The Marches of Edonis

by G. R. Cooper

  As he continued his walk, the distant torchlight behind him began to drift behind him, to his right. The wall was, imperceptibly, curving, as he followed it. After several more minutes, the pinpricks of light were directly to his right. He was halfway around the room. The brightness of the lights in the distance indicated that the stairway dropped into the middle of the cavern, but given that his eyes were still adjusting to the dark, he couldn't take the lumens they were receiving as a good representation of the distance he'd discerned upon first entering the room.

  Even so, the room feels huge.

  He tried to determine whether he was walking to the north, east, south or west, but the innumerable turns of the staircase down left him with absolutely no idea of where the points of the compass lay. As he moved further, the light of his torch began to throw into a space that opened in the room. It seemed about a quarter of the way around the room from the torch wall - in the opposite direction from the one that he'd chosen. As he neared it, he could see that the opening stretched into a rough hallway; like the room from which it led, it gave no indication of having been carved by sentience.

  A breeze, warmer than the already warm ambient, blew from the opening. It carried the dank, rank, smell of old death. Wulfgar recoiled. He'd smelled nothing - even in the stables of Edonis - that repelled like the smell that assaulted his sense from the dropping hallway before him. He moved into the darkness, the floor dropping slowly further into oblivion.

  As he moved down the hallway, he could just make out the decline as he was walking down. The way curved perceptively - just - to the right then the left. His torchlight showed less than his spell would have, but he justified it by telling himself that he could always throw the torch at whatever might jump into the light around him; hopefully distracting it long enough to make his escape.

  He laughed a little to himself. He'd just noticed that he hadn't even bothered to draw Shepherd's Sting. There was nothing, that he knew of, in this abyss that would be at all even inconvenienced by his little sword. His plan for this quest lived and died with plan 'A'. There was no plan 'B' - except to discover whether there really was still life after death in this world. Much like his previous existence, he realized, he was again unsure of what death would bring - an afterlife or oblivion. Unlike his previous existence, though, he at least knew in this world that there was the possibility to come back; if not immediately then at least he knew that he was stored in some database, somewhere.

  That was, he acknowledged, small comfort. Just because Clive - or whatever entity or software routine was responsible for his resurrection - could bring him back didn't mean that they would. It almost felt like judgment by a capricious and biased deity. There was nothing that he could count on in his past to sway any omniscient opinion - he would be judged solely by his usefulness in this small world. If his utility was no longer deemed to be worthy, he would be dropped into a wholly non-existential null bin; forgotten forever and ready for eternal oblivion the next time that the world's garbage bin was emptied.

  "Fuck it," he muttered into the darkness in front of him. There was no more he could do about this outcome than there was the opinion that Yahweh might have held about his previous existence. He'd always been of the opinion that something you couldn't control wasn't something that was worth worrying about. He'd either discover that he could be rezzed or he'd never know that he couldn't.

  "Fuck it," he repeated as he dropped further into the darkness.

  Wulfgar turned and tossed the torch back up the hallway. The fire hissed as it kissed the damp stone floor, but didn't douse. He looked away, back down the hallway. He could just make out, far in the distance, an opening that framed a lighter, illuminated, area beyond. He made his way, softly, to the opening and peered through. He recognized the room from the description that Catcher had given him. After the loose, natural walls of the large chamber and hall, the walls of the room were in stark contrast. They seemed to have been purposefully built of a light orange adobe. As he got to the verge of the opening, he could make out a painted, darker orange, mural - about waist high and only a few centimeters tall - that stretched around the room beneath the array of torches spaced every few meters around the room.

  As he reached the portal he saw that the mural seemed to be a long series of snakes, nose to tail, forming an endless chain around the room. The room was square, and he couldn't see any other doors or openings around the perimeter. In the center of the room was a round, fountain-like structure. Around the base, the structure seemed tiled with a variety of arrowhead shaped earth-tone tiles. Above that base - which was about a meter high and was rounded like a hose - the fountain rose to the ceiling. A small ledge above the base narrowed into a pillar stretched to the roof a few meters above. About halfway up the pillar, a small nook held a fist size stone. It flashed in the flickering firelight.

  Wulfgar blinked. The base of the fountain looked as though it began to shimmer. He blinked again, trying to fix what he thought was an optical illusion. The bottom, rounded, part of fountain still looked like it was liquid, moving. Then Wulfgar understood - the large head of the snake moved around the pillar from where it had been. What he'd thought of as the base was really the snake's body wrapped around the central structure.

  He looked back at the base and realized that the shimmering he'd seen before were the snake's scales moving around the plinth. Wulfgar froze as the head turned in his direction. Corwin had been exaggerating; the head was about the size of Bear, not a Volkswagen. But it was still huge. Horrifying. A rope-like tongue flicked out and back several times, sensing the room.

  Wulfgar held his breath.

  The head turned once again, back into its body then dropped to the floor. It lay motionless; the dark shark-like eyes watching everything; seeing everything.

  Now or never, thought Wulfgar letting his breath slowly out, activating Stealth before his first foot stepped into the room.

  He moved slowly yet resolutely. He actually felt comfort in the knowledge that if his assumptions about this quest proved wrong, he would at least die a quick death; he just wanted to be within striking range if it happened since the venom-spitting death sounded less than pleasant. A couple of scimitar-like fangs to the chest followed by instant oblivion sounded much preferable.

  At his current, modified level of Stealth, he should have plenty of time to get in and back out.

  As he got to within a couple of meters of the snake he froze again. The head again began moving as the snake continued its prowl around the base. As the head moved from view Wulfgar hurried in and grabbed the stone from its home. He looked down into the beautifully faceted rock. It looked to his untrained eye like a ruby. About the size and rough shape of a human heart. He felt mesmerized, drawn into the seemingly infinite series of refections that bounced within the stone.

  Without taking his eyes away from his loot, he stepped away, backwards, toward the door.

  Then he froze.

  The snake had finished its circle. The head, which seemed much larger this close, hung in space a meter in front of him. Looking directly at Wulfgar. His breath caught; bile rose in his throat as the snake's overwhelming level advantage caused Wulfgar to suddenly become nauseated. The head moved forward, toward him, slowly then stopped again. It swayed first to Wulfgar's left, then his right. The tongue flicked. Wulfgar could feel the wind of its passage on his chin. If he'd been standing a couple of centimeters closer, the tongue would have slotted into the cleft of his chin.

  Time seemed to stretch. The moment held along with Wulfgar's breath. He felt an odd combination of fear and helpless calm. He stared back into the eyes of the snake, praying that it couldn't see him. He tried a mental calculation - how long had he been in Stealth?

  Then time returned, a wash of relief fell over Wulfgar.

  The snake's head dropped and it began to circle once again.

  Slowly, Wulfgar pulled first his left then his right foot backward. After a few meters, he turned and began wa
lking hurriedly toward the exit. He pushed the stone into a pocket - he'd seen, missed on his entry, a human corpse that lay to side of the opening. As he reached it, he felt a wave of revulsion seeing the twisted agony of the face. The man - Galad, he reminded himself - was most assuredly dead. If he'd been rezzed, he hadn't insured himself since the body lay awaiting his return. Galad's friends - fully insured - had been reequipped upon rez and their corpses had faded to nothing.

  Wulfgar turned, ensured that the snake wasn't watching, then bent and pulled the corpse into a fireman's carry. He backed into the hallway, making sure that the snake wasn't about to strike him. Once he'd made it into hallway, he turned and began trotting back up to the surface.

  Wulfgar dropped Galad on the ground floor of the keep and made his way back up the stairs and into the top room. Crossing the room, he pulled the stone from his pocket then sat at the desk. He hefted the gem, turning it in his hand until it matched the hole in the wall in front of the desk. He pushed it forward, into the slot and was rewarded with a satisfying click. On a whim, he tried to pull it back out - it remained; he didn't feel like it would re-emerge without a great deal of both force and leverage.

  He frowned. There was no message of quest completion. That answered at least one question. You could still take quests, but there was nothing in terms of closure. No message. No reward. No experience.

  Leaning back into the enveloping arms of the soft, plush, leather chair, he brought up the information screen that had been itching for attention within his subconscious.

  He read the heading.

  Town Control.

  He began to scan down the page - it would require much further study. Town control provided Wulfgar with a game within the game world. He had access to the knobs and switches that determined the town settings. He scrolled through the different options - ranching, farming, mining, taxes, defense - and quickly stopped on the entry for 'Ownership'.

  As the Laird - he looked up the unfamiliar term; it was a Scottish term for the lord of an estate - he could set other players as owners. That gave them limited control over portions of the town. If he set a player as owner, that player could place a new house. That house could also be used as a place of business - he could, for instance, give Lauren ownership and she could build or take over a vacant house and both live in it and establish her black-smithy within. Rydra would be able to build his dream villa. Wulfgar smiled, happy that he'd be able to help his friends.

  In addition to ownership, players could establish residence within the territory. They wouldn't be able to build a house, but they could live permanently at the inn or within the house an owner placed, with permission. The town received what was called Influence based on the number of player owners or residents within the borders. Influence gave Wulfgar a kind of currency that he could spend to attract new NPC's, or give away as experience points in reward for quests that he could originate from within the city.

  "Cool," he muttered, "so I can create quests for other players." Those quests would attract players to his town and some, he hoped, would establish residency, and those residents would increase the town's influence, allowing Wulfgar to spend more on further quests.

  Residency also provided players, within their residence, permanent storage facilities they could use to safely store whatever objects they wanted, with the storage limit for houses being much greater than a room in the tavern. Wulfgar could sell plots or houses to players for, well, whatever. He could award them as quest rewards, he could charge gold - whatever the Laird decided he needed.

  Wulfgar could also set taxes, receiving a percentage of all income derived from the town. He could set one rate for NPC's, one rate for owners, one for residents, and one for visitors. He would have to put a lot of thought into that, he knew, to best balance the return from taxes with creating an incentive for players to live and adventure within the borders.

  He could also create alliances with NPC controlled kingdoms. The town influence, he saw, directly affected the terms he could negotiate. He paused, looking out the window. He needed, he realized, to find reasons for his friends - even Corwin, he laughed - to want to stay. To help him grow the town. His mind began racing, working through possibilities. He needed to learn a great deal, and fast.

  Wulfgar scanned further down the page.

  He stopped on the section marked 'Origin'. That allowed Wulfgar to set the cultural origin associated with the NPCs of his town. It was currently set to Edonii. He assumed that meant "humans of Edonis". He smiled as he got to one of the setting options. He brought up the town control screen, already certain that he was never going to regret the decision he'd just made.

  He found the correct entry and changed Edonii to Highlander.

  Wulfgar laughed. Given his own racial makeup, he had just gained +10 Personality with the locals. That was in addition to whatever boost he got as Laird.

  That should be the end of the NPC rudeness, he thought, at least in this town.

  Wulfgar pushed his way through the door and back into the tavern. His friend's worried faces broke into smiles as they saw him enter. Bear bounded forward and began circling his legs. He reached down and scratched the dog behind its ears, while looking up to Tim, still unmoving and standing sentinel in the corner of the room. Wulfgar walked around the table and took a seat near the middle.

  "So," laughed Snorri loudly, "you chickened out, eh?" The big man pounded on Wulfgar's back, bellowing in mirth.

  Wulfgar laughed along with the rest.

  "No, he didn't," exclaimed Catcher. "Look at his sheet!"

  "Holy crap!" shouted Lauren.

  "Laird of Marchstone?" whispered Corwin. "You did it. Holy shit, you did it." He looked at Wulfgar with something bordering on awe.

  The tavern girl approached and curtsied, "Can I get you anything, your lordship?"

  "Yeah, thanks. A round for me and my friends."

  She backed away, bowing.

  "So. How?" asked Corwin exasperated.

  Wulfgar shrugged and smiled.

  "Lauren did it," he laughed as she looked up at him, her jaw dropping in shock. "Or, at least, she let me know how to do it."

  "Whachoo talkin' 'bout?" she asked.

  Wulfgar chuckled.

  "It was when Catcher was telling us about the quest. The snake. When Corwin said that the snake wasn't fooled by Stealth, she said ..."

  "Ah HA!" laughed Rydra. "Snakes sense heat. Infra-red. Your cowl," he said winking, pointing to Wulfgar's head.

  Wulfgar nodded.

  "Yup. That's when I figured that I could do it. I could Stealth so that it wouldn't see me, and my Cowl of the Wolf would prevent it from sensing my heat. I was pretty sure it was going to work ..." he shrugged and spread his hands.

  "But you needed to be by yourself," said RaNay, nodding.

  "It wouldn't have worked otherwise," agreed Wulfgar, "and if it didn't work, there was nothing that any of you could have done to help."

  "So," asked Catcher, "what happened?"

  Wulfgar shrugged. "I got the stone from above the snake and got out. Oh," he said excitedly, "I got Galad's corpse. I left it in the church before coming in. If he did rez elsewhere, he'll at least be able to get his stuff easily."

  "Thanks," said Connor. "Since we're grouped, we can loot his corpse. I'll go do that now. Just in case." The Ranger stood and left the inn.

  "So," continued Wulfgar, "I got the stone and planted it into the keep." He shrugged, "In short, that gave me control of the town. Of the valley, I guess."

  "You have control of the little tower in the pass?" asked Snorri.

  Wulfgar nodded, "Yup. It looks like the border kind of merges into Clive's kingdom around where the pass is. The little keep is in my," Wulfgar blushed, "realm."

  "All hail King Wulfgar!" laughed Snorri.

  Wulfgar blushed again - all of the NPC's in the inn repeated the chant.

  "ALL HAIL KING WULFGAR!"

  "Holy shit," muttered Wulfgar under his breath. He
looked up at Lauren wonderingly. "Holy shit," he mouthed again. She just smiled in return.

  "One village does not a kingdom make," said Wulfgar to the crowd, trying frantically to think of what he needed to say. "But I pledge myself to you, your protection and your prosperity."

  The crowd roared their approval.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  The server returned with a tray of drinks, bowing awkwardly to Wulfgar as she reached the table before putting glasses in front of each of the players.

  Connor returned, still stuffing items into his pack. He nodded thanks at Wulfgar before taking his seat and raising his glass in toast, "To Wulfgar!" he smiled.

  "To the king!" shouted Snorri, instigating the crowd once again. Their roar reverberated off of the beamed ceiling.

  Wulfgar jabbed his elbow into the Viking's ribs, "Cut it out," he whispered, laughing.

  Snorri just responded by pulling Wulfgar into a bear hug and kissing him on the cheek.

  "Sure thing, your majesty," he chuckled.

  "Remember," said Wulfgar severely, "I have the authority to take your head, now."

  "Really?"

  "As far as you know," laughed Wulfgar, giving the big man a return hug. He looked up and found the waitresses' eye, then swirled his hand indicating a round while mouthing, "Tequila!"

  Chapter 9

  Wulfgar looked to the west, down into the valley that separated the marches from Heim and the capital in Edonis. He leaned forward onto the battlement. Turning his head to the right, he looked at Catcher standing next to him on the top of the little keep that held the pass between the town and Clive's kingdom. His town, he reminded himself. He smiled at the little lithe woman as she glanced up at him.