More Than a Game

by Andrey Vasilyev

  That was when my alarm went off, thank God. Sometimes fun little twists in life can come back to haunt you—after all, we’d just been talking about Spartacus. But whatever, it was time for battle. I had a cup of tea and got ready to crush some skeleton ribs under the watchful eye of our elder clanmates.

  I got to the square about twenty minutes early, and the first person I saw there was an old Noobland friend: Oygolinn. He’d found a way to get all the way up to Level 27 and pick up some nice equipment. His bow certainly represented an upgrade over my simple club.

  “It’s an elf up in here!” I waved to him. “Well, look at you. Have you even eaten or slept? We started at the same time!”

  “Hey!” Oygolinn greeted me. “Well, not everyone is as lazy as you are. Looks like you couldn’t jump more than two levels. How are you here, actually? Don’t you have to be Level 25?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s a big secret. But seriously, how did you level-up so fast?”

  “Not that fast,” the elf said with a wave of his arms. “Since we were together, I only left the game when my brain started to shut down. Slept four hours and jumped back in. City, location; city, location.”

  “Why go to the city?”

  “I sold everything I got to traders and left the gold in my room. PKers are brutal. It seems like there are a lot of them lately. They got me at least 20 times. The last time they killed me, I decided to hell with it, logged onto a forum, looked through the list of clans, and picked the Thunderbirds. Their terms and conditions aren’t too bad, and they’re strong on protection: PKers aren’t tolerated in the least. So how did you get stuck on Level 6?”

  “You know, somehow it just happened…I’m not sure. First one thing, then another… Today, I’ll do some leveling-up.”

  People had been trickling in while we were talking. Honestly, I’d thought there would only be five or six of us, but there were already nine people there… Well, not exactly people. There were four humans: two tanks, an archer, and a mage. Then there were two elves, a lone dwarf, and a halfling named Liutix. I had never seen a halfling before then, and they were definitely unusual. I almost asked Liutix to take off his boots so I could see how hairy his feet were. I was intrigued! But just then, my new acquaintance Eilinn walked out of the fortress, counted heads, and said, “All right, we’re missing one. Sergeant, who isn’t here?”

  Sergeant walked out from behind him just as sullen as he’d been the day before (or maybe that’s just how he always was) dressed in chainmail. He had a battle ax in his belt, and on his head was a helmet that looked like a teapot with a second spout and lid soldered onto it. After a quick recount, he answered, “We’re missing an elf. Gless. Level 26 hunter.”

  But as soon as the word “hunter” had left his lips, Gless appeared in front of Sergeant in all his elfish glory. Sergeant jumped back.

  “You elves,” he said angrily, “only care about your entrances!”

  “Sorry,” stammered Gless, looking sideways at him and sidling off toward the main group.

  “Wow,” I said. “Sergeant, you’re a magician. So, if you say ‘cask of beer,’ does a cask of beer appear?”

  “I’ll tell you this much, if I say ‘big bruise on your head’ and wave my magic wand,” he said while tenderly caressing the battle ax at his side, “you’ll get your fairytale! And it won’t have a happy ending!”

  “Okay, quiet,” said Eilinn. “Everyone’s here, no one’s late, and that’s a good thing. Okay, listen up. We’ll start by going over some information and then port out. We’re going to Gringvort, where the monsters average out to around Levels 29 to 34. It’s populated by skeletons and zombies mostly, though you’ll also come across death dogs and specters. The average respawn is four minutes. Sometimes, there’ll be bosses, but you don’t have to worry about them; that’s what these fine folks are here for.” He waved his hand toward the fortress, in front of which stood three high-level warriors (you could tell just by looking at their equipment and weapons). There were two archers—a man and a girl—and a swordsman.

  “That’s Rango.” The male archer waved.

  “That’s Krolina or just Kro.” The girl curtsied.

  “And finally, Reineke Lis, or Lis.” The swordsman pressed a fist to his chest and did a half bow.

  “Lisikins,” laughed Krolina.

  “They have a ton of experience, and they’re guild veterans. So, they’ll make sure you don’t have to deal with any bosses or unexpected bot respawns. Those don’t often happen, though they do happen. We also sometimes get PKers wandering around over there, if very rarely. Generally speaking, they’re either really low-level and have no idea what they’re doing, or they’re part of very experienced gangs. The noobs you can deal with yourselves, seeing has there are ten of you, though you won’t be able to handle any veteran PKers. Just don’t expect us to take care of bots for you. None of those three will join your group, and none of them will help you in battles you should be able to handle yourself.”

  “All right, kiddies,” clapped Sergeant. “Form up!”

  “Who’s the leader?” asked a burly barbarian named Ronin.

  “How should we know?” Eilinn answered with a question of his own. “It’s your group, so you decide.”

  “But we don’t even know each other!” an elf girl said with some surprise.

  “So what?” Sergeant asked. “There are lots of ways to choose a leader quickly, even if you don’t know anyone.”

  Just then, I received a group invitation sent by Oygolinn. Of course, I accepted. I couldn’t care less about being the leader, so if someone else out there wanted to do the honors—more power to them.

  “Why does it have to be you?” Ronin responded sharply, obviously having just received the invitation. “Maybe I want to be leader?”

  “Then you should have sent your invitation first,” Eilinn agreeably observed.

  “The early bird gets the worm,” noted Reineke Lis as he walked over.

  “Oh, you’re kidding me!” Ronin was beside himself, and barely containing his anger.

  Everyone else had no problem accepting their invitations to the group, and soon it was official.

  “What trophy distribution did you set?” Sergeant asked Oygolinn.

  “Who Needs What,” the latter answered.

  Trophies were a big deal. When you played in a group, there were four ways to distribute loot: to the group leader, to whoever got the last strike in, democratically (get what you can), and who needs what (the best option). While in the first three modes, loot always went to a specific person, in the last mode, players received a message asking them if they needed each item. If they didn’t, they selected “no” and didn’t participate in the lottery. If they selected “yes,” a virtual die was rolled for each person, and the one with the highest number got the item or resource. It was fair and worked well. Nice job, Oygolinn. Additionally, the money you got for killing enemies was distributed between everyone in the group equally and automatically.

  “Why?” asked a frustrated Ronin. “Let’s go with Last Strike. If we do it your way, I might do all the killing and be left with nothing!”

  “No problem,” said Oygolinn. “Let’s vote. Who’s for Last Strike?”

  Only one person beside Ronin raised their hand, an archer named Kerv.

  “Who wants Who Needs What?” Everyone else raised their hand.

  “Done. And just so you know, that was the last bit of democracy we’ll have in the group. I’m the leader, and I make decisions. If I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it. If you don’t listen, I’ll kick you out of the group.”

  I happened to see Eilinn glance quickly at Sergeant. Interesting.

  “Don’t kick anyone out,” said Eilinn. “This trip is organized by the Thunderbirds, and you’re all volunteers. You don’t get to kick people out of the group, though you are responsible for commanding it. You can also demand that they listen to your instructions in battle, and you decide how to distribute loo
t.”

  “Exactly!” Ronin was at it again.

  “Is everything clear?” asked Sergeant. “Eilinn, open the portal.”

  “Eilinn barked out some kind of spell, waved his staff, and a portal opened. It looked exactly as I expected it to—a big blue circle with shimmering edges, rolling around and all of that…

  “What are we waiting for?” Sergeant yelled. “Get in there! It’ll collapse soon, and you’ll miss your chance!”

  We didn’t need a second invitation, as everyone crowded in its direction.

  Gringvort

  A place where warriors from the great but long-forgotten kingdom of Ringholl gathered for hunts and buhurts. After the second Skeleton War, it fell under a curse laid on it by a powerful necromancer.

  The undead now populate it and…

  I skipped the rest of the interesting, if very long and untimely story, about Fayroll’s attractions. If I’d been alone, I would have read it. In my case, however, I doubted the Sergeant would let me, and I didn’t want to miss anything important.

  We were standing on a small hill. In front of us, was a modest plain littered with picturesque ruins that looked as if they once could have been small outposts built for something big—to protect the remnants of Darkness, for example, as they slunk away from the west or the machinations of the enemy. A little forest began about a kilometer and a half away from us. In short, it was an idyllic spot.

  “Well, there’s your field of battle. As soon as you walk down to the bottom of the hill, skeletons will start coming up out of the ground. The zombies start a bit later, closer to the forest. The bosses almost always come alone. One of them, the leech, comes out of those wrecks.” Eilinn’s finger pointed toward a group of ruins to the left of the hill. “And the zombie king usually comes out of the woods. We’ll keep an eye out, so just focus on fighting. Any questions?”

  “Yes, I have one.” I raised my hand. “What happens if we die? I mean, who knows what will happen. Everything here is pretty strong, and if they catch me once, that’ll be it. Where’s the respawn point?”

  “Good question,” Eilinn said, looking at me. “The respawn is here, right behind us.”

  He waved a finger behind him at (How did I miss it?) a stone covered in runes that had a slight glow.

  “You should all link to it. Otherwise, you’ll respawn back at the fortress if you die. And no one’s going back for you!” Sergeant shouted in his normal tone of voice.

  “Just remember to relink when we get back to the fortress,” said Krolina, “or you’ll find yourself back here, and it’s a long way to the fortress or Aegan.”

  I opened the map and checked to see where we were. Aegan was a ways away. Probably fifteen days away, and the path was full of tough (for me, of course) locations.

  Locations in Fayroll were relative, seeing as how it was a world—like all the other latest generation games—that was complete and seamless. The only differences were the levels of enemies you faced and the place names. There wasn’t any loading, no “wait a second.” When there weren’t any more skeletons, werewolves would start coming, and I’d probably be at the next location. Although, sure, they might both be happy living together at the same spot. Leaving Gringvort would put me in the Deisnell Plain so everything around me would change, though there could be who knows how many types of enemies in the plain. In contrast to a lowland area like Gringvort, the plains could be absolutely enormous—hundreds of villages, dozens of cities, a nomad camp…the variety was impressive. And no matter where you went you’d find friends, enemies, quests, skill masters, and traders—whatever you wanted.

  Finally, we started down the hill. We were linked to the respawn point, our weapons were drawn, and it was time for battle.

  “All right, comrades.” Oygolinn stopped us when we were almost to the foot of the hill. “Tactics. Everyone just do your thing for the first five skeletons so I can get a look at what you can do.”

  At the same time, our commanders came down the hill. Sergeant and Eilinn listened to our conversation with interest, though they made no attempt to come any closer or participate. The veterans laid out on the grass, and Reineke even pulled out a pipe and filled it with tobacco (in contrast to many other games, Fayroll was fine with all legal types of smoking during the game; it just served to get them more players).

  “Your poor little eyes will be okay with that?!” Ronin sharply responded. “What, you think we’re some kind of experiment? And what can you do?”

  “He jumped 23 levels in a couple days,” I answered. “You took what, three weeks to go that far?”

  “Shut your mouth,” Ronin snarled at me. “I still haven’t figured out how a Level 6 wimp like you got in with the volunteers.”

  “Excuse me, but that has nothing to do with us,” Eilinn’s voice chimed in. “I’d also like to mention that the group has five hours for the raid. The more time you waste now, the less experience you’ll get later.”

  “Everyone be quiet!” barked Oygolinn. “I’m the group leader, and I’ll make the decisions. Right now, we’re going to kill five skeletons, after which, I’ll split everyone up into squads of three… And you’ll tag along with one of them as a fourth.” He cast a quick glance in my direction.

  “Here’s the formation,” ordered Oygolinn. “I’m in front with Ronin and Fladr.” The dwarf nodded, the barbarian grimaced. “We’ll get the skeletons to attack us while the hunters shoot them down. Besides me, we have three hunters.” Two elves and a human also nodded.

  “Flosi and you, Liutix, guard the hunters in case someone goes after them. Make sure they target you.”

  “But I’m a thief!” Liutix said indignantly while the big paladin quietly received his orders.

  “So? I’m an archer, but I’ll be on the front lines, too,” Oygolinn said. “If it gets to be too much, we’ll rotate until the hunters finish them off. Just don’t go too far, or you’ll attract new ones.”

  “And who,” the leader looked at the mage, “can heal?”

  The mage, whose name was Rodriquez (a real-looking one, with a beard and staff, though the staff was obviously much simpler than Eilinn’s), gravely nodded.

  “Stay close to me, and I’ll tell you who to heal if it comes to that. Well, and keep an eye out yourself. Can anyone do any buffing?”

  “I can do protection against the elements,” Rodriguez’s deep voice boomed.

  “Can’t hurt—go for it.”

  The mage twirled his staff, shouting something in a language I didn’t know, and I saw that we now had a five percent protection against air, fire, and water damage.

  “And you,” Oygolinn looked at me and exhaled, “stay in the back.”

  Well, obviously. Where was I going to go with my attributes? One blow from a Level 20 skeleton, and I’d be a memory up there next to the stone on the hill…in my underwear.

  “We’ll kill five skeletons and fall back to the hill,” our leader said before we set off. At the front of the procession, our two swordsmen flanked our commander; several steps behind them were the three hunters with arrows strung and ready; behind them, were Liutix with his dagger at the ready and the paladin, then me; and bringing up the rear was our gray-bearded mage.

  About fifteen steps in front of the trio, the ground started expanding almost immediately, with one spot even closer. It grew and grew until skeletons started to climb out. They were straight out of a fantasy novel, waving and shaking rusty swords and shields, rattling bones, clinking chainmail. In the deep eye sockets set in their yellow skulls, burned small red fires. One after another, the bubbles of earth popped, with each…I don’t know, pop or explosion…yielding three skeletons. Our plan to take out five targets was discarded before it ever began, and the skeletons hopped toward us out of their craters. The whole scene was especially eerie given the dead (what else?) silence surrounding it all. We were all quiet, watching events unfold. It isn’t every day that you have skeletons running at you. As far as I know, not even 10 percen
t of the people in Fayroll had come across the undead. The veterans, on the other hand, were quiet because it was something they’d seen many times. The skeletons were quiet, of course, because they didn’t have anything to speak with.

  Oygolinn reacted first, sinking an arrow into a skeleton running at him—and it was a good hit, immediately taking out half the skeleton’s health (not his life—what kind of life can a dead skeleton have?). The skeleton then took a slash from Fladr’s sword and a cut from Ronin’s steel, at which point I received a message:

  You unlocked Strength of the Strong, Level 1.

  To get it, destroy nine more enemies that are 10 levels or more above you.

  Reward:

  Daredevil, a passive ability, Level 1: +0.3% to the damage you do with all weapon types

  Title: Fearless Strongman

  To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

  Before I had time to say “wow,” I got another one:

  You unlocked Death of Bones, Level 1.

  To get it, destroy another 49 warrior skeletons.

  Reward:

  Mental Fortitude, a passive attribute, Level 1: +0.7% to your mental strength against grave horrors

  0.2% defense against poisons

  To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

  Everyone else got the message about all the bones and stuff as well, and that tripped up the group. The skeletons used that against us, and our front line began taking hits. The first two skeletons started smacking them in the head, but that was only part of the problem. Right behind those two, were six more.

  “Hunters, fire!” Oygolinn’s cry rang out. “Rodriguez, heal us! Flosi, get over here! Hagen, Liutix—to the left and right flanks. If you’re attacked, get them to target someone else and run for the hill, so you don’t trigger more of them!”

  I dashed to my left as the archers fired and scanned the area to make sure we wouldn’t be outflanked. Meanwhile, things were hopping at the front of our group. Oygolinn’s command couldn’t have come at a better time, as it shook the archers out of their stupor. They quickly took out two of the first three skeletons and heavily damaged the second trio, making them easy pickings for the three swords of our tanks. When the first fell, I leveled-up.