Escape to the Fringe (Fringe Chronicles Book 1)

by Adam Drake

  Weapons were rising and falling where Mudhoof had been, but I couldn't see him through the mass of players.

  Then, someone raised a twin bladed battle axe up in the air. There was a cheer of triumph from the crowd.

  My body went numb. No, I thought. It can't be!

  I barely registered the mass of players now surging up the steps of the temple. They didn't matter now. Only one thought filled my mind.

  Mudhoof was dead.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stunned, I could do nothing but sit and stare at the upraised battle axe.

  Mudhoof's axe.

  Then the tide of players crested the top Temple step, and the axe was lost from view.

  He had died to save me. Again.

  This was not the first time, nor did I believe it would be the last. Mudhoof was a true friend and a fellow player I could count on in a pinch. And I had just been in one heck of a pinch.

  I shook my head, trying to get my senses back.

  Players now pushed into the Temple, crowding the inner foyer where I sat slumped against the wall. They loomed over me, shouting and gesticulating wildly. The air filled with FILTERED this and FILTERED that.

  With a hand against the wall, I stood. As if expecting I would be dumb enough to leave the safety of the Temple, some of the players parted so I could exit unimpeded. But I wasn't going outside. Instead, I turned and pushed my way further into the Temple. If someone tried to block me, I simple shoved them aside, and they slid out of my way as if on ice.

  Once in a safezone a player can't be hurt in any manner nor physically blocked, unlike the rest of the gaming world. If that was the case, the griefing of players would be epidemic. I took some small solace that, although they had killed my friend, they could not stop me from where I wanted to go.

  As I entered the main chamber, the others followed close behind, a cacophony of FILTERED obscenities and gestures. With minimal effort, and avoiding direct eye-contact with my would-be tormentors, I pushed my way to the same little bed I'd vacated only a short while ago.

  As I sat down, the healer appeared.

  “Oh, by the Blessed One herself, you have returned, and so soon,” he said. He examined my wounds and the various arrows that seemed to sprout from my avatar. “Tsk-tsk,” he said. “You need to be more careful. Allow me to heal your wounds.” He seemed unaffected by the horde of people that now jammed his beautiful temple.

  “Yes,” I said over the shouts. “Please do. I would be most grateful.”

  As he attended to me, I looked up at those who crowded around, pressing up against my space. From the myriad of words and phrases thrown at me I came to the following conclusion.

  They thought I was a very bad person. Very, very bad. I needed to die. Now, and preferably quick. I was a FILTERED of a FILTERing FILTERED as well, which I thought was just plain mean to say.

  But I had enough. From an icon at the side of my view-screen I went into my game settings. Then I selected 'MUTE OTHER PLAYERS'. A prompt popped up, 'EXEMPT FRIENDS LIST AND NPCs'? I answered yes.

  To those all around me, the image of a large ear appeared above my head which in turn had a red line slashed across it. Now I didn't have to hear anyone speak, or even receive chat requests.

  The effect was immediate, and my world went blessedly quiet. Players threw themselves around and jumped up and down. This had only enraged them further, but I didn't have to hear any of it.

  Then I selected 'AWAY FROM GAME'.

  Instead of a symbol, a white translucent vector box was drawn around me. My avatar, now encased, went still and my eyes closed.

  I could still see fine. But now the others knew I would not engage them in any way. The possibility now existed I could be away from the game for a long time. What would they do then?

  While I let them ponder that amongst themselves in the civil manner I expected, I pulled up my chat menu and pinged Mudhoof. As I waited my heart was in my chest. What he had done was amazingly selfless.

  And creative, too.

  Mudhoof, for whatever reason, did not answer my chat request. I tried not to read too much into it. Maybe he was tired after the fight and was taking a break, away from the game. Or maybe he was ticked off with me because now he had to level up in the newbie zone, yet again. Something he was famous for.

  I shook my head. He would be in touch when he's ready.

  From my inventory I removed the Teleport Token.

  Get to Thorm, Mudhoof had said.

  Thorm might be the only other true friend I had, besides Mudhoof. We'd all adventured together countless times. All of it fun. Would he be interested in a suicide mission to find and kill Ogden Trite?

  A quick scan of my short (but distinguished) friends list showed Thorm was currently online. Selecting his name brought up more detailed information on what he was up too.

  Questing in Farewell Falls on planet Orkrin.

  Even on his own quest I knew Thorm would drop everything to come help me. Did I want to impose on him with something this big? Add to this that I did not want to see yet another one of my friends end up re-rolling because of me.

  But did I have a choice?

  From the safety of the Away From Game vector box I spied on the surrounding players. There were so many now they filled the chamber from wall to wall, and even out the main entrance. The town would now be packed with bounty hunters all hoping to be the one who would claim the bounty on my head.

  I wasn't going anywhere. Logging out was not an option. Such a tactic was beneath my code of gamer-ethics. I would not hide from a fight by leaving the game then returning much later to see if anyone was still around. The very thought was repugnant. Why even bother playing the game if you would stoop to such cowardly tactics?

  But, even though I wouldn't hide from a fight, didn't mean I wouldn't run from one.

  I thumbed the Token in my hand.

  Might as well just ask Thorm if he was interested. Couldn't hurt.

  I sent him a chat request.

  While I waited I noticed a group of players moving aggressively around the Temple chamber. It was obvious several groups where arguing over me, but couldn't hurt each other here. Instead, they yelled and screamed. To me it all played out like a silent movie.

  There was little doubt that fights were going on outside in the square. And all over who would have the honor of killing me.

  Sighing, I watched as the players slid around each other in pathetic attempts of intimidation. I don't mind being popular, but this was ridiculous. Removing this bounty once and for all was my only hope.

  A chat acceptance sound brought me out of my gloomy thoughts. I opened the chat screen in front of me. Thankfully, the vector box masked my activities.

  The face of Thorm filled my view. Human, and handsome, with a bristly blond mustache which covered his mouth, Thorm embodied the very best of character customization. I will admit I found his avatar attractive, even though I hadn't a clue what Thorm, the player, looked like in real life.

  “Miss Valesh,” Thorm rumbled, his voice was low and deep. “Always a pleasure.” Although I could not see any details of his surroundings, it looked as if he was resting against a tree.

  “And to you as well,” I said. “You're questing now? Am I bothering you?”

  “Ah, on the verge of completing the last quest in a chain,” he said and his avatar winced in pain. “But the final boss has proven a tad ornery. Refuses to die. Quite rude of him. Wiped my entire party out, except for me.”

  “You're hurt!” I said, alarmed. “I'll come to you, just hang on.”

  Thorm shook his head, sunlight reflecting off his silver helmet. “Do not bother, Vivian. I'm down to my last sliver of health, and the end boss is off somewhere regenerating his. It's only a matter of time before he comes back to finish the job.”

  “Not gonna happen, Thorm,” I said while holding up the Teleport Token for him to see. “I have a one-way ticket, and I'm going to use it. Besides, I need your help, too. Maybe we
can trade?” The last was said in a teasing manner. Thorm didn't trade favors with friends, he simply helped them.

  Thorm was about to respond when a shout off-screen snagged his attention. I could not make out the words, but it sounded Orcish.

  “Well, Vivian,” Thorm said. “If you wanted to visit, now would be a good time to do so.”

  Not needing any more encouragement, I closed the chat screen. The healer had finished attending to my wounds and stood close by. I stood up.

  My 'Away From Game' vector box vanished, and several dozen players turned from their arguments to look in my direction.

  To the healer I said, “I'll take a stack of five Health Boosts, too, please.”

  After paying him, along with a little extra for his healing, I turned my attention to the idiot show around me.

  I made a point of holding the Token up for all of them to see. This elicited a torrent of muted rage, of which I could only imagine how creative the insults became. How dare I teleport away from overwhelming odds and a certain death. Ha!

  With the Token keyed in on Thorm, I grinned at the angry players around me. With a wave goodbye, I pinched the Token hard, activating it.

  My vision of the Temple's chamber shimmered, and in the next moment, it was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Teleport Tokens key in on other people, with their permission; players and NPCs alike. So when the shimmering on my view-screen stopped I found myself standing next to Thorm.

  I was in a forest not far from a cave entrance in a hill. Thorm sat on the ground, leaning up against a huge oak tree. He smiled at my arrival.

  “Welcome to the fun zone,” the Holy Knight said. His brilliantly shiny silver armor was heavily tarnished with dirt and blood. Several dents told of intense combat. A large white kite shield was propped up next to him, its surface gashed.

  Hastily, I squatted next to him. “Looks like you've had enough fun for one day,” I said. His health was down to twenty percent. I pulled out a Health Boost and tried to hand it to him.

  He waved it away. “I used one a short while ago,” he said by way of explanation. “All my boosts are on a global cool down.”

  From the cave came a loud cry. This time I could make out what was being said. “Time to die, metal man!” It was Orcish.

  “I'm up for a fight,” I said as I took out my bow and summoned a quiver of arrows. “It's not like I haven't had plenty of practice today.”

  Thorm shook his head. “No, he's an elite. And a tough one, too. We'll both need to face off against him.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Happen to have any mana potions on you? I gassed out awhile ago.”

  I glanced at his mana bar which had bottomed out at four percent. Holy Knights are a mixed class with both combat and spell casting abilities, mostly for healing and protection. Without mana, he would not have the ability to cast anything.

  “Sure,” I said and gave him the two mana potions I always kept in my inventory. I didn't need them, but you never knew when an ally might. Shadows didn't use mana, nor cast spells. The Dark Assassins did, however. They were one of a selection of subclasses I could branch off into as I leveled. But since I started this re-roll ages ago, I'd decided to keep my class 'pure' and stayed within the main class, only leveling up its vanilla skills.

  As Thorm quaffed a potion a movement at the cave entrance made me turn to face it.

  A large orc emerged from the darkness and stopped when he spotted us. In one hand he gripped a huge stalagmite like a club. The club's natural protrusions made for some wicked looking spikes.

  The orc pointed the make-shift club at us. “Surface scum,” he grumbled. “Metal man and little wench. Trespass on sacred grounds. Anger my clan. Die you will!”

  “Oh, geez,” I said with a roll of the eyes. “A lore quest?”

  Thorm had taken a few moments to use his new mana to heal himself fully. His armor was also mended. Gotta love spell casters. So handy. “Unfortunately,” he said and stood up. He hefty his now blemish-free shield. “Trying to work my way through the achievements.”

  Orc lore quests were notoriously dull. One clan versus another. Then they unify against the invading humans. War results for an eternity. Still, made for some good experience points and potentially decent loot drops.

  Thorm hefted his broadsword and eyed the Elite Orc who appeared to be waiting for us to make the first move. “Let us finish this, shall we?”

  “Actually,” I said, “I have an idea. Let me take care of this.”

  “Really,” Thorm said with obvious concern. “He's a tough nut to crack, I'll give him that. You'll need help.”

  “There is a trick I wanted to try,” I said and walked toward the orc. “But feel free to jump in if it doesn't work.”

  The orc looked at me as if offended. “Little wench wishes to die first?” He laughed and put a hand on his ample belly. Other than a pair of stitched-skin trousers, the only thing he wore were a set of necklaces made of teeth and finger-bones.

  I called up his stats.

  Species: Orc (Elite)

  Subspecies: Cave Dweller

  Clan: Stone Basher

  Level: 50

  Hit Points: Unknown

  Mana: Nil

  Armor Class: Unknown

  Attack Rating: 30

  Damage Range: Unknown

  Weapon Type(s): Club (Stalagmite)

  Abilities: Crush, Bear Hug, Bash (weapon based), Charge, Night Vision.

  Special: 5% increase to Attack Rating when fighting on Clan grounds. 15% increase to Attack Rating when in the presence of other clan members.

  I did not like all those unknowns, but having never tangled with an Elite Orc before, it was expected.

  “Yes, I wish to die first,” I said to him. “Might you be able to assist me with this problem?”

  The orc's features scrunched up in confusion making him even more ugly. “Stupid wench wants death then I will help her.” He ran at me with a speed I didn't expect. The distance between us shrunk to a few feet in almost an instant.

  Back-pedaling like a mad-woman, I fired a volley of arrows at him.

  Each one found its mark, but had little to no effect. Rather, they made the orc more angry. Then he was on me, raising the stalagmite over his head and brought it crashing down.

  I went into Shadow mode and slipped around him the moment his club smashed against the ground.

  Switching to my sword, I struck out at him, causing me to be visible. This did some damage.

  The orc roared and swung about with his club. I ducked into a roll and sprang up. After another swing from his club I sprinted away.

  Angry that he hadn't mashed me to a pulp, yet, the orc pursued. Keeping my distance as best I could I kited him with the occasion arrow. I'd whittle his hit points away with this technique. But where would the fun in that be?

  I was biding my time.

  After a few minutes of me dodging club swings and then firing arrows into his thick skin, the orc slowed down. Panting, he hunched over but kept an eye on me.

  “Little wench not fight right,” he said between ragged breaths. “Should fight like warrior and die like warrior.”

  I gave a glance in Thorm's direction. The Holy Knight stood under the tree looking bored, the blade of his broadsword resting casually on one shoulder. It made for an unassuming image, but I knew he was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

  I stopped moving and switched to my sword. With a come-hither hand wave I said, “Come at me, bro!”

  This triggered an even angrier reaction from the orc. Maybe the come-hither hand wave was obscene to orcs? Regardless, the elite stood upright as if revitalized with new energy.

  Here it comes, I thought while altering my stance.

  The orc roared and, holding his stalagmite club over his head with both hands, used his charge ability. He flew at me with lightning speed.

  There was little time for me to register that this might not be a good idea. But just as the orc cl
osed in for the kill I did the unexpected.

  I ran straight at him.

  This sudden change barely altered the orc's speed who was caught in full charge until it was finished. The millisecond we were going to collide I used my Cloak of Shadows.

  Use Phase Ability.

  I became corporeal, like a ghost.

  The result was me running through the charging orc, who in turn had tried to time his swing for his approaching target. He stumbled as his club hit the ground with a tremendous cracking noise.