Trial and Flame

by Kevin Murphy

  “Later.”

  Chapter 6: Willing, but Weak

  Corbin awoke to the tangy scent of oranges—which would have been quite pleasant except for a tinge of foul ammonia which he guessed the faux-citrus was meant to hide. While he regained his bearings, he gently tumbled like laundry in its final cycles of being dried. There was a third scent in the air, as well. A vaguely sour, sweaty, smell which he assumed must have been his own, induced by the stress of various challenges. He knew he’d have to take a shower and wipe down the ChronPod, but the moment that the spinning ceased, he walked carefully to his restroom to make good on Roth’s suggestion.

  Corbin didn’t feel bad from his extended stay into the virtual world. He was certainly hungry—and thirsty doubly so—but he was alert and, though he didn’t think he needed it, found himself pleased to have an opportunity to stretch.

  “If I’m going to make a habit of this, I’m gonna have to start working out,” Corbin thought to himself, grimly.

  A sedentary lifestyle wouldn’t do him any favors, but Corbin hated the tedium of exercising strictly for the health benefits. He had managed to convince himself that he enjoyed working out a few times in the past, but only for week or month-long stretches. If he were to be completely honest with himself, working out made him feel as though he were pushing a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again—or at least showering only to sweat and shower again. Not to mention he’d have the pleasure of being incredibly sore for the first couple of weeks if he did things right.

  Training and physical activity in Chronicle felt different, though. Why was that? Nearly-instant gratification through stat and skill improvements? It still required a fair amount of effort. Maybe, just maybe, he could trick himself into treating exercise in the real world like he would in game. It was worth a shot, at the very least.

  Despite all of the initially-dazzling technological advancements Corbin had witnessed in his lifetime, nutrition and exercise were as muddied and confusing as they’d ever been. The only tried and true methods to stay in shape were calorie counting, fasting, and a whole lot of hard work.

  “Pixie,” said Corbin. A projection of his tiny, winged humanoid assistant appeared from a little cloud of shimmering animated pixie dust. “Would you please get a shower running for me at the normal settings?”

  His AI assistant snapped and pointed both of her little index fingers in the direction of the shower, while Corbin walked into the kitchenette-space where his Print-n-Grille meal fabricator was sitting unceremoniously plopped upon a table slightly too small for it.

  “Pack it!” Corbin said, enthusiastically as he went to pour himself a glass of water.

  “What would you like me to cook for you? If you’d like a list of options, just say ‘What’s Cooking!’”

  “What’s cooking,” Corbin said after taking a sip of water. When his older-model Print-n-Grille failed to respond, Corbin sighed. “What’s Cooking!” he exclaimed.

  “Nothing but the best in packet meals brought to you by Pacquet brand! It looks like you’ve got the following packets: biscuits, chicken, roast beef, green-leans, rice, coco-not, herb pack one, and spice pack one. You can combine any of these excellent flavors into a dish, or I can recommend one!”

  For one reason or another, there had been some industry backlash about calling synthetic fruits and vegetables designed for use with 3d printers by the same name as their naturally-grown counterparts, so companies came up with their own variations for them. This didn’t hold true for grains or meats, so it was anyone’s guess as to why fruits and vegetables were unacceptable. Corbin suspected it might have something to do with the rise of synthetic meats, but it could have just as easily been the work of good, old-fashioned lobbying.

  Despite Corbin’s lack of enthusiasm for the product, 3d food printing had become an essential kitchen gadget more common than can openers, toasters, and microwave ovens. Earlier-generation models, such as Corbin’s, had been retrofitted through firmware updates which added new functionality such as the ability to view and use customer-submitted, rated, and reviewed recipes from a network of on-brand 3d printers. They were also made affordable for the masses by configuring them to play ads every time they were in use, earning companies such as Pacquet a hefty sum.

  Due to his 3d food printer being of the ad-filled, retrofit variety, one thing Corbin was sure of was that he did not want to try any meal his machine suggested to him containing ‘coco-not.’ That packet had come suspiciously pre-installed on his machine and reasonable doubt as to its origins had caused it to remain unused for years. Loading new packets into a food printer did cause the machine to undergo a short self-cleaning procedure for that ingredient’s associated tubing, but that procedure would never happen if the packet was never changed—and at this point, he was no longer sure that the machine’s self-cleaning system could fully handle the problem.

  “Not today,” Corbin said. “Make me ‘Andy’s Best Beef Wellington’ and some peppered green-leans.”

  “Sure thing! ‘Andy’s Best Beef Wellington’ and peppered green-leans is a complex dish that will take roughly 20 minutes to complete with your model of Print-n-Grille. If you upgrade to a—”

  “Print-n-Grille volume mute,” said Corbin. He was already walking toward the shower.

  \\\

  After showering, setting up a virtual clock to display in-game time, wiping down his ChronPod, and eating, Corbin was feeling good. Oddly good. The sort of good that he couldn’t really remember experiencing, though he was sure he must have felt at some point. Compared to when he typically lounged in his apartment, something was different. It was only after a minute of zoning out to the rapidly-changing numbers of the game-time clock that he finally figured out what had changed:

  For the first time in eight years, he didn’t feel particularly stressed about work.

  With enough money for nearly two months’ rent already safely pulled out of Chronicle and deposited in his bank account plus a ChronPod, he now had the better part of eight months to find more. He could, though of course he wouldn’t, vacation for the equivalent of four months and still have a larger remaining safety net than he’d ever known. The fact remained, however, that he could if he wanted to.

  Corbin couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the prospect of taking a vacation. The sensation of being so unexpectedly free invigorated him. He even found himself unconsciously nodding when he was interrupted by his AI assistant.

  “Hey boss…” the pixie hologram said, then fluttered in front of Corbin’s face. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Hmm?” Corbin said, realizing that he had been grinning and nodding at nothing in a manner which was completely out of the ordinary. AI systems were configured to analyze erratic activity for a whole host of reasons, though his behavior was likely only strange enough to make him seem confused. “Yes! Things are going very well, Pixie.”

  Corbin reached out to his AI assistant and, with his right index finger, patted her on the head—or the space where her head would have been if she had been more than a simple projection. The pixie’s eyes widened and she blushed, then pushed off from the tip of his finger with both arms and flew around in little, befuddled circles.

  It was all an act, of course. Unlike in Chronicle, AI in the outside world didn’t get flustered or confused except for in show. It simply wasn’t necessary. Still, Corbin seeing the little pixie zip around brought back memories of when he had first gotten her. He used to treat her like a companion. For so long now, though, it had simply been business as usual.

  “Say Pixie, would you like to watch ChronCast with me?” Corbin asked.

  The pixie swerved around and stopped midair, looking over her shoulder at Corbin.

  “I’d love to!” she exclaimed, delightedly. She pointed at the wall opposite of the couch and, through the magic of augmented reality, it transformed into a large monitor playing a live feed from the real-world division of the ChronCast. The pixie zipped over
to and settled atop Corbin’s right knee, which was raised due to his cross-legged posture. They watched the news as it came, and for the first time in ages, Corbin felt like he wasn’t quite so alone in his apartment after all. Corbin watched the feed in companionable silence.

  “Multiclassing has grown considerably in popularity amongst elven players below level 50, though fewer combat-focused classes tend to stick with it beyond that point. At lower levels especially, it really helps to have the ability to heal up in a pinch.”

  The current anchorman on ChronCast had a steady voice—not quite droning, and full. Corbin thought it was a good voice for presenting current events.

  “The reason most players prefer a single role, as opposed to two, is that players who multiclass are 30 percent weaker than their one-job counterparts. It’s clear to see why a damage dealer, tank, or even a crafter might turn a blind-eye to multiclassing if it makes them unable to compete with their peers.

  “That’s not to say that multiclassing is worthless, however. Buffing classes which strengthen the entire party may not need to be quite so meticulously min-maxed, allowing them to serve as a backup healer, debuffer, or damage dealer.”

  Corbin had expected to hear nonstop news related to the tournament given the freshness of events in real time, and so was pleasantly surprised to find a story relevant to him. A laid-back topic about skills was just the ticket for properly unwinding. He leaned into the soft crook of his sofa and leisurely cast his feet out onto his ottoman for maximum comfort, making sure not to launch away the pixie resting on his knee.

  “There’s another draw to multiclassing aside from being able to perform adequately at two roles, too, and it’s probably the biggest reason to give multiclassing a try for yourself. Multiclassing allows players to combine skills from two classes into new skills. Have you ever seen a mage hurl boiling water? That skill is probably the result of a fire mage multiclassing with a water mage. That same water mage might multiclass with an ice mage to create massive, glacial spikes. Even crafting skills can be combined. The possibilities are practically endless.

  “Now, it’s important to know that not all skills can be mushed together, and simply having both skills isn’t enough to use a combination skill. Since skills are invoked by thinking or saying a skill name, it would be impossible to say two names at once. So, to use a combination skill, the caster would need to learn the name of the new skill first. That can be done by finding an NPC who knows that particular skill, by talking with other players, or by finding the information yourself by reading old, in-game books containing even older stories. Some players have even reported that they’ve learned a combination skill by stumbling onto the names randomly.

  “After you’ve used a combination skill once, it will show up in your list of skills, so you can check its name and effects with a glance. Unlike most other abilities, though, combination skills cannot be leveled up and rely entirely on the strength of the two skills being fused together.

  “As you can see, multiclassing is a powerful option that every player should consider. Even if you find that multiclassing isn’t for you, you can always return to a single class, so there’s really no harm in experimenting. If you or anyone you know has stumbled onto a combination skill by sheer luck, be sure to let us know.”

  The bit about being able to return to a single class wasn’t true for Corbin’s avatar anymore, but from the sound of things, that wasn’t going to hold him back. He was absolutely going to play around with this new information as soon as he returned to the game world.

  “And now, back to up-to-date news on the Tournament of the Gods. There’s still no way to be certain how many participants have been selected to take part in the tournament, though some ChronCast forum mathematicians have made some compelling speculations on…”

  The newscaster’s soothing voice and the change of topic mixed together with Corbin’s new stress-free outlook on finding work and the soft cushions of his economy furniture. The resulting concoction was unavoidable sleep.

  \\\

  “…urged to be wary of where they logout. Reports are streaming in of players being followed and even killed by non-tournament participants, supposedly to sell the information of their login or respawn location to tournament participants. If you’re in the tournament and find yourself randomly slain by someone not in the tournament, it may be in your best interest to take a few days-worth of break time so that your assailant’s wait is in vain.”

  Corbin awoke to a different, less-lulling anchor’s voice reporting on the ChronCast. The anchorwoman was in her mid-twenties with dark black hair. Corbin recognized her as being one of the audience-favorites. While it was strange to see someone new after a long-blink like he’d taken, the freshness with which the current anchor spoke suggested that Corbin might very well have slept through the entirety of yet another anchor’s shift. A quick glance to his clocks told him he hadn’t overslept, and relief poured over him. The jolt to his system helped to wake him, but Corbin realized that he actually felt quite a bit more tired after his nap compared to when he had first stepped out of his ChronPod. Perhaps he was over-rested?

  “There have been further reports of what’s been called ‘collusion’ by many players, as tournament participants team up in larger groups to hunt down weaker targets. A tournament participant by the name of Rayne responded to the concern by saying, ‘Of course we’re teaming up! It’s an obvious advantage to work with a group in a situation like this. There aren’t any rules, so the bigger guy will always win. If you aren’t teaming up on principle, then you’re just asking for a big fish to gobble you up!’

  “In other news, Crown Prince Rickert of the human realm of Denmas, was absent from an international council with representatives sent by both the elven and dwarven factions, despite his prior insistence that he be trusted to act as a mediator between them. The royal family has not made a comment on the matter, but it is believed that the prince may be ill. Finding a cure for the sick prince may soon very well open up as a questline in the capital city, Correndin.

  “Cloth, metal, leather, twine, and even paper have been used as effective tools to hide the glow of tournament participant sigils when used as part of a disguise. Any thin material that is capable of blocking the sigil’s light can be affixed to the forehead, then painted over with makeup to hide a player’s participation status. Unfortunately for participants, that tactic is now well-known. We here at ChronCast urge you not to try using this method of disguise. Attacks on those with oddly-shaped foreheads has become so commonplace that it’s gained the name, ‘noggin bopping,’ and some non-participants have even been affected. We now bring to the show, Kemppa, a non-tournament participant, who was recently attacked and killed simply for playing with an unaltered avatar.”

  “Hello, Emily, thank you for giving me a chance to speak,” said a man with a round head and particularly lumpy forehead who appeared on a smaller display within the ChronCast broadcast. “It’s really a shame that this sort of thing has to happen.”

  “It certainly is,” replied the reporter with a nod.

  The newly-joined Kemppa began to speak, “You people out there attacking decent, innocent folk ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I was just minding my own—”

  Corbin had had his fill of news stories for the day, plus, thanks to his nap, it was nearly time to meet back up with his friends in Chronicle. He just needed to grab a quick snack, then he’d be ready for another long session in the pod.

  Standing up revealed to him that his left leg had fallen asleep, temporarily impeding his progress toward his kitchenette. As he stood, waiting for the blood to properly recirculate to his extremities, he felt strangely dizzy. He made up his mind then. He would definitely need to get into better shape if he wanted to spend so much time, immobile, in a capsule.

  After a quick bite to eat, a bathroom break, and a last-minute voice command to turn off the augmented reality wall-sized screen to save a little power, Corbin climbed back
into his pod—wearing only his polka-dotted skivvies.

  “Power on,” Corbin said with anticipation borne from knowing he was about to brave untamed wilds with a group of friends.

  The capsule began to whir, the lid slid shut above him, and his enclosure tilted back. Corbin grabbed onto the acclimatization handles positioned to his sides, then sturdy airbags filled and snuggly pressed sensors along the length of him.

  “To begin playing Chronicle, please say ‘engage,’” a businesslike female voice stated.

  “Engage,” said Corbin. A puff of orange cream popsicle-scented air insisted he close his eyes.

  Chapter 7: Mina’s Path

  Despite being a smidgen early, Dakkon was the next-to-last to reenter the world of Chronicle—leaving only Roth unreturned. The ‘thwonk’ of an arrow hitting a tree greeted him as Cline practiced his new skill, and Mina waved him over.

  “Dakkon, I think I might’ve found something worth checking out,” Mina said. “Care to take out your map for a bit so I can have another look?”

  “Sure, no problem,” Dakkon said as he pulled out and handed over the shoddier of his two maps on which Qirim had found the odd, possibly dwarven, symbol.

  After a moment of comparing the map’s layout against her own smaller and more-localized one, she nodded. “Yup, looks like it lines up.”

  “What lines up?” Dakkon asked.

  “During the downtime I did some scouting ahead online. If we head directly toward that location on your map, we’ll come very close to Klith—a mining town with a dungeon,” Mina said.

  “Are you saying we should be worried about running into people in the area, on account of the tournament sigils?” Dakkon asked as he pointed toward the sigil on his forehead. “Or that we should stop by?”

  “Even though Klith is a small town with its own dungeon, practically no one goes there,” Mina said. “I’d like to check it out—safely of course.”