First Login (Chronicle Book 1)

by Kevin Murphy

  The warrior, Wedge, perked up a bit and nodded. “Yes sir.”

  The other NPC warrior looked around to the bodies which hadn’t yet disappeared strewn about the cave. “What a damned shame,” he said while shaking his head. The others’ attitudes soured a bit when they looked around. Dakkon knew that he was the least affected. Damak and the two other warriors had been acquainted with most, if not all, of the NPCs on their expedition. Most were brothers-in-arms. Cline was an NPC, too, despite all signs to the contrary. Had he been one of the majority which fell along the way or in the battle, then it would all be over for him.

  Dakkon was just a player with no heavy ties to the deceased who’d stay dead. Still, he felt bad for them. Had Mary, the girl he’d given a pair of sheep to back in Greenburne; the street urchin he’d saved from being cut up in the streets of Correndin; or Cline, his oldest friend in the game died… he’d be furious. Those three were NPCs as well. In games, the loss of NPC lives was an ordinary occurrence. Initially, Dakkon had no feelings about the life or death of a game character in this world, but the more time he spent in Chronicle, the more that part of him was changing. He knew that the dead here were technically only simulations—numbers and code—but in this world, they were as real as he was.

  The five collected what they could of the items that dropped from the fallen NPCs to be returned to their families or reworked for redeployment by Tian’s military guard. The bodies of players had by now disappeared, but the NPCs remained. Ritual burial was not common nor desired. The world of Chronicle itself would vanish the corpses after a time. The Tian natives cleaned up the shrine as much as they could out of respect for the fallen spirit, then they left through the entrance which they had originally intended to enter through rather than chancing the forest filled with unsympathetic shapeshifters. This time, with no pressing need to be at their destination, they’d take the longer route home. Fortunately, Dakkon’s new boots would be far lighter in his pack.

  \\\

  On the journey back to Tian, Dakkon practiced thermomancy with his new Dousebinders. The theory behind using the water to create weapons, shields, and walls of ice seemed powerful, but getting the hang of freezing a large, quickly moving stream of water in a specific way was incredibly difficult and tended to drain his mana reserves well before anything useful took shape. Dakkon could make an ice cube or shoot slush the consistency of shaved ice without much difficulty—which might only prove useful if he were trying to make tropical drinks. Whenever he had the mana, he’d spend it all in his pursuit of slow, but steady, progress.

  The five traveled the roads alone at first from hamlet to village, but soon joined with a caravan when they neared bandit country. The last small town that the five passed through on their return was abuzz with gossips itching to tell the guards of Dakkon’s caravan what they’d heard. Two major developments were keeping the town’s workers preoccupied with the excitement of rumormongering.

  Settlements not a full day’s ride away had been burned over the past week by something ‘cruel and evil.’ The current iteration of the story was that the gods had a hand in it. As bold a claim as that seemed when Cline pointed out that the gods have never directly intervened in lives outside of legends and folk tales, one reputable know-it-all of the town dropped the real bomb that had the town in a tizzy: the gods had made a declaration. Or, at least, one god appeared to have. Altars everywhere honoring the god of destruction and chaos, who was typically prayed to when seeking misfortune for a rival, had conjured blood from stone—each altar displaying the same message:

  1 2 0

  There will be a selection.

  Struggle.

  The marked will compete.

  Kill.

  The culling will breed strength.

  Lust.

  The victor will be unstoppable.

  Power.

  Damak confirmed the message and claims by checking online forums. Even ChronCast was covering report after report of the message appearing in various locations, along with speculation about its possible meaning. Reports came from all over the continent within minutes of each other. It appeared the gods may have been at play, indeed.

  The forums had plenty of guesses about the number, too. A date; the number of selected participants; a countdown until the start or the next announcement; how many could win; the number of things that could be won; et cetera. Everything was speculatory, but gave the five something new to chat about on the last leg of their trip. What was known was that the messages began to appear around three or four days before, so if it was a timer counting down days, there would be plenty of time before the event began. If, for some reason, the gods had chosen to use hours in their cryptic message, then… things might suddenly get interesting.

  By the time they were back in Tian, Dakkon could open his palm and form a spear of ice in his hand—which looked impressive, even if ice wasn’t the most practical material for martial combat. A wall of ice still appeared to be out of reach, but a small, irregularly-shaped shield wouldn’t be much trouble. A more practical use, he found, was to form a sharp shard of ice in his hand which he could throw to give himself a practical ranged attack. Dakkon could manage to throw quite a few ice daggers in rapid succession. His aim was rubbish, however, and he had no clue how to hit a target with the sharp end of his icicles.

  Once back in town, the five first reported to the city’s military guard, who’d issued the quest and would oversee distributing currency to the quest’s participants. Although the majority of players had fallen before the boss’s loot had dropped, they would still be able to collect the general completion reward available to all participants. Unfortunately, that reward itself didn’t justify the incredible commitment to the journey—but this was likely the side effect of losing so many lives and failing the primary objective of calming the spirit down. Dakkon and Cline each received 50 gold and the city’s thanks—the latter likely being the far greater reward as Tian was a wonderful city, and the powerful player Gullen was proof that gaining favor and influence within the right factions can bring about quite a bit of its own prosperity. Dakkon doubted someone could reach Gullen’s station through simply completing quests for the city, though.

  When Dakkon met up with Sift, he walked up and immediately extended his hand with a smile. The monk took Dakkon’s hand and shook it.

  “Thank you, Sift,” Dakkon said. “You’re a legend.”

  Sift chuckled at the compliment. “As your ally, it was my duty.”

  “Here, let me get your things,” said Dakkon as he quickly pulled up his inventory. He returned the items Sift had dropped upon death because of the player killer’s mark he’d gained while coming to Dakkon’s aid. “There’s one more thing. These ought to be interesting with that whole Bruce Lee-style finishing stomp of yours.” Dakkon struggled to set the boots on the table one at a time.

  “What are these?” Sift asked as he lifted one up with what appeared to be little effort.

  “Woah,” thought Dakkon. “I’ll definitely need to invest more heavily in strength down the line.”

  “Heavy,” said Sift before examining the properties of the boots. As he read, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh…” he said.

  Dakkon grinned at the usually stoic monk’s reaction. “Think you can get some use out of those?”

  Sift nodded resolutely. “I will train until they are as my own feet,” Sift said. “Thank you, Dakkon.”

  Dakkon waved away the thanks. “You earned those more than any of us.”

  “Yet you slew the beast,” Sift said.

  Dakkon shrugged. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention that to anyone for now,” he said. He had been gone over a week with few survivors. As far as Gullen’s faction knew, Dakkon could have died and dropped his dagger during or after the boss battle. The lie couldn’t last for long, but the uncertainty might gain him some small opportunity that he couldn’t otherwise afford. “There’s a powerful man in Tian who wants my dagger. As lo
ng as he believes that I’ve still got it, I think he’ll keep sending his goons to ambush me like they did in the cave.”

  “Ah,” said Sift. “I wondered why our forces had divided.” He turned the boots over in his hands—admiring their craftsmanship.

  Dakkon nodded. “Maybe I can skip town while he’s still guessing.”

  “Then you are leaving?” asked Sift.

  “Yup,” replied Dakkon nonchalantly. “I’ve got fame and fortune to accumulate. Want to come?”

  Sift shook his head. “I must train. In my last trial, I was found lacking.”

  Dakkon was a little shocked. Sift had likely already surpassed the human limit on how good at fighting one could be. Dakkon could understand why Saden had wanted to get the monk out of the city to test himself in live combat. That had somehow backfired.

  “Well, that’s your prerogative, I suppose,” said Dakkon. “Let me know when you decide to train out in the world. I’ll have a party waiting at the very least.”

  The two shook hands and set out on their own paths. Cline was, reasonably, unwilling to travel with Dakkon while he had hitmen chasing him around—so Dakkon set off to the east side of town to gather provisions for his next trip to—the northeast he supposed; toward Turlin.

  Midway through resupplying, Dakkon was addressed from behind and to his right. “Did you trade your dagger for those water sprinklers?” asked a concise female voice. “That seems like a bad deal if you ask me.”

  Dakkon turned warily to see the sorceress who had saved him during his first trip to Tian. Only now, in the city, her name was known to him. “Ah, hello again… Lina?” Dakkon ignored the question. “What brings you back this way?” When he’d seen her before she was heading east, away from the city where they stood.

  “That’s precisely what I was hoping to talk with you about,” Lina said with a domineering smile. “Would you mind following and listening to me?”

  The situation was suspicious, but the sorceress had saved him and Nightshade once already. He didn’t see the harm in simply listening. “Sure,” he said.

  “Lovely,” she replied flatly, dropping all charm from her voice, then turned to walk.

  Dakkon had to hustle a bit to catch up and fall into stride with her. “So, what’s driven you to seek me out, of all people?”

  “I’d like to be completely honest with you from the onset. It should help to put the rest of our conversation into perspective,” Lina said. “I was hired to kill you.”

  Dakkon skipped a half step at the admission.

  “A lot, actually,” she emphasized the word ‘lot’ as though it were inevitable. “Over and over until you dropped the dagger or handed it to me.”

  “I see,” said Dakkon.

  “I was told you were collecting supplies here and came out to meet you, the supposed assassin-class who killed an ancient spirit,” the dark-haired sorceress said. “Imagine my surprise when my target turned out to be the very same traveler that I’d lent a hand to on the road.”

  “How’d you know I killed it?” asked Dakkon. “The spirit, I mean.”

  “I didn’t for certain, until now,” Lina said.

  “Ah, right,” said Dakkon. “I thought you had intended to be honest from the onset.”

  “I said you’d supposedly killed the ancient spirit.” Lina turned and smirked.

  Flustered by her tone and guile, Dakkon asked, “Well then what is it that you want from me?”

  “That depends,” said Lina. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “You have my complete and undivided attention,” Dakkon said.

  “Grand,” said Lina. ‘I’d like what I’m about to tell you to remain confidential.”

  Dakkon nodded once.

  “Something was stolen from me,” said the sorceress. “Something important.”

  Dakkon nodded once again. He didn’t know what she meant. Items couldn’t simply be stolen from players without some sort of elaborate scheme like the one he had just suffered through.

  “It is with great shame that I admit a fool has gotten the better of me,” Lina said. “I know him to be a fool because he’s made himself easy to track down—and I will regain what is mine. What I need from you is your dagger.”

  Dakkon stared at her blankly. “I take it you mean to say: me, wielding my dagger on your behalf?” Dakkon suggested.

  Lina smirked again. “If that’s how it’s got to be.”

  “That’s how it would have to be,” said Dakkon. “And what exactly am I being offered to help you out?”

  “Beyond your desire to repay my kindness on the road?” Lina prodded. “When we succeed in retrieving what I’ve lost, then I’ll refuse Gullen’s commission.”

  “So, I help you, or I die?” asked Dakkon. “Some choice.”

  “No,” said Lina, who sighed with the reticence of a tutor whose lesson should have already been learned. “You help me and I don’t kill you. Gullen wants you dead and he’s willing to pay handsomely.”

  “You know, the ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ sales pitch isn’t a very good persuasive tactic. Can’t you get that giant who carts you around to help?” Dakkon asked.

  “He will,” she said. “What you fail to understand is how much money I’d be turning down. I don’t like turning down easy money.”

  The certainty of his demise in her tone didn’t sit well with Dakkon, but he knew she was right. The ball of flaming death she’d used so casually on the road was of a completely different power level. He didn’t stand a chance against strength like that. Not yet.

  Dakkon considered his predicament. He definitely didn’t want the fire goddess incarnate out for his hide. While he thought, he remembered that Lina had easily pointed out his new wrist wraps in her ambush-like introduction. How could she know that they spray water?

  “How did you know about my Dousebinders?” he asked.

  Lina smiled knowingly. An air of mild to moderate condescension seemed to radiate from her, naturally. “Magical items are how I make my living, Dakkon,” she said. “Water producing items are a common mainstay of this world’s military campaigns. Being able to water men and horses alike is an incredible boon on marches. Though, I’m afraid an item such as that is likely ill-suited to a melee class such as yourself.”

  It was Dakkon’s turn to smile knowingly. He raised his hand and formed a spear of ice—spending more mana than was necessary to ensure it came out looking impressive. “They seem to have some use,” he said.

  “Oh, my,” Lina remarked with dancing eyes. “Yes, I think you may be of use to me after all.”

  Dakkon hadn’t needed to show off his trick with the wraps. Perhaps the sorceress had even been trying to bait him into revealing information about himself with her words. He didn’t care. He hated the feeling of being looked down upon by someone while they asked him to aid them. It reminded him of his old supervisor.

  “Well, what do you say?” asked Lina.

  “I’d be… willing?” he paused, “… to help if you’ll share some information on your trade,” Dakkon said after some consideration. “I’ll be frank. I need money and I want power. If you’ve got the funds to comfortably turn down one of Gullen’s offers, then it seems to me that you’ve got both. Teach me about finding and selling magic items.” Dakkon fixed determined eyes upon the sorceress.

  “Fine,” she said promptly, with no deliberation. “We shall need something to talk about on the way. Why not relics?”

  Chapter 27: Side Quest

  Dakkon and Lina met up with Merri, the hulking man who pulled Lina’s cart, as he gathered provisions and some crafting supplies. Apparently, despite the ridiculously thick size of his fingers, he was a practicing craftsman and preferred the more delicate trades that Chronicle had to offer over combat.

  Since they would be on the road, Dakkon fetched his horse, Nightshade, who was happy to be reunited with his rider. The horse had clearly grown a sense of contempt for the strict care provided by the m
onastic stables. When leaving the establishment, Nightshade expressed his disdain for being left behind by chomping at the stable hands. Dakkon felt bad for his horse, and he would have felt bad for the monks who ran the temple had they offered him a lower price for their services.

  When Nightshade saw the sorceress again he stopped dead in his tracks, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. The insane display of strength the horse witnessed firsthand would leave its impression on any who saw it, animals were no exception. Dakkon patted his horse’s neck in a reassuring manner. After Nightshade realized that they weren’t in any danger, the proud beast managed to stand as tall as usual.

  Merri pulled Lina alongside Dakkon and Nightshade. Thermomancer and flame mage expended their mana reserves to about half full, refilled them, then expended their reserves again to train as they traveled and conversed. Merri, however, was a man of few words.

  “I can see you’re eager,” Lina said to Dakkon. “I’ll start the explanation by giving you some perspective. You won’t have any success alone. Relic hunting requires a great number of eyes, ears, and keen minds. Magic items must be learned of, tracked down, recovered, then sold efficiently. Most players stumble through the game and only acquire magical gear when they’re bound to trip over it. Good hunters seek out magical items actively by scouring old tomes, pursuing cryptic quest lines, and keeping our eyes open and our ears to the ground. If you want to be a successful relic hunter, then first and foremost you’ll need a team.”

  Dakkon had managed to find some friends whom he assumed were worthy of his trust. He wouldn’t mind splitting bounties with them.

  “Would you like to join our successful relic-hunting troop?” Lina asked.

  The invitation was unexpected. It seemed out of character, and caught Dakkon off-guard. He did need the money, though. Why not? He could learn the tricks of the trade first-hand. “Well—” he started, but was cut off.

  “Well you can’t!” Lina snapped. “The point I’m trying to drive home here is that you’ll need a reliable, trustworthy team. If we just invited anyone then the system wouldn’t work.”