbin believed it was possible that other edgemasters could exist, and were just too tight lipped to share what they had learned. He would likely be doing that very thing, after all.
Exploring deeper into the subject, after deciding that searching for information on the edgemaster class was a lost cause, Corbin began to dig up any information he could on the wizard, Mordurin. Despite no plethora of information, the name did appear occasionally in stories, but nowhere did Corbin find any suggestion that the wizard might be the man who stood before the world and revealed the game for the first time. If that connection had been made over the net, he certainly would have found a reference to it.
The unnamed wizard who introduced Chronicle to the world was the topic of seemingly endless speculation. Some believed him to be the character of the uncredited lead developer behind the game. Others believed he was merely an invention of the developers to create a commercial for their new product. Though the rumor mill turned, creating countless stories and suppositions about who the wizard was, the most common belief was that the character—be he player or NPC—was somewhere in the game world. Corbin decided that sifting through, or worse—fully reading, nothing but abundant speculation was a less-than-productive use of his time. Leaving the matter aside for now, he again changed the direction of his search toward information relating to the god whose temple he had liberated… before it all likely fell in on itself, anyhow.
At present, no player had seen a god and provided any credible proof of their encounter, but a lot was known about them. There were 10 in all, and each coincided with a complex system—such as the growing of crops or the conjuration of a living thing—that the game’s basic system AI was in control of. If something happened outside of the normal parameters that the game’s systems expected, then the decision for what the outcome would be was handed upwards to the supervisory system. If that system couldn’t properly determine what a fitting result would be, the final authority, a god, would decide and that would be the end of it. This system, of hierarchical AI passing up difficult decisions to the next rung of authority, meant that Chronicle was very good at efficiently dealing with unexpected scenarios, and most suspected it would be a very rare for any matter to require intervention by the divines. By some accounts, this makes gods extremely weak and inconsequential parts of the average gameplay experience, but others argue that the ability for a single entity to have absolute authority over how existence itself functions is power without measure. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Whatever Kuln, God of War, decides… or perhaps that question is better suited to Nokti, God of Destruction.
Despite no direct player interactions recorded with the gods thus far, they can make a profound impact on the world through the actions of players. If a player performs an act in the service of a god, typically through uncommon quests given out by holy orders, the player is often rewarded with faith points for that deity. These faith points are an expendable resource which allow players to perform miraculous feats that would otherwise be impossible. For example, one who has earned faith points in the service of Gae`el, Goddess of Storms, may expend their points to bring restorative rain to a water-starved region, or summon up a maelstrom to sink pursuing ships.
There is no guide, nor guarantee, with faith points, however. Despite the outcome, once faith points are spent, they are all spent—often with impotent, humorous, or disastrous results. Asking for a massive dragon as a personal mount may end up summoning a runt incapable of flight, or a spiteful creature that loathes anyone foolish enough to attempt riding it. The lack of knowled
ge regarding how many points are needed for a request, as well as the ambiguity as to which god is the correct one for the job, means that expending faith points in grand ways can be and usually is a perilous endeavor. No one wants to be known as the player with four additional lame legs which regrow no matter what because they wished for the wrong thing in the wrong way.
Some gods are particularly difficult to curry favor with. In all of Corbin’s searching, he couldn’t find any religious factions openly supporting Arstak, God of Luck; Tempas, of Time; Nokti, of Destruction; or Syvil, of Death. There were rumors about hidden sects for Nokti and Syvil, but nothing at all for Arstak and Tempas. This was of odd because, on his recent escapade, Corbin had received a message informing him that he could reclaim the lost temple of Arstak for his followers. This meant to Corbin that, somewhere in the world, there must be followers of the trickster god. He expected that somewhere an avaristic merchant organization, or perhaps a guild of thieves, must worship fortune personified.
Despite no formal church, there were many reports of players gaining faith points with Arstak in a seemingly random manner. Although there was no clear evidence, the predominant theory was that if a player did something Arstak found interesting, the deity would reward that player with his favor. Players using faith points given to them by Arstak, however, have almost always received perverse interpretations of what they requested. Cited as a cautionary tale, one top player by the name of Sline requested that “All my attacks be critical strikes” in an attempt to gain outrageous power. This was the first major wish made to Arstak, before the god was known to twist requests, otherwise Sline would have known to choose his words more carefully. From that moment onwards, all attacks made against Sline were indeed critical strikes. In his defense, another player used Sline’s failure as a building block and wished that “All of the attacks I make on other entities should hit them, exactly as I want, and produce the damage of a critical attack, preferably by being a critical attack” and Arstak answered the request by taking away the joints in his leg and quintupling the size of his head and hindquarters. The God of Mischief could have made the player’s critical strikes deal less damage than a normal attack or attempted to twist the request in some other manner, but most speculate that Arstak’s blunt approach there was because he simply doesn’t abide wiseasses.