by Domino Finn
"Good luck, Talon," came Peter's voice, now behind me. I didn't give him the satisfaction of spinning around. I knew he was already gone.
"Who ye be talkin' to?" asked Errol gruffly. He wiped sleepy eyes and peered past me.
"Just going for a midnight stroll." I huffed and marched back to camp. It was a bit early, but I figured it was time to wake everyone up.
0690 Home Alone
Kyle Grath's eyes snapped open and his first sensation was pain. "Ugh," he articulately expressed before pushing to a sit.
He was in bed. Alone of course. He massaged his temples and attempted to smack the dry mouth off his tongue. What kind of stupid game gives you hangovers? With ease that only came from repeated practice, Kyle reached into his inventory with closed eyes, pulled out a health vial, and chugged it. The relief was immediate.
Haven allowed residents to quickly clear their heads from the effects of recreational drinking by strolling in fresh air. Of course, that would mean he'd have to go outside. Technically he was still on lockdown but, even if he wasn't, he would've opted for the potion. The afterlife had stolen the glorious post-beer piss from him. He'd be damned if it also forced him to exercise.
Now that his head was clear, he opened his menu to check the time. One in the morning. He'd slept clear through the afternoon and half the night. It reminded him of his college days, but those memories were more cautionary than nostalgic. Despite physically feeling one hundred percent, his thoughts lingered on the reason for his booze snooze.
"Stupid fantasy games with stupid shadowy threats lurking in stupid mysterious towers."
He stood up and scratched his ass, wondering if he'd gone too far with condemning Dragonperch. The tower was, he had to admit, pretty damn cool. Or it would've been if he'd stumbled on a legendary item as easily as Izzy had found her winter staff.
No worries. Nothing to see here. Just Kyle.
He took the steps down to the den and parked on the couch before realizing he should've made a pit stop at the fridge first. After lengthy consideration, Kyle decided to ride the couch out and get grub later. He picked up the remote and browsed movies for a while. A binge session of the Friday the 13th was in the lead when he pulled a one-eighty and switched on Call of Duty. It was a rough life.
Kyle stared at the online leaderboard. He was first place, of course. No one in Stronghold could get the better of him after an extended sample set, and Kyle played more than anybody else. He sighed, for some reason not as proud of that achievement as he usually was.
Next up was scrolling through Haven menus, reading up on skills and items. He produced the bone pearl and examined its polished surface. What the heck was this thing? He had half a mind to take a hammer to it and find out when there was a knock at the door.
"What now?"
He sat waiting, hoping whoever was bothering him would just go away. But the knocking came back louder.
"I'm coming already!" he shouted.
Luckily, the kitchen was the only floor between him and ground level, so he quickly made it to Dragonperch's door and opened up.
It was Dune, the green ranger.
"Kyle," he said urgently and obviously disappointed. "Hey. Is Talon around?"
Kyle yawned. "Nah, he took off. The priests had an impromptu meeting in front of Dragonperch just to wake me up. I didn't get the details from up here, but the gist was a mission to Shorehome or something."
Dune glared in disbelief. "He left?!? What did he say?"
Kyle shook his head. "I don't know. He took off pretty quick. They probably left me a message. Hang on." Kyle checked his mailbox. "Nope. No consideration for Kyle."
"That's not good. He was supposed to be at the Wicked Crow tonight. Kinda surprised you weren't there, actually. I bumped into Trafford."
"Yeah, I'm on lockdown."
Dune tensed and eyed Oldtown. "You have a run-in with the crusaders?"
"What? Nah. I... kinda blew myself up." Dune frowned and eyed him oddly. Kyle considered explaining but figured it'd be too much trouble.
"Okay, whatever," resumed the ranger. "Listen, some of the city watch have been complaining about changes coming their way. I've been trying to tell Talon that weird things are in the works."
"Good idea," he said. "Talon loves worrying about crap like that. Why don't you check in when he's back and—"
Dune held his hand to the door. "I need to talk to him now."
Kyle shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?"
The ranger looked at him like he was daft. "Ask him what he's up to. In party chat."
"Oh." Kyle went to the party screen and stiffened at the notification. "Oh."
"What is it?"
"Fucknuggets," said Kyle. "I kinda forgot to party up again after I died. So—"
"They're in the wild, completely disconnected from what's happening on the home front. Great work."
"Bro, it's not like it's my fault. They left pretty quick."
"You said that." Dune looked around again. "Look, just forget it. I'll get in touch with him another way. You... just keep holding the fort."
Kyle blew steam from his mouth as Dune left. The dude was a bit of a cocky prick. Thought he was perfect or something. The sound of the door slamming was satisfying, but only momentarily.
Kyle stood in place wondering what to do next. What would the rest of his party do? He wasn't sure about Talon, but Izzy would camp out in her library. She spent lots of time there. It seemed like a waste to him, reading bear-shifter porn. Whatever. He guessed everybody needed a hobby.
His was the brewery.
Instead of heading back upstairs, Kyle descended another flight to the underground. He found his casks and barrels and bottles mostly where he'd left them, but there was still a decent cleanup job to be done. He sighed and got to work. It was the best way to feel useful.
And useful he was. Kyle did such a good job of tidying up that he decided to organize the old stock that had been shoved into the corner when he'd first established the brewery a week ago. He moved some boxes and pulled the dusty blanket from a huge mirror. The damn thing was heavy.
Interesting. A shelf was built into the wall, not hidden per se but more or less obscured by crap. Kyle started to sweep the dust away when a glint of sky-blue caught his eye.
"What in the ever-loving..."
0700 Enemy Territory
Ashen Moor was freezing in the predawn hours, but the movement did us good. Still half asleep, we rode through the gloom without conversation. Izzy steadied a hand on my shoulder as Bandit easily carried the double load. Not that a five-foot, ninety-pound munchkin like her was much of a load.
"I can't see anything back here," she complained.
"I said you could sit in the front."
"Yeah, right. You'd take that as an invitation to spoon me."
I smiled. "You can always ride with one of the crusaders. I think Grimwart likes you."
"Please."
"Aye, lassie," said Errol, apparently eavesdropping and slowing his horse for us to catch up. "Me stallion has a powerful buck, if ye be preferrin' it instead."
She arched an eyebrow. "What did you call me?"
"Nothin' but the sweetest flower o' the land."
Grimwart's black helmet turned sharply. "Knock it off. Leave the lady be."
"Aye aye, valiant sir." Errol turned to Izzy and whispered. "Yer knight in shinin' armor awaits yer favor." His horse steered away from us as the colonel watched on.
Izzy rolled her eyes. "Boys. Why do I have the misfortune of going questing with a bunch of boys?"
"It's like you've died and gone to Haven," I said cheekily.
She groaned.
Ashen Moor was cold and dark and gray, but it wasn't limitless. Over time, the dirt grew richer. Greenery sprouted in uneven patches. As first light made it over the horizon, the barren land was behind us—along with the sandworms.
"It's easy riding the rest of the way," relayed Grimwart, "but be on your toes for p
agans. Henceforth, we're in their territory."
"Worry not," replied a knight with a red sash. "If it's green or gray, it doesn't stand a chance." The crusaders hurrahed and galloped northward, beset by a sense of purpose.
We veered toward a well-worn path and rode uneventfully till noon. We dismounted in the shade of a large boulder for a quick rest. Izzy and I coordinated with her map. More and more of the land was being filled in as we traversed it. The road we followed no doubt led to Shorehome.
I sipped water from a skin. It was a curious quirk in a virtual world, since I had no body that required hydration. It was refreshing, nonetheless. On the road and in the sun, the basest hungers and thirsts required the simplest relief.
"Riders!" called out the knight with the red sash. Everyone turned toward our destination. Horsemen rode south at a fast clip but slowed uncertainly when they saw us.
The crusaders all stood and walked to the road. Errol crouched against the boulder, slicing an apple and feeding himself with the knife. He peeked out and squinted at the proceedings.
"Ho there!" called Grimwart with a raised hand.
The horsemen slowed to a stop. All riders and one covered wagon. I studied the score of them. Humans, thankfully. Most were NPCs with names in gray text, like [Perry] and [Clod], but the woman in the lead surprised me. Her name, [Jackie], was colored green, followed by the text [Level 6 Dragoon]. She was a player, and in the top ten percent at that level.
"We pass in peace," said Jackie, eyeing the heavy armor before her. Her people had weapons and armor too, of course, but not like us. They weren't soldiers.
"What news from Shorehome?" asked Cleric Vagram.
Jackie watched him carefully. "Overrun. We were forced from the city. We do what little we can from the countryside."
"Killing pagans?"
Jackie turned and whistled. Another player, [Colt], trotted closer and dropped a sack at the cleric's feet. Goblins heads rolled out.
Vagram nodded approvingly.
Colt was classed as a drifter. I examined the other horsemen. More NPCs, from what I could tell, unless someone was in the wagon.
"I don't be likin' this," muttered Errol behind us. His rapier was in hand, but he was pressed against the edge of the boulder, out of their sight.
"Put that away," I whispered. "You're gonna start a fight."
He showed his teeth. "End one, more likely."
Jackie eyed the crusaders on the road. "What manner of army are you?"
Grimwart stepped forward and bowed. "Oakengard crusaders, my lady."
Colt turned to her. "Oakengard is real?"
Instead of answering him, she addressed Grimwart. "Can I take that to mean you aren't here to murder us?"
The knight with the red sash laughed. "Hell, we're here to join you!"
"Watch that tongue," warned Vagram. "We will not speak of the devil or his den."
Jackie waved and a horseman dismounted. [Chico], another player. Another drifter. How'd I miss him?
"It looks like you're well supplied," she said. "We'd be willing to trade information on goblin camps and the like in return for food and water for our horses. Chico here knows all the ins and outs of the land."
Chico was level 5, like Colt. The dragoon Jackie had amassed a decent party. NPC henchmen were pretty sweet as well. I wondered how she got them.
I checked on Errol, who was being especially quiet. The pirate had slipped around the far edge of the boulder. He was flanking the riders.
"Oh, crap."
I followed him around as the horsemen drew closer to the crusaders. Some dismounted, most didn't, as the group began to trade information and supplies. Errol circled to the back of the wagon. A length of boat sail draped over a low frame to shield its contents.
"What do you think you're doing?" I chided.
"They be bandits," he returned.
"No, they're not."
He stopped at the wagon and gripped the sail in a fist. "Then why are they hidin' their plunder?"
He yanked the sail free. A huge ogre unfurled to full height and roared. Screams broke out from the ranks of the crusaders.
"Talon!" warned Izzy.
In the split second I could afford to keep my attention off the ogre, the horsemen drew daggers and slid them under the helmets and into the exposed necks of the crusaders. The knight with the red sash gurgled and gripped his throat as Chico's class revealed itself as [Highwayman]. Grimwart barely rolled away in time from Colt's charging strike. He was now a [Cowboy]. Jackie produced a lance and nailed Vagram right in the chest, sending the cleric flying. And then I couldn't worry about them anymore, because a giant fist came swinging my way.
I growled. Ogres were big, but I was bigger.
I triggered dash and sped toward the beast, beating the arc of his fist. At the same time, I equipped the dragonspear and triggered deadshot.
Surprise!
Combo!
Stun!
You dealt 106 damage to [Ogre]
The Scar of the Six Seas wasted no time taking advantage of the initiative. He stabbed the ogre's chest and danced around his massive body, swiping wildly like a Renaissance painter lost in the passion of the moment. I yanked my spear around in a full spin and bent my knees low, slashing the flailing monster's ankles.
[Errol] dealt 37 damage to [Ogre]
[Errol] dealt 23 damage to [Ogre]
[Errol] dealt 42 damage to [Ogre]
Break!
You dealt 36 damage to [Ogre]
The ankle shattered. The big guy yelped and crumpled to the floor in extreme pain. Within a matter of seconds, the behemoth's health had been reduced from 300 to 56, and we weren't done yet. The ogre raised his hands in defense.
Standing on opposite sides of our enemy, Errol and I both drove our weapons deep.
You dealt 45 damage to [Ogre]
[Errol] dealt 36 damage to [Ogre]
[Ogre] is defeated
400 XP awarded
Crown Unlocked: Five-Second Rule
Take out an orange or greater enemy in under 5 seconds without getting hit.
1000 XP awarded
Immediately, we turned to the rest of the party.
Several bandits and crusaders lay still on the ground. Colt charged Izzy but struck a wall of ice. The horse was upheaved and threw him to the ground. With a wave of the winter staff, a giant icicle speared right through the cowboy's torso.
Chico snuck forward and plunged a knife into Izzy's back. She squirmed away in pain. Jackie and another mounted horseman strafed the crusaders. Her lance batted them to the ground. Grimwart, meanwhile, fought off three swordsmen at the same time. He was better than them, using his bastard sword with two hands for power and one to parry, but the group effort was putting him on his heels.
"Let's ride out," urged Errol. "Now, when the chance be ours."
"Are you crazy? They need our help."
"The crusaders be no friends o' mine. An' neither be you."
I didn't have time to argue with him. "Coward," I spat, and charged into the fray.
Jackie spun her horse around as I approached. I steadied my weapon. She leaned forward into a full charge, lance against spear. I liked those odds, but I liked being unpredictable even more. As she bore down on me, I rolled to the side to take out her horse's legs. Before I could strike, her lance caught the back of my head and sent me to the dirt.
The dragoon laughed and pulled around again. I ground my teeth to fight off the pain. She flicked the lance in her hand and it was suddenly bathed in a neon-green glow. She saw my momentary hesitation and charged.
Damn. My main skills were still in cooldown, but I could wait her out if I needed. This time when she came at me, I remained steady. At the last possible second, I triggered crossblock, hoping to capitalize on a parry.
The force of the blow rocked me. My boots skidded backward, carving lines in the ground. The enchanted weapon still managed decent damage, but I avoided a stun or other special afflictions.<
br />
The dragoon growled and charged me again. She was good at this, protecting herself first, but keeping the onslaught relentless so I couldn't recharge my dash. Something told me she was used to fighting players. As she converged, I sprinted forward and vaulted over her lance. My boots met her chest and knocked her clean off the horse. She landed hard and rolled in pain.
Now it was my turn to laugh. This was a straight scrap now. The horsemen had spent their advantage well, but they had underestimated the more experienced crusaders. Slightly larger numbers, surprise, and a hidden ogre were enough to overtake most parties unawares, but our band of adventurers stood and fought.
My skin flared gold again. Vagram's buff. The cleric was on his hands and knees, hurt and healing himself. A bandit hefted a small axe and darted toward him. My Bandit galloped into the NPC's path, knocked him down, and trampled him under powerful hooves.
"How's that for a pagan beast?" I bragged.
Jackie pulled herself to her feet and twirled her lance my way. I stood with my side to her and flipped the dragonspear confidently.
"Did you really think your ragtag band could take out a unit of trained soldiers?"
She sneered, worry creeping into her face. "I've dealt with men and metal before."
I snorted. "Maybe, but you haven't dealt with the Protector of Stronghold."
She lunged at me. I crossblocked her blow. When I counterattacked, she activated a skill of her own, some kind of spinning block. We traded another back and forth. She was a few levels lower than me, but she was a good fighter. A soldier class, which meant she theoretically was better at a straightforward fight than I was. At the same time, she was a dragoon. Meant for a horse. I'd already snipped her claws.
Her lance powered up again. I recognized the heavy blow coming and pitched my agility against her strength. I dashed under the weapon to her backside where I drew a line of blood across her back.
"Ugh!" she screamed. She whirled at me savagely but angrily.