Team Newb

by M Helbig

  The man took note of how Clewd didn’t seem to care about having a wolf continuously bite him and of his obviously high-level gear. He decided to take a step back. “And this quest involves killing my pet wolves and then what, me?”

  Clewd scratched his head and then the wolf’s. “I’m not actually sure. You see, I’m not the one on the quest. Lucas?”

  I scanned the quest again. The first objective had been completed while I was distracted with Clewd’s antics. “It says I need to find out why you’re not eating Farmer Fran’s chickens.”

  The man growled at me but held off on outright attacking when his eyes caught Clewd. “I’m not eating them because I need them for food during the winter. Those are not his chickens. They’re mine! He stole them while we were away, and I took them back.”

  This new bit of information was troubling. The quest changed.

  Quest: Yes, They’re Delicious, but You Can’t Have Them

  Description: The chickens have been chicken-napped by some smelly vagrant who has the audacity to claim they’re his. Well, they’re not; they clearly belong to the fine, upstanding Farmer Fran. He told you so, therefore it must be true . . . Look, he has cleaner clothes and a nicer house, so that means he’s automatically more trustworthy.

  Completion Objective:

  1. Find where the wolves have taken the chickens.

  2. Find out why they are not eating them.

  3. Take the chickens back to Farmer Fran.

  Bonus Objective:

  1. Kill Warl.

  2. Kill Warl Jr.

  Reward: Family Heirloom, 500 XP, 7 silver, +100 Reputation to Highwall

  Bonus Reward: 1,000 XP, 1 gold

  In RPGs I normally did what the quest told me to, but Warl and his son were too realistic to just casually murder. If I’d encountered them in the city and put better clothes on them, I’d have never been able to tell they weren’t players. After all, the son had been giving a very realistic scratch to his pimply face and was now very realistically howling at the appearing moon . . .

  “They’re werewolves!” I accidently said out loud.

  Warl turned back and clamped his hand over his son’s mouth, his long fingernails drawing a drop of blood in the middle of his son’s cheek. “Are not.”

  “My subscribers believe this rustic fellow,” Clewd said.

  “I thought you said you hadn’t figured out how to stream yet.”

  Clewd pouted. “It’s very rude to dismiss them like that because they aren’t real, and my subscribers happen to agree. Well, 90% of them do, 5% agree with you that it’s all right to be prejudiced against the imaginary, 3% don’t care, and 2% want more explosions and free ponies. And since majority rules, I’m going with the smelly fellow.”

  Warl removed his hand from his son’s mouth and put both hands on his waist. “Told you so.” His point was somewhat undercut when his son resumed his howling.

  The wolf on Clewd’s arm finally gave up and let go. Clewd didn’t care for that, so he punched it in the side of the head until it collapsed. He picked up the unconscious wolf and clamped its jaws back into his forearm. “With that point concluded, we should go back to town and record the bonus content, Lucas. Perhaps, we could go through your thought process on why these two gentlemen were werewolves, and I could explain where you went wrong.”

  Warl Jr. stopped howling and smirked. “Yeah. We’re clearly not werewolves anymore.”

  Warl reached his hand out to cover his son’s mouth again but realized halfway that he couldn’t retroactively take the words out of Junior’s mouth, so he turned back to us and sighed. “About ten years ago, a forlorn vagabond visited our farm here and asked if we needed any help in exchange for food. I wanted to send him on his way but my wife, Neora, insisted on letting him stay. Her kind heart was one of the chief reasons I loved her. As I’m sure you guessed, the vagabond was a werewolf. He infected Neora and Junior as they slept. I managed to kill him, but not before he bit me too. When the rest of the town found out, they ran us out, and we lived on the run scraping by on whatever we could.”

  “Is Neora inside?” I asked hesitantly. The pain in his voice made me forget he was only a computer simulation of a man, and a tear trickled down my face.

  “A hunter caught her three years ago, and the town held a festival in that murderer’s honor. He tracked us down too, but as fortune would have it, right before he could get us some adventurers fought him off and handed us a strange potion that cured our disease. We tried to thank them, but they ignored us and said something about ‘lewtz’ and ‘dinging’ before running off. We made our way back to our old home a few days ago and are trying to rebuild our shattered lives. The first thing on our list is to regain the animals stolen from us by our former neighbors. The one good result of our terrible ordeal is that we can still communicate with wolves, though we’ve maintained some less desirable traits as well.” He pointed at his incredibly hairy arms.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, the loot from this quest was the last thing I needed to get into Olaf’s group, and this guy was only a computer simulation of a person. On the other hand, he sure seemed real, and he was in the right. Farmer Fran and the rest of the town had driven him out and taken everything from him; he deserved those chickens . . . Perhaps there was another way. “What if you came back with me to speak to Farmer Fran?”

  You have unlocked the Detective skill!

  Warl eyed Clewd and then looked back at me. “Fine, but not my boy.” He turned to Junior. “Go to the secret place.” The boy got down on all fours and loped off.

  We made our way through the forest. When any wolves approached, they looked into Warl’s eyes and immediately turned back around, so it only took a few minutes to get back instead of the hour it’d taken to get there. Farmer Fran was in exactly the same spot where I’d left him, though he seemed spooked when he saw Warl. Clewd circled behind him, saying he needed a better shot for his pretend audience.

  Farmer Fran repeatedly wiped the sweat pouring from his brow. “I know you’re not the most experienced adventurer out there, young man, but that is not one of my chickens.”

  Warl stepped between us and put his finger in Fran’s chest. “Of course I’m not. All your chickens died before you had me exiled, and lo and behold, now you have quite a few and mine are all gone.”

  Farmer Fran took a step back. “That was a decade ago! Chickens only live seven years, nine tops. All of yours are dead.”

  Warl crossed his arms. “But they had babies and some of those babies had babies. I want those.”

  “None of those’d be here if I hadn’t taken them in. Besides, you’re still exiled. I’m going to get the sheriff.” Farmer Fran turned to walk off and ran right into Clewd. Clewd cursed Fran for ruining his shot and asked if we could do the take from the top. We ignored him.

  “The magistrate already cleared me to return, since my exile was contingent on me being inflicted with lycanthropy,” Warl said. “There was an all-day trial in town where they had three different healer classes cast all sorts of spells on me. All three concluded I was cured. Why weren’t you there? I thought everyone in Old Hope was there.”

  Fran wiped his forehead again as he sputtered a response, “I was busy supervising the removal of those despicable rabbits and even more despicable deer.”

  “Then why don’t we get the magistrate to settle this chicken problem?” I asked.

  “No!” they, as well as Clewd, said in unison.

  “He’ll take half of them as a consultation fee,” Fran said, “and he’s biased against the overweight.”

  “He’s also biased against former werewolves,” Warl said

  “He’s not photogenic and will demand I pay him above scale,” Clewd said.

  “Then why don’t you each take half of the chickens?” I said.

  Clewd’s eyes widened. “That’s an awful lot to cut in half, and even the robust farmer can’t possibly eat half of thirty chickens before they go bad.
”

  “They each take fifteen live chickens, not half of each one,” I growled.

  “A reasonable arrangement,” the farmer said, “but the rabbits have come back in spite of our young adventurer’s efforts, and I need those extra chickens for food to survive.”

  “Do wolves like the taste of rabbit?” I asked Warl.

  His eyes glinted yellow for a split second. “They do.”

  “If the wolves take out the rabbits, will you agree to give Warl half of the chickens?” I asked Fran.

  Fran brushed off his overalls. “If he can get the wolves to stay away from my coop as well, it’s a deal.”

  Warl grinned and then sprinted off into the forest. A few minutes later a wave of wolves descended from the forest onto the field. The ten or so players in the area scrambled away in panic. One of them ran into the wrong part of the forest, straight into the yellow eyes of Amphicyon. A loud scream emanated from that direction shortly after. Even as the wolves tore into them, the bunnies continued their assault on every leaf in sight. Within three minutes, the field was full of rabbit corpses and the wolves returned to the forest. A quest update splashed in front of my screen.

  Quest: Yes, They’re Delicious, but You Can’t Have Them

  Description: You got past Warl’s looks and managed to broker a peace between him and Farmer Fran. Farmer Fran now has half as many chickens, but his field is clear of rabbits. Plus, the wolves will stay away from his chickens in the future.

  Completion Objective:

  1. Find where the wolves have taken the chickens.

  2. Find out why they are not eating them.

  3. Broker a peace treaty between Warl and Farmer Fran.

  Bonus Objective:

  1. Don’t kill Warl.

  2. Don’t kill Warl Jr.

  Reward: Family Heirloom, 500 XP, 7 silver, +100 Reputation to Highwall

  Bonus Reward: Straw Hat, 1,000 XP, 1 gold, +500 Reputation to The Wolf Pack

  You have gained 1,500 Experience Points and a new Level!

  Welcome to Level 3! 927/8,000 to next level.

  You have received 2 stat points on leveling!

  You have gained 17 Hit Points on leveling! 51/51 HP Total.

  You have gained 4 Magic Points on leveling! 12/12MP Total.

  You have gained 8 Action Points on leveling! 24/24 AP Total.

  You have received 1 gold and 7 silver.

  You have been granted the loot: Family Heirloom and Straw Hat.

  You have received +100 Faction with Highwall. +200 Highwall (Friendly).

  You have received +500 Faction with The Wolf Pack. -590 (Suspicious).

  The Family Heirloom appeared in my inventory. It was a weapon, and when I tried to equip it, I was given the option to pick from a list of weapon types. I chose another curved sword called a scimitar. I also got a bonus item for my unorthodox completion of the quest. The Straw Hat wasn’t anything special, but the extra 2 AC would certainly help.

  I was so excited trying out my new items that I almost forgot about my new stat points. I’d survived pretty well now that I had equipment and mostly knew what I was doing; I put a point in Dexterity and another in Strength, so I could hit a little harder and faster.

  Horus

  Level: 3

  HP: 51/51

  Class: Adventurer

  MP: 12/12

  Race: Human

  AP: 24/24

  Experience: 927/8,000

  AC: 15

  STR: 20 (21)

  Resists

  AGI: 13

  Light: 0

  DEX: 20

  Dark: 5

  STA: 17

  Earth: 0

  END: 8

  Water: 0

  CHA: 9

  Fire: 5

  INT: 4

  Wind: 0

  WIS: 4

  HP Regen: 3 per minute (3.6 per minute out of combat)

  Carrying Capacity: 46/440

  MP Regen: 3 per minute

  AP Regen: 3 per minute

  Skills: 1-Handed Swords: 6/25, Flanking Attack 3/25, Inspect: 6/25, Regen 4/25, Survivalist 1/25

  “Wowie! Thanks, Farmer Fran.” I tried a few practice swings with my new sword. It seemed faster than the Inferior Shamshir even though the speed was listed as the same. It was definitely sharper. I quickly sent it to my inventory after accidentally cutting off the back of Fran’s wide-brimmed hat. Fortunately, he was too busy bickering with Warl to notice. As much as I wanted find out which of the men’s ancestors were worse, I figured it was past time I got back to town to get that pesky Tiredness debuff off.

  I Clearly Detailed That On Row Thirty-Seven of Spreadsheet Forty-Three Where It Says “Welcome to the Group”

  After I quickly sold my paltry loot, I lurched back to the same inn I’d slept in the night before. Neither Olaf nor any of his group members were there, but it was late, so I wasn’t surprised. I was actually a little relieved because the Tiredness was seriously hampering my ability to do much without difficulty. The devs had really gone overboard with that one. It’d jumped to a 33% percent decrease in all stats, and I only had thirty more minutes until it jumped up again.

  This time I was told the cost of a room and breakfast was one gold and one silver, instead of the one gold it’d been only a day ago. I wasn’t sure if the innkeeper could tell how desperate I was to remove the debuff, or if Pyrite had put in a gradual increase in cost as yet another money sink, but I didn’t argue. Whatever the reason, I dropped the coins on the counter without argument. Within three minutes, my face was in a pillow, and the last thing I saw was the debuff icon flash away.

  As my consciousness returned eight hours later, I was once again shocked that I didn’t have the need for my morning pee and that my breath was still minty fresh. A quick rub of my face showed no new stubble, which I thought was a neat feature until it dawned on me that if I ever did decide to grow a beard or mustache, I’d probably have to pay money for it.

  When I got downstairs, Olaf waved at me frantically to sit down at a booth on the other side of the room from his group. I assumed his group had found someone else, or they’d come up with a new requirement at which I’d failed. At least Olaf was being nice enough to explain it to me personally.

  I slumped down into the booth and mumbled something to the waitress. Either I’d somehow managed to form a coherent food order or she knew exactly what to bring the forlorn, because she immediately scampered away. Olaf didn’t even look me in the eye, confirming my suspicion of the worst.

  The waitress plopped down a bowl of oatmeal a second later and sprinted back into the kitchen without a single word. I was about to mutter a complaint about not getting a spoon when a loud voice nearly took me from my chair.

  “I should too get a cut, you pompous jerk!” The towering voice belonged to a squat mound of slick brown fur with a bright pink bow on top of her head. She was so mad she was literally hopping in front of the table that held Decrona and Alizia.

  Decrona leaned as far back in her chair as she could without falling over. “Nanny, the agreement states that everyone in the group gets a cut of any item sales that no one can use, and you are no longer in the group.”

  Olaf gave me a wincing smile.

  “But I was in the group when we looted it!” Nanny reached forward with her overly large teeth toward the nearest leg of Decrona’s chair.

  Decrona stood and slid the chair back before the beaverkin could chew it out from under her. “The agreement states that you have to be in the group when it sells. I was very particular with my wording when I created the group charter, and as much as it pained me to not include you in the split when the Tin Knuckles sold, the rules are law here.”

  “Pain? I’ll show you pain.” A warped spear with a wooden tip materialized in Nanny’s hands. “I want my money.”

  A pair of guards rose from the table behind Decrona, but she waved them off. “Nanny, dear, you’re embarrassing yourself, and for what? Seven paltry silver? That’s only wor
th 70¢ when you leave. Is that really worth fighting over?” She hesitantly moved toward Nanny.

  Nanny was saved from having to decide whether she wanted to spear Decrona when she caught the movement of a large green hand at the corner of her vision and twisted to intercept it. Alizia’s hand stopped as the spear point reached an inch from her fingers and seven silver coins slid out onto the table.

  “Jeez, Nanny,” Alizia said. “I was only trying to give you my cut. I know Decrona ruffles your fur, but that’s no reason to take it out on me. You should be used to her ‘pleasant’ personality by now.” She crossed her arms and somehow managed a pretty pout despite her protruding fangs.

  Nanny hopped back in embarrassment, her spear disappearing in a puff. “Sorry, dearie. Decrona’s lack of a personality made me temporarily forget about the good people in the group. You keep your money. Richie Rich over there, however, can afford to be a little more generous.” As Nanny turned to leave, her elbow connected with Decrona’s shin, scratching the polished leather and almost causing her to topple over.

  “I am quite generous, and you know it!” Decrona said as soon as Nanny’s back was to her. “But the group agreement must always be followed, and we didn’t include a sentiment clause in it. You might want to make sure your new group has one if it’s so important to you.”

  Nanny spun around with fury in her eyes. “Why, you . . . I wish it was you who . . . who . . .” She stuck her large paws over her mouth in embarrassment.

  Decrona smirked. “You wish I what, ‘dearie’? Do tell.”

  Nanny charged forward, but Alizia pulled her back. “I wish it was you who died in Amphicyon’s forest yesterday,” Nanny said.

  “That’s hardly a rarity,” Decrona said. “Amphicyon kills lots of players. Not one of your better ones, Nanny. My favorite was how you wished I fell off the cliff into a boiling vat of poison.”