by Terry Schott
“Only the three of us.” Jielir’s voice sounded from the edge of the woods. They turned to watch the ranger emerge and make his way to them. He unslung his bow and quiver, placed them on the ground with his backpack, and sat.
“Gonna be tough to raid a village with only the three of us.” Lelthaes’s tone was cheerful.
“Is that what we’re doing?” Shale still couldn’t understand the hatred elves felt for each other in this virtual world. Traditional game lore from as far back as the role-playing game dictated that the elven race was united and friendly. There had always been different factions, but that was a result of their particular geographical locations and the magic that they specialized in. Even the dark elves who worshipped the Dark Lady were allies with the rest of the clans. But in Blades VR, elves spent the majority of their time fighting one another. Her avatar memories told her that the racial enmity was an elf’s primary focus.
“No village attack.” Jielir shook his head. “We’ve been given a covert operation instead.”
“Raiding a village during the night isn’t covert?”
Her instructor laughed. “That’s a normal outing. No, we have orders to track and acquire a special target.”
“Sounds fun.” Lelthaes plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth.
“Dangerous.” Jielir frowned. “Too much so for new rangers, but I was overridden on that call.”
“Sorry.” Shale smiled, not feeling the sentiment as she spoke the words.
Jielir stood and heaved a sigh. “We might as well set out. I’ll give you details when we are deeper in the forest.”
Lelthaes dropped the blade of grass and stood, gathering his supplies and weapons. “How long do you expect us gone?”
“If the first part goes well, we could return in a week or so. If it doesn’t…” He shook his head.
“That challenging?”
The ranger nodded. “Our target is well-protected.”
“By what?”
Jielir raised an eyebrow. “A master druid.”
36
Olin smiled as the coin-filled bag dropped onto his open palm. “Thanks, boss.”
Hesanai laughed and reached across the table to slap the mage on the shoulder. “If I were boss, your share would be bigger.”
“As long as I got the share promised to me, then I’m happy.”
“You’re too modest.” The elven ranger poured some alcohol into a glass and held the bottle toward Olin, but the mage waved it off. “If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, we’d have died on three separate occasions. Four if you count the time they would have taken us prisoner and fed us to the gryphon. I still can’t believe the goblins made their camp so close to its nest. And how could it attack us and not them?”
“I think they were feeding it so that it tolerated them. Gryphons are intelligent creatures.”
“Smart enough to accept bribes in exchange for granting protection.”
Olin laughed. “I’m glad we were able to scare it away long enough for us to grab the loot and kill the goblins. Would have been a shame to kill the beast.”
“So you say, but the feathers—” Hesanai sighed. “A cloak made from gryphon feathers would help do my job in so many ways.”
Olin rapped the table. “Please, Hesanai, don’t go back and kill it.”
“I won’t.” The elf’s tone did not sound convincing.
“Even if you did manage to get the feathers, any crafter strong enough to create a cloak for you will demand a price higher than you can pay, or will outright steal the materials and send you away empty-handed.”
Hesanai raised the glass to her lips and grinned. “At least we know where it lives. Perhaps we can go back when you are of a level to do the crafting for both of us.”
“That might be too good of an opportunity to turn down.” Olin nodded. “When I am of sufficient level.”
“Something else is troubling you, isn’t it? You’ve had that grim look on your face since you returned from the evil wizard’s tower. The very same expression you had after visiting the first time, now that I think about it.”
“Something’s wrong there.”
“Our tank left, but the rest of our party is still hanging around. We can all head over. Break in and dig around some, if you like?”
Olin laughed. “We wouldn’t make it past the first line of protection. It’s a wizard tower. The outer wards would sizzle us like morning breakfast before we got within a hundred feet.”
The ranger shrugged. “Then let it drop. The next adventure is around the corner for a crafter of your skill. You’re on my permanent roster now. When we need a mage, I want it to be you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Bralm left to find out if there’s anything to rumours that a band of kobolds are terrorizing a settlement along the borderlands. If it turns out to be true, we will need your help.”
“How soon?”
“Couple weeks.”
Olin nodded. “Perfect, that gives me time to stop off at a Chapter House.”
“What for?”
“Couple reasons. First—” he hefted the bag of coins “—I owe them a percentage of what I earned.”
“Boo.”
“Trust me, it’s worth every gold piece I tithe.” Olin stroked his beard. “And while I’m there, I think I’m going to speak to someone about this wizard.”
“Yeah?”
The mage nodded. “I might not be able to look into what’s going on, but someone will.
37
In traditional video games, players enjoy the training stage. It is during training that a player learns commands, skills, and abilities using the safe starting area of the game world, and get to practise how they will play. It is also at this point where most players decide if they like the game or not and how much of their time they will be dedicating to playing it.
Do not expect this to be the case with Blades VR.
With Blades VR, players are not turning on their monitor and using the keyboard to control an avatar for a few hours in the afternoon. Instead, a player is fully immersed into a body which feels as real as their own. Players will not watch their character play inside a fantasy world, they will become that player in a world that feels real.
For those playing Blades VR, training does not involve spending a few hours perfecting simple commands, it means devoting weeks, months, and sometimes years of dedication and practise.
Early feedback has led us to believe that two things will occur when this game goes live to the public: most players will want to find an easier, faster way to get up to speed so that they can play their character casually, and there will be a small group of players who will want to experience the longer immersion process. Our goal is to enable both groups to play to their preferred style.
We knew that providing truly immersive entertainment was a lofty goal. As beta testing continues, we realize that success with this endeavour might be the most important advancement in our race’s history.
We can guarantee you that, no matter how long it does end up taking to perfect, when Blades VR goes live to the public, it will definitely be worth the wait.
Blades VR Weekly Report hosted by Kara Booth
Mercy stood with arms crossed, expression blank. Xander’s still form lay on the bed in front of her, his black, shoulder-length hair messy from tossing and turning during bouts of fever. A white square of linen cloth, stained with patches of dried blood, covered his left eye. A thin red scar extended past the area of the dressing. “Will he live, Everit?”
The dark cleric shrugged. “I have done all that can be done. His life rests in the Dark Lady’s palm.”
“As it should. Is the wound infected?”
“No. My best guess is that he will wake in a few days.”
“When he has completed his visit with the Lady.”
“Should he be so blessed.”
“Thank you, my friend.” She reached out and touched the cleric’s elb
ow. “Please send word to me when he wakes.”
Everit smiled, bowing his head. “You can count on me.”
Mercy returned the gesture, turned on her heel, and left the room.
***
In his comatose world, Xander relived the scene as if it were happening all over again for the first time.
Waves of pain washed over him as he hung from the X-shaped wooden cross. Cold rain fell, striking his skin and stinging like icy needles.
A hand gripped his hair, forcing his head backward. He winced as hard leather cords cut into his forehead, holding him in place.
He looked at the crowd gathered. Their eyes were cruel and bright.
Xander had no idea what was about to happen to him, but he vowed to himself not to scream or cry out, not to give them that satisfaction.
The Shard came to stand beside him, arms raised as he faced the crowd. “The time of reflection begins. Return in four days.”
The crowd slowly dispersed. Soon, Xander was alone.
***
For the next three days Xander was left bound in the courtyard. He received no food, and only small sips of water every few hours.
When the sun rose on the fourth day, he was weak, tired, and cold.
The crowd assembled once more. Some shouted curses and taunts, others watched him quietly, as if he were a statue.
When the sun was directly overhead, the Shard appeared. He made his way to the dais, the heels of his boots rattling the wooden planking as he moved to Xander’s side and leaned close. “Now we shall see if you deserve to be one of us,”
He turned to face the crowd, arms wide, voice loud. “It is time for the Dark Lady to decide.”
Xander tried to pay attention to the Shard’s words, but he was too weak to maintain focus. His thoughts drifted and the Shard’s voice faded into the background.
He wasn’t sure how long the Shard stood there, talking. At one point, Xander thought he heard words of evil-sounding scripture credited to the Dark Lady, but he wasn’t certain.
A hand gripped him by the hair. A sensation of intense heat to his left pulled him from his daze. His eyes darted to the right where he could see a small brazier, orange flames crackling beneath a stained metal bowl. He wondered what it was for, and when it had been put there.
The Shard spoke again, louder, though still unintelligible to Xander. The Shard raised his arms. There was a curved blade in his right hand. Loudly, the crowd repeated the phrase, and their leader bent closer to Xander, his lips pursed into a grim smile.
Xander struggled, but was too weak. In a flash, the knife descended toward his face. Xander closed both eyes tight. A sharp hot pain in his left eyelid blossomed into something that was both fire and ice at the same time.
His vow from days earlier was forgotten as he screamed. When there was no breath left in his lungs, he drew another and screamed again. And again.
After what felt like eternity, the sharp pain was replaced by dull throbbing.
He heard a thumping sound where memory told him the brazier sat, followed by a hissing, sizzling noise like strips of bacon being placed on a hot pan. The crowd cheered and he turned, trying to open his eyes to see what was happening.
From his left eye, he saw nothing. His right caught a glimpse of something before pain forced him to close both eyes and take a deep breath. An overwhelming urge to throw up washed over him.
The sizzling had come from something smoking in the brazier, shrinking and melting like a puddle of lard.
He was sure that it was his left eye.
38
Ezref handed the vendor a silver coin and waited for change.
“Brakl needs to speak with you.” The vendor spoke quietly.
“Thank you.” Ezref waved the change away. “Regular place and time?”
“Same place, but now.”
The apprentice frowned. “He’s waiting for me there now?”
“Since he gave me the message this morning. Said he ain’t doing nothin else ‘til he speaks ta ya.”
Ezref turned and headed out of the trading square.
***
He entered the tavern, scanning the bar without appearing to. There were only two tables occupied. One was his contact. Ezref walked to the bar and leaned against it, propping one foot on the rail that ran the length of the bar.
“What’ll ya have?” The bartender set down the glass he had been cleaning and turned toward the bottles arranged on the counter behind him.
“Autumn nectar.”
“Good choice.” But instead of reaching for the bottle of clear golden nectar, the bartender reached for a dark bottle. He retrieved a glass and poured a measure of smoky black liquor into it. His eyes met Ezref’s and his chin dipped as he set the drink on the bar top. “This one’s on the house.”
This meant the bar was safe from prying ears. Ezref reached for the glass and nodded. “I appreciate it, Gilear.” He pushed away from the bar and turned toward Brakl’s table.
“Be safe, lad,” the bartender said. “I hope your god favours you.”
***
Sebastian’s head whipped around as the heavy wooden door of the study flew open and crashed against the wall. Ezref stepped into the room, eyes wide.
Sebastian stood. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We’ve got trouble.”
“How bad?”
“I can’t think of anything worse.”
Sebastian smiled. “Come on, now. Things can always be worse. Getting eaten by a dragon comes to mind, or—”
“Stop talking.”
Sebastian frowned.
“We have to leave the tower.”
“What?”
“That idiot crafter reported us to the Council.”
Sebastian laughed. “What could he report? That I wouldn’t make him a pot of tea? Big deal.”
“He told them that a demon had broken through the spirit barrier, possessed my master, and now controlled the powers of the tower.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but the Council can’t take that chance. They are sending high-level crafters to visit. When they learn what we’ve been up to.” He shook his head.
Sebastian frowned, unsure how proceed. Without the ability to cast spells, especially the one spell he had originally commanded which could handle crafters of any skill level—
Ezref threw his hands up. “We have to run.”
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to abandon this tower.”
“Too bad.”
“It’s filled with power and magic that I could never accumulate if I lived a dozen lifetimes.”
“I know.”
“I won’t abandon it.”
Ezref shook his head. “There is no other choice.”
“There has to be. The wards and spells will protect us.”
The apprentice spread his hands. “Not from the Council. They can walk through everything that protects this tower.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, all crafters are loyal to the Council first.”
“I know that, but—”
Ezref held one hand in the air and shook his head. “Dark, light, evil, good, none of that matters. All who use magic bow to the Council.” He looked around the study and motioned with his hand. “When crafting, the magic is instructed to ignore Council members. There is no spell that can stop them from entering the tower.”
“That’s not very smart.”
“Sure it is. With the system this way, no single crafter can ever become powerful enough to eliminate the others, or to threaten the safety of the world. A rogue crafter cannot stand against the Council and win. It has been designed that way to protect us all.”
“Balance.”
“Exactly. Balance is key, and the Council is responsible for maintaining it. When they get here, they will stroll through any spell we cast as if it did not exist.”
&nbs
p; “Then they will take us prisoner.”
“And then worse.” Ezref nodded, his face turning pale. “We have to leave.”
“When?”
“Immediately.”
39
Aleron dropped the dried branches on the ground beside the freshly dug area that would serve as a fire pit. “I think we’re being followed.”
Master Keaedan grunted as he prepared the dead rabbit hanging from the tree. “Of course we are.”
“You knew?”
“For days now.” The old druid dropped the pelt on the ground and continued dressing the meat.
“Who is it?”
“Three rangers.”
“Ours?”
“Please.” He made a sour face.
“Then we are in danger?”
Master Keaedan tsked and shook his head. “When an elf leaves the protective perimeter of their village, they are always in danger until they return.”
Aleron broke a stick over his knee and winced at the noise. “You don’t sound worried about them.”
The druid scooped the innards from the rabbit and set them on a large leaf. He folded the leaf and tossed it away from the camp. Then he began to cut the carcass in half. “There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m an experienced druid travelling through the ancient forest of our race. There is no safer place for me. It would be foolish to attack us.”
“Then why are they following us?”
Laughter. “Because they must attack us at some point.”
Aleron frowned and knelt down to stack the wood in the fire pit.
“It’s you they want.”
“Me?” Aleron frowned.
“Ancient tradition dictates that, after training is completed, a new Scout must return to serve the clan which submitted him or her to the Scouts.”
“I see.”
“The service period is at least ten years.”
Aleron opened his mouth to speak, but paused. Master Keaedan laughed. “You were going to say that is a long time?”
“Yeah.”
“Deceivers are not as long-lived as elves?”