by Kevin Murphy
Dakkon sat, waiting, as Barrcus ambled into the adjacent room and brought back bag after weighty bag until eight lay in a pile at his feet. The old man was panting, “We don’t… have anything… so fancy as… platinum… in a place… like this.” With a hand on his hip and a raised hand, he took a second to catch his breath before continuing. “We don’t normally have near this much gold, neither. You’re gonna have to take it as is,” Barrcus said.
Dakkon picked up one of the bags as though the only heft to it was the fabric itself. He realized that, in Chronicle, coins must not have much weight for players to facilitate trade. Dakkon poured the contents of the sack into a coin purse at his waist and found that the size remained the same. It dawned on him that bank robbery, in a world where neither weight nor size were considerations, must be an incredibly lucrative trade, but dismissed the thought when he remembered the words of the very first NPC he ever talked to, threatening to throw him in jail to rot. In a game where currency is transferrable to the real world with the support of banking conglomerates, there would certainly be swift and uncomfortable retribution for stealing money.
“Let’s head back to the well, boy,” said the village elder. “The livestock are hours overdue and you’ll get yours from them.” Barrcus moved to leave without waiting for a response.
Although Dakkon made the trek back to the center of town, he only did so because that was the way he needed to head to reach the road back to the capital city, Correndin. Dakkon didn’t want livestock. He wouldn’t know what to do with a chicken or cow following him, short of selling them undervalue at the first opportunity that presented itself. This line of thought echoed through his consciousness over and again until, when nearing the village center, he saw the herd of animals. Among them, there was a fine black horse. Dakkon believed it to be fine, at least, but truth be told he was less adequate to assume such things than any amateur. He had never ridden a horse aside from in a game, and certainly never with full immersion.
“I’ll take the horse,” Dakkon said to Barrcus. “And… I want you to give a sheep of each gender to Mary,” he added as an afterthought. Barrcus nodded with a smile, clearly expecting worse damage to his new herd than he’d received.
“Is there someone who makes saddles in town?” asked Dakkon of Barrcus.
“A saddler? No. I suppose Ged might have an extra saddle or two at the inn. Folks sometimes need a new one on the road.”
With a nod, Dakkon walked back into the common room of the inn, strode up to the table in front of the proprietor—who only a few days ago had used Dakkon’s want for information to sell him an extortionately priced meal—and slapped his hand on the table with a loud *thwap,* garnering the attention of the distracted barkeep. “Ged!” Dakkon exclaimed. “Barrcus told me you had a few saddles, and that you’d give me the best of them for a steal.” Ged looked dubious. “He said it was your duty on account of me saving the village and all—” Dakkon waited only long enough for Ged to consider a reply before adding, “and there’s the fact that I just bought animals to replace the ones you lost.”
At that, Ged seemed to relent. After a moment’s contemplation and a nod, he walked into the back room and emerged a minute later with what appeared to Dakkon to be a very fine saddle. Dakkon didn’t know a good saddle from a bad one, but suspected that the dark leather and shiny silver trim indicated he had found a winner. Plus, it matched his horse.
“Now, what sort of price is fitting in this sort of situation?” Unable to forget the massive leg of mutton he was unwittingly sold, Dakkon exhorted with his most calm and gentle grin.
“Ah,” Ged began, uncomfortable. “I’ll… let it go for 15 gold. That’s what it cost me and I got it under rather fortunate circumstances.”
The saddle seemed expensive, but with a full purse of gold, and proud of the performance he had given, Dakkon smiled, “You’ve got a deal, Ged.” He slid the 15 coins across the table in three stacks of five, and picked up his new saddle for inspection.
|Name: Forerunner’s Saddle
|Item Type: Saddle - Leather
|Durability: 120/120
|Armor Rating: 30
|Attributes: Mount speed +10%, 50% slower mount exhaustion
|Description: Forerunners’ Saddles were once assigned to imperial messengers of the Valin empire. These messengers were tasked with warning about imminent attacks to villages that were too small to have a local mage who could send and receive magical communications.
Judging by the stats alone, it must have been a very rare saddle. Dakkon was stunned. “Hell,” Dakkon thought, “at 30 armor and a speed increase, I’d wear it if I could.” Not only was it preposterous to have assumed he could get an item this good for only 15 gold, but this one sparked his curiosity. Per its description, the saddle was used by riders to warn villages of impending attacks during the reign of the Valin empire. Only recently, he’d heard on ChronCast that the Valin empire had been a total unification of the Validesh continent, resulting in its name. His gut told him that messengers wouldn’t need such a saddle for internal conflicts. It leant some credibility to the stories that Validesh had been invaded, after all. The workings of ancient empires would have to wait for Dakkon, however. He had travelling to do.
Dakkon bought a small bag of carrots for an additional two copper pieces, then he strutted out the door and walked up to his newly acquired, beautiful, black horse. He bowed to the stallion, and it half-nodded in response. After a moment to take in the temperament of the animal, he gently placed a hand upon its neck and offered it a carrot. The horse seemed pleased enough with his offering and received a pat on the neck in addition to the treat. While Dakkon didn’t know much about horses, he had seen them spooked in movies. He wanted to avoid angering the animal and decided to play it safe by taking his time with the large equine. He showed off the saddle to his new steed. Instead of trying to saddle it immediately, he’d let the animal grow accustomed to his presence while he thought up a fitting name.
“What shall I call you?” asked Dakkon of the horse. “You’re a beautiful beast, but I wouldn’t call you beauty, being so obviously a male.” Dakkon figured talking to the horse in a level tone would help both parties relax. It didn’t exactly matter what he said, so he’d pitch a few names to hear the sound of them. “You’re dark, but Shadow is a bit cliché. Twilight is incredibly lame; Dark One is too melodramatic. I feel like it would be a waste to give you a bland name and be done with it. How do you feel about… Slighttrot?” The beast was unimpressed or indifferent to his first suggestion, and so was Dakkon. He pulled out another carrot and fed it to his tall, strong mount which swished its tail in delight. “Perhaps… Swifthoof? You look like a brave animal, how about Gallant? No? Hmmmm…” Dakkon paused to think. He wanted his horse’s name to be something he wouldn’t be embarrassed to shout. “How about Nightshade?” At this, the horse whinnied and Dakkon took it as a sign. “Nightshade it is then.” He patted the animal on its neck and fed it another carrot.
Now Dakkon had his horse and saddle, but had no clue how to saddle a horse properly. Since doing it wrong might result in a rather unpleasant ride, he decided to ask for assistance. Dakkon approached one of the three men who had delivered animals to the village. “Can you show me how to properly saddle a horse? I’ll give you five silver for your trouble.” The man was pleased with the offer and obliged. Dakkon found it odd how little the animal seemed to mind having a metal bit in its mouth—provided to him by his hired help. After a few minutes of work, he was the proud owner of a saddled and surprisingly pleased stallion. Next, he’d have to learn how to mount and ride.
Dakkon placed his foot in the saddle’s black and silver stirrup hanging to Nightshade’s side and used it to pull himself atop the steed. The animal was not alarmed; it had been ridden. Dakkon gave a relieved sigh. He leaned forward to feed Nightshade another carrot for its troubles and then took the bridle in his hands. “Hyah!” Dakkon said, anticipating the burst of speed that never came.
>
“You whack it with the reins you use to steer,” the man who had helped him saddle the horse said, “or nudge ‘em with the back of your heels. Careful, though, stallions can be a might wild.”
“Ah, thanks,” Dakkon said, then lifted his feet outwards and let his heels fall into the sides of the horse. Nightshade took off down the only road. By the time horse and rider had reached the turn to Correndin, Dakkon already had the hang of it. Riding a horse came with surprising ease. Perhaps it was due to game mechanics, his 50 points in agility, or the animal itself, but Dakkon found riding a horse about as simple as sitting on a couch. It felt comfortable to him. “Riding a horse is simple,” Dakkon thought.
The two blazed their way down the trail towards the capital city, and in only the time it took to halfway get there, Dakkon had already changed his mind. It seemed that every bit of him hurt. His knees were sore, his thighs stretched in new and uncomfortable ways, his back ached, his shoulders were tense, and his neck was stiff. “Isn’t this the type of thing that’s supposed to be left out of a game?” Dakkon thought. Shortly before reaching his destination a system message appeared on his screen. Once he had come to a full stop, he read the message.
[Trait unlocked! You’re beginning to get on top of things. You have gained the Trait: Rider]
Dakkon glanced at the skill’s specifics:
|-Rider: Gained from riding a mount. Every rank in Rider reduces the fatigue of riding by 2%. Current effect: 2%.
He hopped off Nightshade, fed the proud animal yet another carrot, and led it to the communal watering troughs which were abundant near the edge of the city. Dakkon sat beside his horse and looked at his rations. His dried meat had spoiled. “So, food spoils even if you’re dead, huh?”
Simply sitting while Nightshade drank from the trough completely soothed his aches, no doubt a benefit of life in a virtual world. Dakkon stood and walked his mount to a stable where a boy no older than 13 years approached him at the gate, after rising from his bucket-chair. “Two copper to take your horse, sir?” the boy asked him.
Dakkon eyed the boy with suspicion. Although handing over his horse for a time was what he had come to do, the situation felt too informal to set his mind at ease. Dakkon shook his head, and walked up to a nearby guard to alleviate his concerns. “Who’s in charge of the stables?” he asked. “It’s not that boy, is it?”
The guard chuckled. “No. Any man who’d give his horse to a stranger so easily deserves to lose it. All stable masters and hands in Correndin are marked with a bronze badge bearing the symbol of King Raemun.”
“Much obliged,” Dakkon said, strolling back towards the stables.
“Changed your mind, mister?” the boy asked him with a confident smile.
“Go on then, show me your badge,” requested Dakkon.
The boy’s smile faded—his expression soured. “Oh, bugger off then, you bastard,” said the boy.
“How many times do you think they’ll let me strike a horse thief?” Dakkon asked with a devious grin. “I’ve got a whip in my bag, and the guard seemed keen to watch.” The boy’s eyes grew worried and he turned to run.
A deeply tanned man walked around from the side of the stable wearing a little bronze badge with a circle in the top left that looked to be gouged by three sharp claws. The claw marks ran down, diagonally from the circle appearing like rays of light from the sun. Believing himself to have found the correct stable master, Dakkon addressed the man, “How much to keep my horse for a day?”
“We’ll stable your mount for a silver a day, and feed it for 20 copper. We can groom it, if you’d like, for another silver,” said the olive-skinned man.
“Very well,” Dakkon said. “Feed and groom him. Make sure you take good care of my saddle, too. I’m particularly fond of it.”
The heavily tanned man nodded, “It’s a fine saddle.”
Dakkon, having thought the same thing verbatim, was pleased. He handed his reigns to the stable master and turned to walk the streets of Correndin.
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Though not in desperate need of food, Dakkon’s first destination would have to be his favorite place in the city, the “Everything on a stick” stand. As he walked, he stopped to haggle with merchants for maps, but lacking a standard of price or quality to compare them with, Dakkon realized he’d need to visit the cartographer’s guild before making an overly hasty purchase.
Once at the food stand, Dakkon bought one sweet, crunchy chicken on a stick that caught the attention of his nose as much as his eye. He pleased his palate for a mere copper piece, then tipped the cook a silver for her trouble. With over 145 gold pieces converting to 14,500 silver, as every 100 copper amounted to one silver—and every 100 silver made one gold, it was a gesture he could afford. With a ‘well fed’ bonus affecting his regeneration, Dakkon would use the time to train. He sat on a nearby bench and began his slow journey towards thermomantic mastery.
Dakkon filled his mind with thoughts of hot and cold landscapes, alternating between them one after the other, over and over in the public square. In just over 15 minutes, needing no time to stop and regenerate mana, he gained level seven in Thermoregulate. After another 15 minutes, he achieved thermomancer level four, refilling his mana points. Though he had only recently begun, he was already tired of the exercises. Another quarter-hour increased his skill to eight, but the following 15 minutes simply left him drained of mana. At halfway to an increase for both skill and class levels, he took some time to stretch his legs
Dakkon walked over to the food stand for rib meat on a stick and drank water from his canteen as he ran through the numbers of the daunting task he’d given himself. It takes about an hour to level up in thermomancy, currently, and Thermoregulate took about half that amount of time. Under perfect conditions, without accounting for any downtime, that meant a bare minimum of 26 hours of constant mental tedium to achieve the mastery he needed. It sounded horrible, but doable. It also failed to take into account that each level grew progressively more difficult to achieve. Still, if it only took 30 hours in total to become a master level thermomancer, then Dakkon would have to suffer that hardship in order to open up an extra class slot through his edgemaster class skill.
After two hours that passed more slowly than a sleepless night, Dakkon had reached level 10 in Thermoregulate and discovered a problem he hadn’t anticipated. Now, when focusing on extreme temperatures, the skill was beginning to hurt. He would have to think of gentler settings, or, perhaps his best bet was to fully detach himself from the distracting practice of focusing on places altogether. If he could replace thinking of a desert at noon with the simple desire to be hot, then perhaps he could actually focus on his surroundings while using his technique. Throwing away the crutches of imaginary terrain was no easy matter, however. It took time to learn, and the effort often ended up scalding or chilling him. He needed 10 times as many breaks to regenerate his considerably larger health pool than he did for his mana, but after another five hours he had developed the sought-after knack. His progress had suffered for it, however, and he only managed to reach Thermoregulate level 12, and halfway to thermomancer level seven.
Despite Dakkon’s resolve to get the matter over with, he could only handle so much. He felt accomplished for weening himself off mental imagery. For now, that would have to be enough. There was still a fair amount of daytime to work with, and Dakkon had several more things to do. The time had come for him to finally learn the true capabilities of his dagger. A simple stop by a guard was all it took to point him in the right direction.
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For the first time, Dakkon set foot in the far east end of the city. The roads here were paved with finer and newer, dark gray stones. The mesh of interweaving streets formed blocks of varying sizes, most lined with the lively commerce of vendors, shops, and guilds. As he traveled further east the area grew more densely packed with buildings dedicated to artifice, then thinned again until the guilds and skilled craftsmen were behind him. Beyond l
ay the area he sought: the port, filled with sailors fresh from sea; an area tailored to their fancies. Buildings here tended to be bars, bordellos, and peculiarity shops where merchants were in the business of buying goods without asking many questions while selling chemicals with strange names and euphoric effects. Dakkon wandered along the port-side streets in search of a shop that suited him. When he found one advertising the service he required, and a sign stating the establishment would be closed and barred by sunset, he was glad he dallied no longer than he had.
Dakkon walked into Badden’s Oddities and Vend. The interior of the shop was nicer than its location suggested; being so near to worn docks and busy brothels. The building was made of sturdy stone, reinforced by large wooden beams and struts, and the interior reflected the pains of regular, methodical cleaning. A man of below-average height, with dark brown hair, and small, round-lensed glasses stood behind a wood and glass display cabinet. The man watched Dakkon’s entrance from in front of three step ladders, each a different height, resting against a large shelf of locking boxes which ran some eight meters between two, sturdy support beams in the wall.
“You don’t look fresh off the boat,” the 40-something man, presumably Badden, began without preamble, “but don’t think about trying anything in my shop.”
“Your regular clientele must cause you no end of trouble,” said Dakkon with a smile, despite his rude greeting.
“The regulars are just fine,” said Badden with wary eyes. “It’s the new ones who don’t know any better what cause problems.”
Dakkon nodded. “Well then, I’ll be brief. You’ve a sign outside suggesting you have a knack for appraisal. What would you charge to teach me?”
“I don’t have time to waste for that,” said Badden, narrowing his eyes. After a moment of thinking, he restarted, “If you want things appraised, I’ll do it for a price befitting the goods in question. What’ve you got?”