First Login (Chronicle Book 1)

by Kevin Murphy

  Dakkon did, but he also knew that no one with wit or reason would go through the trouble of summoning someone, having cryptic spells cast upon them, then offer 10,000 credits for some inconsequential curio. There was no nostalgia factor at play here which could make the dagger worth collecting, being an item from such a new game. Gullen was planning to put the dagger to some use that justified his 10k expenditure.

  Dakkon firmly denied the offer. “No thanks, I like my dagger.” He knew practically nothing about haggling, not even that he necessarily wanted to haggle, but he knew better than to take the first price offered.

  Gullen looked surprised, then grinned. “If 10,000 does not satisfy you, then let us skip the dickering entirely. I’m prepared to give you 20,000 credits plus unlimited access to this retreat to use as you please—within reason—for the dagger. Any more and it would be much cheaper to obtain the dagger through other means.”

  Gullen’s offer certainly felt generous. With that amount of money, he might be able to start his own company—or if that was too ambitious for the sum, he could live with nearly two years of rent taken care of while he figured things out. Dakkon did not miss the thinly veiled threat of acquiring ‘the dagger through other means.’ He had to assume that Gullen was the sort who tended to get whatever he asked for through whatever means.

  When faced with the potentially life-changing sum of money, Dakkon’s skin crawled and his fingers tightened around his dagger. He sorely wanted the money, but the small blade had been an integral piece of Dakkon’s progression. Without it, he wouldn’t have had the power to cut through the various obstacles which would have kept him from growing as he had. If his dagger could help him earn rent and then some over the past, few, in-game days—then its value might just be far greater than the 20,000 credits. The desire for his blade shown by the wealthy man propositioning him served to ground his assumption. Dakkon gulped—seeing his weapon in a new light.

  If Dakkon had a future in this game, his dagger would be the seed it grew from—or perhaps Dakkon was the seed and the dagger was the rain, sun, and industrial strength compound fertilizer. Dakkon steeled his resolve. “I appreciate your generous offer.” Dakkon nodded sagely. “I would like to think about it for a few days.”

  Gullen appeared more amused than upset, likely convinced that a few days of contemplation would highlight how amazing the deal was for his guest. “Very well,” he said. “You may lodge here in the meantime if you like. I’ll make sure the help is aware.”

  “That is very gracious of you,” Dakkon said, glad to be free of Gullen’s stare which was now returned to the people in the water—or perhaps on floating, augmented reality windows filled with work or play from his media console, visible only to him.

  “Dakkon,” Gullen said, “in the future, do try to stay away from my vault.”

  Dakkon was already walking away. He wanted to be anywhere except there. All instinctual guidance was telling him to get out, so Dakkon set aside his biting curiosity to thoroughly explore the grounds and left the paradise with a detour only long enough to confirm that the gourmet food served here was, indeed, not gratis.

  \\\

  Corbin logged out of Chronicle. He needed to think about the offer on the table with a clear head. He doubted that being in the game world had any real effect on his decision-making process, but there was no world where he’d allow himself to make a rash decision on the matter when he had the opportunity to mull it over.

  Had someone approached Corbin in any other game which he had played and offered 20,000 credits for his items—even adding the stipulation that he could never play again—he would have accepted the deal without reservations. Corbin had never really thought of games as ‘his escape.’ Even if he had, 20,000 credits was a sum of money that could afford him escapes aplenty. Chronicle felt different, though. In addition to being the most immersive and interesting game he’d ever played, Chronicle provided him with a means to achieve future income. Future income which seemed heavily intertwined with his ability to progress rapidly. His meal ticket was likely the very dagger he was being asked to part with.

  Corbin wondered if he had a sort of golden-egg-laying goose situation. Selling the goose now might prove extremely unwise. The simple fact that someone was willing to drop 20,000 credits for the item was raising a large red flag. To Corbin, it meant one of the following: A, the dagger was worth considerably more. B, the dagger was an investment which would become worth considerably more in time. C, Mr. Moneybags wanted an equipment upgrade at any cost, despite never having inspected the dagger’s properties for himself. Or, D, that—as Gullen said—he was simply some sort of collector. The latter two options just didn’t make sense, financially speaking. Maybe, if the item was being collected as part of an incredibly lucrative quest then ‘collecting’ it made sense, but then the actual motivation would be, B, he wants the dagger as an investment.

  Corbin wracked his brain for anything he could have missed. If—though it seemed unlikely—buying the dagger wasn’t about the money then what else could be Gullen’s motivation? If not money—then power? What kind of video game related power did he expect for 20,000 credits? Or, maybe, it was Corbin who was looking at the situation incorrectly. Chronicle simply was not like other games he had played. Banks and businesses didn’t compete for resources in other games and there certainly wasn’t another game that gave players more hours in their day. Perhaps it was wrong to assume Chronicle was something as simple as a game. It certainly had the potential to be far, far more.

  Dakkon had a new take on the situation. Chronicle was a lot like a promising developing country. If someone thoroughly entrenches themselves early on, then they may just heavily prosper as the area is cultivated and developed.

  Dakkon had always liked to think of himself as the entrepreneurial sort, although in fairness he had no reason to since he had no practical experience outside of grand ideas and simple prototypes. Now that he had something which might be able to leverage a future for himself, he wanted to hold onto it. He wouldn’t sell the dagger. The finality of his decision and his new high appraisal of value for the weapon left him feeling elated.

  \\\

  After a meal spent watching Chronicle news stories wholly unrelated to his region of the world, otherwise attending to his bodily needs, and cleaning up the apartment a bit, Corbin hopped back into his capsule and reconnected to the world of Chronicle as Dakkon, the edgemaster.

  Dakkon decided that he would cross the bridge of dealing with Gullen when he came to it. For now, he wanted to focus on getting stronger. Not fifteen steps away from the front gate of the aeromagi compound where Dakkon had emerged, Dakkon heard the unmistakable call-to-arms of an event.

  “…the brave. Tian seeks the dutiful. After nine years, another spirit metes out vengeance for the injustice of men against it. The great wolf hunts indulgently—and no one, not even child, is spared from grim fate. We cannot sit idly as our neighbors are hunted and slain for actions we have been tasked to prevent….” A crier continued his art, notifying the general, spirit venerating townsfolk of Tian that an ancient spirit’s shrine had been defiled. The spirit was lashing out at nearby townships and would surely hunt every man, woman, and child to extinction given time. It was paramount that the city of Tian stop the spirit—a wolf—quickly, so an expeditionary force was to be formed of soldiers, shamans, exorcists, and as many volunteers as the criers here and in nearby towns could persuade to join the cause. The rewards weren’t apparent, as they weren’t mentioned. This seemed to be a call to arms out of duty.

  After a bit of inquiry, Dakkon had discovered that the cave in which the beast’s shrine was located was over a week’s march away via established roadways, or a few days march north by northwest through the forests. Exorcists and shamans, despite having somewhat contradictory roles, both had ties to spirits which alerted the factions to the rise of the rampaging, malevolent wolf spirit. This sort of expedition was apparently quite rare, the last one h
aving taken place before any players had yet entered the game world. The city would reward the victorious factions—the soldiers, shamans, and exorcists—from its rather deep coffers, but volunteers would receive only a pittance besides what they managed to collect along the way. If the volunteers managed to help subdue the spirit rather than slaying it outright, the bounty would be substantially greater. While the spirit needed to be stopped, it would be a tragedy to lose the wisdom of a thousand plus year old ancestor spirit which had the ability to empower shamans with magic.

  Convincing Dakkon to join the quest wasn’t a difficult feat. He wanted to find out firsthand what sort of rewards one could expect for the type of event that freely hired players to go on a multiple-day march.

  [You have accepted the quest: Madness of Geh`hen]

  Dakkon noticed he had a barely noticeable, flashing message icon in the corner of his vision and pulled up his interface to see who had contacted him. He had two. The first message, from Cline, said that the word about the spirit expedition had reached him in Turlin—where he had recently returned. Cline would be heading to Tian to help out and show Dakkon a thing or two about why bows were superior to other weapons. The second message was from Letis and, Dakkon determined, it was likely meant to reach him before he went into the mages’ restricted area. It read:

  |1st message — Sender: Letis

  | I remember the passphrase to get in. It’s ‘Anoo-ket.’ I told you it was jargony.

  Chapter 23: The March

  Dakkon spent the next two days provisioning, learning about the city, tasting the various local delicacies, riding his horse, practicing thermomancy, and watching as more and more players arrived to be a part of the boar-slaying gold rush, only to find that the hunting was limited and the demand had almost entirely collapsed.

  Some angry players had, indeed, taken up pitchforks in search of “that damned big-mouth bard Finnegan and those merchants,” as one player put it, but the fervor was short lived. A lot of the players managed to make extra money because of the ice that they bought—and now it was locally known that collecting krimmer glands fetched considerably more when the goods were kept on ice. Though the concept was common sense, it was somehow foreign in a videogame world. If Finnegan and Letis were to show back up then, only a few days after the ice sale, the worst they could likely expect was a stern talking to. Most players had simply moved on.

  Nightshade was a wonderful horse. Dakkon had been worried that a krimmer might catch the dark-colored steed unaware, but now that he had spent more time with the animal, he found that to be extremely unlikely. Perhaps due to when they were ambushed on the road to Tian, Nightshade was alert to any incoming danger well before Dakkon was. When a krimmer tried to chase after the pair, the horse swiftly and easily outran it. Nightshade was agile, too. He was able to dart around trees in a manner which Dakkon found strange for such a large animal. He frequently had to duck for fear of being brained by a slant tree trunk or low-hanging branch. Dakkon was doing precisely this when an incoming message came to him from Cline.

  Happy to take a break from the perilous ride, Dakkon read his message:

  |1st message — Sender: Cline

  | I just got signed up for the expedition. Where you at?

  Dakkon smiled, then sent a brief response:

  |To: Cline

  | On my way.

  Dakkon took off on Nightshade back to the monastic stables at the east side of Tian where he knew Nightshade could rest in capable hands.

  In the past few days, Dakkon had explored the city, largely in a diligent search for delicious new foods to try. Everything he ate was incredible compared to his usual fare in the real world. Every bite of every food was as good as the first. Eating in Chronicle had become a sort of hobby for him, which he was happy to indulge in without real world repercussions. He was unable to properly visit the north side of Tian, however, as it was off-limits to non-residents. Dakkon didn’t find the tug of curiosity particularly irresistible at the moment, since Tian had a lot of other things to offer—too many for only a couple of days’ worth of walking around. The city was vast and its attractions were numerous.

  The center of the city held a grand, expansive square with roads heading north, east, south, and west. Around that crux at the city’s center, large shops and a few banks were clustered, vying for real-estate. All along the road from the east side of town to the west, there were areas to shop for any convenience. The city prohibited merchants from setting up on the street, unlike in Correndin, which served to keep the streets cleaner, and their uncramped nature made them feel much larger compared to those in the capital city.

  Taking the south road from the center of town, toward the area where groups were formed to hunt krimmer, there were several bars in line with one another on both sides of the street. The establishments were large and each was uniquely themed, with plenty of floor space, loud music at night, and an incredible number of visitors until the wee hours of the morning. Dakkon spent a night stumbling between various bars, listening to incredibly talented musicians—many with their own fan followings—and talking with various patrons. He enjoyed himself well enough, but didn’t figure he’d make a habit of the night unless he had something to celebrate and several friends to join him. At the end of the evening, he was surprised to see that despite the rowdy and bustling nature of the area, the streets remained spotless.

  Having just received Cline’s message that he’d just gotten signed up for the quest, Dakkon headed into the west side of town with the rare luxury of completely understanding where to go and what to do. Soon after passing by the entrance to the wind guild, a familiar figure caught up to him. Ramses was no longer marked with the red player-killer’s skull on his left cheek. The rogue beamed.

  “How’s it going, Dakkon?”

  “Everything’s great,” said Dakkon, and he meant it.

  “I bet it is with an offer like that,” said Ramses, slapping Dakkon on the back.

  “An offer like—” Dakkon began. “Ah,” the pieces snapped into place, “you work for Gullen?”

  Ramses shot glances this way and that before saying, “I do, but it might be in our best interests if you didn’t mention that.”

  Dakkon shrugged. “Fine. Are we talking because you saw me by chance or are you on your boss’s orders?”

  Ramses rolled his eyes. “Why not both?”

  “Tell him I won’t sell.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” stammered Ramses. “I said both, right? Boss is not the sort of guy you want to say no to… especially when he’s being so generous.”

  “No offence, Ramses, but your boss can try to find his own dagger,” said Dakkon.

  “No, man,” said Ramses. “Hear me out. He’s going to get it from you. One way, you’ll have a lot of credits—the other you’ll have nothing but a lot of grief and downtime.”

  “So now you’re threatening me, too?” asked Dakkon.

  “Hell no, man, I’m warning you. Boss—he gets things done, you know? He always gets things done.” Ramses took care in emphasizing the last bit.

  “I get it, but I’m still not going to sell. Does that mean I need to watch my back around you too, Ramses?”

  Ramses looked uncomfortable. “No, you don’t need to worry about me… but you really should watch your back,” he said. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but you might want to consider slipping away from town in the night and make sure no one is following you. No one will attack you in town—it’s a sort of unspoken rule in the city—but they’re gonna try real hard to make sure you don’t leave, so that means they’ll have eyes on you. If we group up, that means I’ll be a set of those eyes.”

  Dakkon was surprised by the admission, “Thanks for the heads up, Ramses,” he said.

  “Never mind that,” said Ramses. “Try to lay low in town for a while.”

  Dakkon nodded dumbly. He was already heading to leave town in a group.

  Ramses looked Dakkon in the eyes and said, �
��The expedition would probably be a bad idea.”

  Dakkon nodded again. It seemed that perhaps the expedition wouldn’t be the simple mission he had expected.

  “Take care, Dakkon. I’ve got to run, but I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” Ramses said as he raised one hand in parting, then turned to slink away.

  Dakkon wasn’t sure what to think about the warning. He was certain it was made in earnest; however, he wasn’t sure how much an envious man could do to get his hands on another player’s item. Unless an item was given freely, or it was randomly dropped on death, then there really wasn’t much someone could do to take someone else’s things. Players can’t steal from other players, and the chance to drop a specific item was low. It was just as likely he would drop any other item, and more likely that he’d drop nothing at all—as far as Dakkon was aware. Regardless of his impending decision, he had someone to greet.

  Cline was easy to pick out from a crowd because of his light blonde hair and massive longbow which stood taller than he did. Dakkon advanced on his friend.

  “Gods, Cline, can you even shoot that damned thing?” asked Dakkon, shaking his head.

  Cline turned his attention to Dakkon and beamed with pride. “Exceptionally, I assure you.” Cline stepped forward and slapped Dakkon on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” said Dakkon. “Just how strong have you grown now?”

  Cline was wearing much finer leather armor than most in the crowd. It was dark with a rose tint and covered in an excess of buckling clasps from toe to torso—his arms, however, were bare save for a familiar-looking archer’s vambrace.