Digital Me

by Alston Sleet

  The elves signed a peace treaty, agreeing to trade logging rights for access to some of the herbs gathered from the Kingdoms dungeon. Far fewer of the old growth trees then the King would like, but the key point had been respecting their beliefs and letting the elves decide which trees to harvest. For a moment the King smiled and tapped gently on the book of elvish rituals and traditions which had helped him in that negotiation.

  Even the issue with the Dwarves for mining rights, while not solved yet, was looking to be solved soon. As usual, the Dwarven ambassador was the main issue left. The ambassador was the eighth or ninth son of the current King, a snotty little drunk -an accomplishment considering the legendary constitution of the Dwarves- who routinely spent his nights drinking and whoring until the late hours until he was so drunk he most often slept in the whore house.

  A few well-placed words, a mention that the King would be willing to cover the ambassador’s debt at the whore house instead of writing a letter to his father the King for collections…and suddenly Denag StoneFist found common cause with King Melnus in mining issues. The plan wasn’t to bleed the Dwarves dry at the negotiating table, a dwarf army would be the result in that case, but this leverage cleared away a great deal of the bluster which was standard with the Dwarves and meant a mining agreement slightly better than expected slightly sooner.

  The undead ‘incursion’ in the east turned to be nothing more than a few city guard who had died and been left unconsecrated because the town priest had run off with the town’s purse which had been entrusted to him when the mayor had died. The new mayor quickly had the apprentice priest handling the issues and the old priest had been run to ground and punished for his ways. The apprentice priest apparently could easily handle all needed duties and had been able to do so for years, but the old priest had been holding him back because of the added stipend for handling an apprentice. The old mayor being the son of the old priest, this seemed to be a case of nepotism finally become so problematic that it self-corrected.

  No, the only real problem still sitting around was the case of Shawn, The Immortal Wizard. His story seemed fantastical and fanciful, the idea of their world being an egg just for him was so egotistical as to be staggering. When word from the ‘power-leveling’ team reached him of Shawn dying, his corpse disappearing, but then being alive and unharmed back at the inn, the King had been skeptical, and considered the possibly that his team had been turned.

  When the news from his spies quickly followed on the heels of the letter from the team, well, that changed his mind. Maddy the innkeeper’s wife had been in his employ on economic spying on caravan teams for years. She was noted as being slow-witted but made up for it by being thorough, a truly wonderful combination in a spy. When more and more of his spies and then direct inquiries found the same story being repeated along with Shawn’s blatant disregard for his even more obvious spies…it seemed his story was most likely true.

  Shawn’s room had been searched diligently, his equipment as well, he had been spied on when changing, dressing, and bathing. He had no hidden tattoos, talismans, and crafted no magical structures or sigils. His immortality, if it really was true and not some hidden trick that none of the King’s magic advisors could discern, was real and innate.

  The latest word from his team, that he would soon be able to handle the core room by himself without assistance presented problem. He had mentioned that he would have to count that as leveling himself, instead of being power leveled, which he said would leave the King in breach of their agreement.

  All ready Shawn was approaching the edge of what would be competence of fighting in the commoner areas of the harder dungeon. The political difficulties of allowing Shawn to level in the harder areas, reserved for noble houses and the more influential merchant houses, could be significant.

  Returning to his desk, King Melnus returned to lightly tapping his fingers on his desktop in a random pattern as he tried to consider how to direct this to his own advantage. Simply refusing to power level the wizard wasn’t an answer. While his threats were juvenile and preposterous on their face, so too had been his immortality claim. Even if he was able to do only a tenth of the damage he threatened, if he really was immortal and willing to truly do the work he claimed for his revenge, then the economic damage would be incalculable. The nobles, which so far had been staunchly on the side of his rule, would join with the few merchant clans who were out of favor then shortly after the house of Melnus would suffer an accident as had royal houses before.

  No, giving the immortal wizard his due was both fair and reasonable, but doing so while also soothing the egos of the nobles and protecting the coin of the merchants was going to be tricky. The most likely way would be to give over one of the merchant farmers tunnels to Shawn but send the proceeds on to the merchant family. Call it a bonus for the merchant family for their years of support of the crown.

  The same can’t be done with the noble families since they see the right to train their family and soldiers in those tunnels as the point, while the merchants see the products coming clear as the point.

  With a shake of his head, King Melnus put off considering what to do when Shawn reached a level to handle the noble tunnels for later and returned to the consideration of coin for roads through the southern Duchy, something that now seemed more reasonable with the trade with the Southern Orcs becoming more profitable.

  Chapter 11

  Can’t Step in the Same River Twice.

  Taking a deep breath I let the cool damp air fill my lungs. The woods around us was muffled by the low mounds of snow. I had spent almost every day for the last four months fighting inside a cold, damp, and barely lit dungeon. The fresh air and travel soothed my overworked nerves. From now on I needed to remember in the future to break up whatever routine I fell into, the change of pace was helping me in ways I wasn’t even aware I needed.

  I closed my eyes and relished the travel before the new dungeon hunting.

  The occasional goblin attack on the way to Melcot village opened my eyes to how I had seen the fights before and how I saw them now. Dungeon core Orcs were ferocious berserkers who threw themselves into fights but still managed to wield their spears, and the occasional sword, with competence.

  Wild Goblins, on the other hand, were only dangerous because of their numbers. The first troop we fought exited the underbrush and behind trees in a mad tumble, some literally tripping to the ground in their rush like children on a playground, screaming an incoherent war cry before we had even entered the trap. Brandishing their crude spears they started stabbing at the air wildly before we had reached range. They each tried to stand behind another as they overreached attempting to stay out of danger while they also tried to get in an attack past the ever-shifting front line.

  I could distinctly remember the sweat running down my face the first trip to the capital as I found a screaming hoard of wild goblins descending upon us. Now I felt almost pity for the little green creatures. A lone unarmed traveler or child might be in danger of these half man-sized monsters, but even a reasonably competent or well-armed adventurer could easily handle these. Given the slow way they scrambled forward, an aware traveler could just run before the ‘hoard’ descended.

  With new eyes, I reconsidered even the troll from before. While big and strong, it’s attacks were well telegraphed and relatively slow. A single strike would flatten a man, but once prepared and aware, the fight was a matter of attrition and not really one of surprise danger.

  Ahead I noticed the road smoothing out into fitted stone as the woods became lighter and slowly the trees opened up onto a familiar sight.

  I could see Melcot village.

  A small grin came to me as I noticed the differences for the village. The road was a new light fitted stone, not perfect, but enough to clear up the muddy ruts which had made more than one traveler moan about the mud on their boots. The biggest thing though was the addition of a small wall with some covered areas at the road, possibly a future gate
.

  The wall wasn’t as grand as I had envisioned, I had imagined something similar to what had been seen at the dungeon town, Berthan, where I had spent so much time. No, this was a simply five foot high stone wall, no more than three feet wide. No crenelations, no walkways, no towers. But then I realized this was the perfect start for a wall that would be useful for protecting the town. Funneling most types of attackers to only the road gates while also leaving room for possible expansion into a larger more grand wall design.

  New houses had also been built since I had left, a new road moving off perpendicular to the original road cut through the forest to the west into some hills which is where I’m guessing the new stone quarry was.

  I could also see plots of land which had been set aside and dug where future house expansions would be. The inn which had been my rest for the first month in this world had a new construction beside it where a fairly new wooden cart and a pair of horses rested.

  Changes, prosperity mostly, had come to Melcot. I had been part of it, the infusion of gold and resources, but the work, the effort had all come from the villagers themselves. I was proud of what my friends had built, though a bit sad I hadn’t been able to be there to assist them. I had been looking forward to trying my hand at magical architecture, grand sweeping palisades and strong roads combined with palatial houses of smooth fused stone. The look of dirt which had been compressed into stone through magic was similar to a smooth hard glass-like substance, the visions I had of grand marble or obsidian like exteriors for even simple homes had entranced me from the start.

  Waving I signaled to Mennen who seemed distracted with eyeballing my two companions. I couldn’t help puffing up a bit when Mennen did a double take when he looked at me. Riding tall, sword and dagger, tough padded leathers, I looked like a real adventurer, instead of a lost man-child as I’m sure he had characterized me before. Even Reos stood a bit straighter when he came to take our gear into the inn.

  “Well! Look at you there. You’re a sight. You look the part of a competent adventurer now. Get any practice with that sword?” queried Mennen as he stomped into the inn as we all sat at a table calling for ale. I had never been much of an ale drinker, but since my options were questionable water, expensive wine of which there was a limited quantity or the thin ale…I’ll take the ale.

  “Good to see you, I’ve gotten plenty of practice over the last few months. I see the King has begun sending the money you needed to work on the village,” I said with a broad grin. I was proud of the work I had put in over the last few months. I thought of mastering the sword like mastering a musical instrument. I hadn’t mastered it yet, but the concertos I had learned so far were lovely and more importantly, kept me breathing.

  “Yeah, we’ve done a lot since we have last seen you. I had the whole village out cutting trees and beating a path out to the new quarry. Reos killed a pack of goblins by himself while scouting the cave out there! I’m proud of everyone, but Reos has really turned himself around lately. Even apprenticed himself to the stone mason, he seems to have a knack for stone work,” Mennen said then quaffed a good bit of his ale.

  Remembering my manners, I turned to my companions and introduced them to Mennen. While I was enjoying the familiar and relaxing setting, my two companions seemed to be wrinkling their noses up at both Mennen and the town in general. I was getting a bit of a ‘hicks vs city folk’ vibe from the talk. I tried hard not to laugh at both groups since they each lived in places where stepping in shit from horses -or other- was a semi-regular occurrence. Even the capital and the palace seemed barely to reach the level of ‘civilization’ from my point of view.

  Mennen regaled us with the story of the troll which had wandered into town after we had left, possibly searching for the mate Rolick had killed. How the village had gathered with long spears and torches and had spent an hour prodding and retreating as they whittled the troll down.

  The story caused another new adjustment into my view of the dangers of the world for the villagers versus for hardened adventurers. The main reason the villagers were alive and safe is because the monsters didn’t hunt or claim this area while adventurers traveled through semi-regularly and cleared out any serious problems. While a troll would be dangerous for me, for a villager -untrained, without gear- the only way to win was to group up with the whole village and take it down through vicious pack tactics.

  My two companions spoke little during the late meal with Mennen, they drank, ate, then retired for the night. I spent far longer than had probably been healthy for me chatting about all the changes and the future plans for Melcot. Mennen was annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to hire a wizard to do the construction as in the original plan, but the payments over time would probably be a better investment for the economy of the village. I agreed that the grand creations I had planned would have been nicer, but in the long run, the focus on practicality would be better for the village.

  Sala, the plump and glowing cheeked innkeeper presented me with a pair of rabbit hide gloves backed by carved rabbit horns to add protection along each glove. They were warm and soft with small precise stitching, thin and textured on the palms to allow for a strong grip on my weapons. These must have taken many weeks to create, and I’m sure someone was going to be missing out on a present for a while to allow me to have this pair. She assured me that she spent many of the cold months producing rabbit fur gear for adventurers and this present was to remind me of Melcot village.

  The morning felt extra drab as we left Melcot the next day. The sky was no darker, the wind no colder, the saddle no more uncomfortable than it had been the day before. I was just feeling a bit melancholy over my visit to Melcot. I know that it wasn’t reasonable, but I had spent months in solitary confinement with only barking guards and a lawyer who sneered more often than he talked. I spent whole days with headaches and nose bleeds. I hadn’t been at the stage where I would need strong pain medication; I had skipped the chemotherapy entirely for my mad gamble.

  I went from ignored, marginalized, in pain, and frightened, to healthy and whole with the power to control the very world on command instead of not being able to control more than when I would use the restroom. The plan had called for me risking my life and freedom, it had worked, but the months of confinement had been far more of a nightmare than I had ever expected.

  Then…open sky, friendly -even if condescending- people, power, good food, ale, exercise, the ability to release some of my angst and tension through controlled violence. The month’s rest in Melcot had been what I needed to remind me that not all people where like those in the legal system or the prison.

  I still had plans. I still needed to level up further and master my new mental abilities. But for a few brief moments, I let myself consider how I could create a place of my own where I could recharge and relax between adventuring out into the world. I needed somewhere safe and most importantly mine. A place where I could practice my more creative instincts and a place to retreat when the world gets to be too much for me.

  Straightening in the saddle I faced forward and gave my mount a slightly more vigorous kick as I felt what may be the possible second half of my grand plan settling in.

  Chapter 12

  The Rich Get Richer.

  Each time that I’ve thought I’ve adapted, each time that I’ve thought I’ve gotten beyond thinking of this place as a game and instead think of it as a real place, each time I’m brought up short by something I had been taking for granted. King declares I can enter the dungeon core and fight? Of course! He declared the quest so of course the permission would be allowed. How would that affect anyone else? By slowing the spawn rate further into the dungeon is how.

  A dungeon like in a game? Of course! Adventurers would enter it and fight for loot and experience…then the reality of what such a system would mean economically was slapped into my face when seeing the adventurers showing tokens to be allowed entrance with steep usage fees. Apparently, the fees are 10% of all gains to the a
dventurer, 10% to the town, and 80% to the Kingdom.

  I was nearly flabbergasted when I was told the King was loved mostly because he had lowered his required share. He did this in a bid to maintain control of the Kingdom back when his father died in the attempted coup. One of the poorer noble families in cahoots with a richer merchant guild house were the main instigators. Apparently, House Seldat was going to marry into the noble family Feldel, they would join and have a legitimate, though distant, claim on the throne. Combine that with what was the start of a merchant rebellion and then the assassination of the old King and things could have been nasty for the currently reigning King.

  Apparently the young Kings response was to reduce his portion of income from the two dungeon towns and then use this increased good will to pull some of the merchant families which had been neutral over to his side. This maneuver broke the rebellion and all that was left was the boots on the ground to clear up the rogue noble and merchant houses. That the lands and holdings from these two houses being destroyed were then passed out to the loyalists was part of the equation as well.

  These kinds of political backbitings, intrigue, and the use of economic warfare and outright bribery; well, it wasn’t game like in the slightest. Add in allied Kingdoms which sat back and watched things play out, non-aligned lands assisting with a few token weapons in a bid to gain favor with the potential future monarch, and other bits of nastiness like this…and things seemed awfully familiar, almost like being back at home.

  I learned about these harsh past experiences while talking to Felvers on the road to Gerthak, the higher level, and richer adventure town. Gerthak turned out to be far different than Berthan or even the capital. While the capital had paved roads and high walls, towers and parapets, inns and shops, Gerthak seemed only designed for gathering, processing, and eventually moving the dungeons goods both raw and processed.