by Terry Schott
Some vendors will also sell maps, depending on the quest and levels of the players, but getting lost is a very real possibility.
Becoming lost in Blades VR can become a very serious problem which could affect your enjoyment of the game. Exactly like real life, not knowing where you are can lead to frustration, panic, and a sense of helplessness.
Game sites are speculating that zoning—moving from one area to another separated by an invisible barrier—will allow players to re-orient themselves. While this may work in limited cases, we cannot guarantee it will work every time. If you don’t know where you are when you leave a zone, it will not be obvious which new zone you are entering, nor what part of it you are standing in.
Learn to explore. Work with others. Enjoy the Game.
Blades VR Player’s Guide - Chapter Five, Navigating the Virtual World of Preu Treya
Xander completed the immersion process and found himself in a small clearing. Above, the black sky was filled with twinkling stars. All around, colours—muted grey, dark blues and blacks—filled his vision. Even the trees beyond the clearing seemed to display a smoky grey light of their own.
He held a hand in front of his face, smiling at the warm yellow and orange colours which told him his vision was not damaged but working perfectly. “Dark sight.” He touched the bundled cloak that had been his pillow a moment ago. He stood and swung the garment over his shoulders, adjusting the hood so that it lay flat against his back. He bent down and picked one of the two swords from the ground, pulling it from the scabbard and smiling as he examined the blade. Approximately two-and-a-half feet long, the darkened steel felt well-balanced, the hilt comfortable in his grip. He slid it home and picked up the second sword, drawing it, then frowning. This one felt strange, just a big off-balance. He transferred it to his left hand, then laughed. “That feels better. They must be fit and balanced to the proper hand.”
Xander sheathed the second sword and examined the loops of leather attached to the scabbard. He slung it over his shoulder and adjusted the leather straps, pulling them through the silver buckle so that the sword rested comfortably on his back, the hilt easy to reach without having to look back. He placed the second scabbard over the other shoulder, adjusted it, and raised both hands to grasp the swords.
He drew, grunting and laughing as the swords snagged, neither pulling out completely. He loosened the straps of the right scabbard and positioned it so that the hilt was a bit lower. He tried to draw again but the blade still would not come free.
A second adjustment did the trick. Now the hilt barely peeked over his shoulder and he had to stretch his arms back as far as possible, but this allowed him to grip and draw the blades free from their scabbards. Making note of the buckle hole, Xander adjusted the straps of the second scabbard to match. This time when he drew, both blades cleared their scabbards. He lowered his arms and brought the swords down, holding the right at eye level, the left hovering at his waist.
He took a couple practise swings, slow and methodical, before carefully returning the swords to their carriers. Next, he bent down to open the drawstrings of the small pack. It contained a small bit of wire, flint and steel, a sturdy knife, and a whetstone.
“And that’s it.” He stood and turned, scanning the clearing. “Wonder what I’m doing out here?”
As he asked the question a memory came to him. “This is a rite of passage. The beginning of my training.” In his mind’s eye, he saw a thin, pale man sitting on a throne made from the bleached bones of long dead beasts. The man looked down at him, his lips pressed together, his pink eyes unfriendly. “I am to slaughter a dozen corpse rats and return with their heads.” He grunted and surveyed the area for signs of skulls but there were none. “Looks like I got here before the first kill. I can’t even remember where corpse rats spawn.”
He searched his memory, trying to recall his early days as a player, before the arena. Then it came to him. “Graveyards or ruins is the best place to find them.” He closed the flap of the pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay, then. I’m here. I’m awake, and I can see as good in the dark as daylight. There’s no point in trying to sleep. Might as well get started hunting for them now.”
Xander turned slowly, not sure which direction his avatar had been heading. He frowned. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t I supposed to wake up in a room? Chase said there would be a guide to give me the basics.”
The quiet sounds of nature filled the air.
He dropped the bag on the ground and sat. “Something doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’d better wait until morning.”
13
The tinkling of a bell sounded and Sebastian tilted his head. “What was that?”
Ezref reached for his napkin and wiped his lips, still chewing a mouthful of food. “Front door.”
“The travelling mage?”
The apprentice dropped the napkin on the table and brushed his hands together. “I’m hoping a villager, but most likely yes, the travelling mage.”
“Refresh my memory on how we are dealing with him.”
“There’s no memory to refresh. You changed the subject each time I raised it.”
Sebastian grunted. “Don’t answer the door. Pretend no one’s here.”
“He will wait and eventually learn that we’ve been here all along. That will reflect badly on us. On you.”
“I don’t care about the opinion of a travelling wizard.”
“You will if he reports you to the Pentaverate.”
“The what?” Sebastian frowned.
“The Pentaverate.”
The older man grunted, repeating the word. Then tilted his head back and roared with laughter.
Ezref frowned. “What’s so funny?”
The older man shook his head. “I forgot about that name.”
“I thought you were a Traveller. If you’re not from this land, how would you know the name in the first place?”
Sebastian laughed again and shook his head. “It’s used where I come from as well.”
“Truly?”
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“I wasn’t tryi—”
“Why should I worry about being reported to the—” He smiled. “Pentaverate.”
“Because they are the governing body of all crafters. I don’t know how it works where you are from, but here it is expected that crafters extend a minimum amount of courtesy to each other. To do less is unacceptable and always leads to disciplinary action.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure that you do. Once accepted into the fold, other crafters come before all else. The magical community is not as large as other groups, and we are often feared by the rest of the classes. Our loyalty is expected, demanded, in order to help ensure everyone’s survival.”
The sound of a bell tinkled again. Sebastian chewed on his lower lip. “So if a crafter comes calling, I must answer.”
“Always.” Ezref nodded.
“Regardless of their degree of evil or good.”
The apprentice sighed. “You seem very occupied by that distinction.”
“And you aren’t?”
Ezref shook his head.
“We must speak of that later.”
“Yes. As for this problem, I have an idea.”
“It came to you right at this moment?”
“No, it occurred to me the other day.”
“Then why didn’t you bring it up earlier?”
Ezref raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, right. I changed the subject.”
“You did.”
“Is it a good idea?”
“I think so.”
Sebastian crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it.”
***
Olin waved a hand over the door symbol a third time and stepped back as the chime sounded from within. “Maybe they are out.” He waited for another moment, then turned and began to head for the road. There was the click of a door latch. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. A young man sto
od in the open doorway.
“Hi.”
Olin turned and smiled. “Hi.” He closed the distance between them and stopped at the bottom of the steps.
The young man bowed. “I am Ezref, apprentice to this tower’s master of the dark arts.”
He returned the gesture and walked up the steps. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ezref. I’m Olin. ” The two men clasped forearms. “I’m sorry to have kept ringing your bell.”
Ezref appeared to be out of breath. He waved one hand. “Not at all. It is I who must apologize. I was at the top of the tower and did not hear it at first.”
Olin stepped back and looked to the top of the tower. “That’s a long run down.”
“Which is why you see me gasping for air.”
The mage laughed. “If it is convenient, I would speak with your master.”
The apprentice stepped into the tower and ushered him in. “By all means, enter. Our shelter is yours to share.”
Olin removed his shoes at the door way and leaned his staff against the wall. Then he followed the apprentice to a sitting room which had a round table and four chairs.
“Please make yourself comfortable, I will fetch wine and bread.”
“Thank you.”
Ezref returned a short time later with a decanter of wine and board holding a loaf of golden crusted bread, a small crock of butter, and a broad-bladed spreading knife. He set the items onto the table and retrieved two glasses, pouring dark red liquid into each and passing one to Olin. Then he raised his glass. “To health and long life.”
Olin smiled and raised his glass. “To health and long life.”
Both sipped the wine. Ezref cut two slices of bread, spread a thin layer of butter on each, and gave one to Olin, who took a bite and nodded. “Delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“Will your master be down soon?”
“Alas.” Ezref placed his bread on the table and spread his hands. “My master is deeply entrenched in a complicated casting. He is communing with the netherworld.”
“I see.”
“He will be disappointed when I tell him that you were here, but I dare not interrupt him.” Ezref raised his eyebrows and leaned closer. “The preparation for the spell took thirteen days, and the portal three hours of focused attention to create.”
“He must be visiting with a powerful soul.”
Ezref nodded. “That is what he said. And apparently very fickle.”
“I do not practise the darker arts, but I am familiar with the dangers of such rituals. I can return when he has finished his commune.”
“If time is no concern, then certainly. I expect he will return in five to six days.”
Olin winced. “That long?”
“That early. It could go past that.”
The mage sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I must be gone by tomorrow.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“No, it’s my fault for waiting. I have been in the neighbouring village for days. I put this visit off when I should have come sooner.”
Ezref’s expression appeared sympathetic as he nodded.
“Perhaps you can assist me?”
“If it is within my capabilities, then absolutely. My expertise is limited. I am still fairly new, and my master is not quick to teach.”
Olin grinned. “No master ever is. I’m sure you can help. I came hoping to purchase some spell components.”
Ezref nodded and waited for the mage to say more, but he didn’t. The apprentice raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“Yes.” He reached for an inner pocket in his vest and withdrew a folded piece of paper.
Ezref accepted the paper and opened it, scanning the list. Then he smiled and nodded. “I can provide you with these components.”
Olin let out a sigh. “That is excellent news. It won’t drain your master’s reserves, will it?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I would be most grateful.”
“Filling this order will actually please my master. He likes to keep his inventory fresh and this will allow him to rotate some of his stock.” He raised one eyebrow. “Of course, I’m the one that does most of the replenishing, but gathering components isn’t as unpleasant as some of the other things I have to do around here.”
Olin laughed. “I hear you. My apprenticeship ended a little over two short years ago. I still have nightmares about having to harvest pixie wings.”
“Nasty sting on them.” Ezref stood and refilled Olin’s wine glass.
“I developed a method to stop them from doing that.”
“Is that so?”
Olin nodded. “Before you remove the wings, fold their arms over their chest and hold them crossed. When you yank them out, they no longer lash out and attempt to sting you.”
Ezref smiled. “I can’t thank you enough for sharing that.”
Olin winked. “Be sure to pass it along. That’s all the thanks I require.”
“I certainly will.” The apprentice tipped his glass up and drained the contents. “Hang tight, and I will gather the materials on your list.”
***
“Cross their arms?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Huh.”
Ezref laughed. “I know. So simple.” He shuddered. “Pixie stings itch so bad you can’t sleep for a couple of days.”
“I’ll take your word for it and hope that I never have to experience it. The meeting went well, then?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good.”
***
Olin sat in the corner of the room he shared with the ranger of the group, an elf named Hesanai.
“Did the wizard have everything you needed?”
“Yes.”
“Something wrong? You look troubled.”
“I didn’t get to meet the master of the tower.”
“So?”
“That’s odd.”
“Maybe he was out.”
“The apprentice assured me he was present and involved in a complex casting.”
Hesanai shrugged. “Mystery solved.”
“That’s the thing.” Olin met her eyes, his brows furrowed. “I did not sense a master present at all. Nor the telltale signs of a powerful spell being cast.”
“A shielding?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You crafters are always so cryptic. Never saying what you mean.”
“It’s difficult to put into words.”
“Then let it drop.”
He pursed his lips. “I felt residue.”
“What’s that?”
Olin sighed. “It felt as if a part of the master was still there, but the majority of him had been . . . blasted away.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“I know.”
“Where would he have been blasted to?”
“I have no idea.”
“Should we all go up as a group and demand to talk with the master?”
“No.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
“The master practises the dark arts. I was safe, but if we went up there as a group it would be seen as an attack.”
“Defend ourselves against a dark wizard in his own tower?” Hesanai shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Perhaps I will report the incident when we are close to a chapter house.”
“When.” The ranger smiled. “I like how you assumed we won’t die horribly during this campaign.”
Olin winked. “Thought you’d appreciate that.”
14
“Hey, whatcha looking at out there?”
Aleron turned away from the woods and raised a hand to shade his eyes as Yheris approached. The young male elf was dressed in the same style and colour of leather outfit as Aleron. He waited for his new friend to get close before responding. “Nothing.”
Yheris snorted, squinting as he turned to survey the tree line. “From the way you were looking I was afraid th
at a hungry bear was nearby.”
“No. I like looking out there, is all.”
“No time for that now. Master Keaedan sent me to get you. Time for us to learn the next spell.”
Aleron shook his head and Yheris laughed. “Don’t give up yet, friend. The lessons have only begun.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re getting the hang of things quickly.”
“It’s still early. We’ve had two hours to try and craft a single spell.”
“The easiest of them all.” Aleron bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Snare.”
“Stop it.” Yheris nudged him with an elbow. “Like I said, the lessons are only starting.”
“Still. It’s frustrating.”
“You’ve always been so hard on yourself.”
Aleron pursed his lips and said nothing. He found it strange to hear NPC’s speak to him as if they were real and as if they had known him all his life. In their minds, they have known me since I was born. Or at least, they knew the personality of the NPC before I took it’s place.
Yheris tugged on the corner of Aleron’s tunic as he began to walk toward camp. “All we have done so far is summoned basic earth magic. We will be introduced to water, wind, and fire.
“I know.” Aleron matched pace with his friend’s stride. “But the snare spell is key to what we do.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Sure it is.”
Yheris snorted. “Only for those who want to raid or adventure.”
“Exactly.”
Yheris stopped and turned to face Aleron. “You want to adventure?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“What?” Yheris scowled. “No way. Normal elves want to stay in the forest close to their village and people working to ensure that peace and tranquility are maintained.”
Aleron said nothing.
“Adventuring was never a thought for either of us. I’m surprised to hear that you’ve changed your mind.”
“Maybe I haven’t.”
“But you just said—”
“Now that we are training, things are different.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“They are for me.”
Yheris closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaling slowly before opening his eyes and speaking. “It’s suicide for new druids like us to venture out into the Wild. Eight of ten who go out don’t survive their first year.”