Deadline

by Domino Finn

  It didn't take long. The levity was welcome, but everyone wanted to hear the latest and be assured there was a future. It was good the rumors had already swirled around so I didn't need to rehash the sordid details, though I didn't want to appear like I was glossing over anything either.

  "Yes," I said as the crowd quieted, "much of what you've heard is true. Saint Peter is dead. So are his Defenders. Hadrian escaped with the Eye of Orik and sits on Oakengard's throne as its Protector."

  Izzy marched along the bar, carefully stepping over half-filled mugs. "But that's not enough for him," she announced. "Hadrian the Whisperer will be doing less protecting and more attacking. His goal is to rule all of Haven. To essentially become a god."

  Gasps and stifled exclamations answered her stirring words. She was a natural at this, adding flair to my workmanlike facts. It was a good tack considering the big ask that was coming.

  "Send Decimus at 'im," cried Nooner, surrounded by a gang of enforcers.

  I nodded his way. "Decimus is also dead, as is our friend Lucifer. The developers can't do much to help us either. That means we're on our own."

  "What about the pagans?" shouted a woman outside. "Without the Eye, they can breach the walls!"

  A gargantuan snort uprooted the poor woman. She spun and raised her eyes to the eight-foot-tall mountain bongo towering behind her.

  "No one's getting past the gates," I announced firmly. "And the pagans aren't the problem. We're well beyond Haven as a game, beyond the mentality of wild pagans versus civilized crusaders. That's all horseshit. This fight is about freedom versus tyranny."

  Heads bobbed among the spectators and Izzy took the baton. "The Haven beta test is coming to an end. We launch in precisely three days, and how we start is a statement about the kind of world we decide to live in. Will we cower in safety, fearing for our lives, merely surviving the afterlife? Or will we stand strong, stand together, and fight for what we believe in?"

  Affirmative words and grunts infected the crowd. Izzy had cleverly gotten to the heart of the matter without explaining the nitty-gritty game mechanics. I checked behind the bar in case Trafford wanted to add his own sentiment.

  The buildmaster general held a frothy mug above his head. "I'll drink to that!" Glasses raised with cheers. Those without drinks pushed toward the bar. "All right," said Trafford, pushing loafers away. "Move along. Keep a healthy flow so everyone gets a drink. I don't tolerate loiterers and slack-jaws!"

  I shook my head at the vociferous bar patrons. If Izzy thought my use of the dragonspear was a flagrant foul, Trafford had no respect for the game at all.

  "Quiet down!" I boomed. "There's a lot to do. A fellow Black Hat, Hex, is imprisoned somewhere in Oakengard, now being led by a tyrant. Our brewmaster and Bravo Team are trapped too. I don't know about you guys, but I'm pissed. Heads are gonna roll for this," I shouted, spear overhead. "Now who's with me?"

  Brash cries of support flooded the guildhall. Black Hats vowed solidarity with each other and cursed the Whisperer's name. But it wasn't all bravado.

  "What are we gonna do?" asked a voice so quiet it barely broke through the commotion. It was Drummond, the faction banker. Only level 3 and hardly a fighter, the military camaraderie was lost on him.

  "We're gonna come together, as a guild and a city," I answered. "Don't worry if you're not a combat class. For many of you, this'll be business as usual."

  Scanning the crowd, the two ogres in the far corner stood out the most. Our three goblin faction members sat on their shoulders, including the young girl with a stone hammer. "Jixa, your crew did quick work on the barracks. The logistics of equipping everyone will take even more heavy lifting."

  The sub-four-foot green girl with strawberry-blonde curls nodded sharply. "Cha, boss man. Helpses we will."

  "Now we're talking," said Trafford, lighting up. "Arming soldiers beats quivering boots any day of the week."

  "Not you, Trafford. I need you on something special. Saint Peter was working on something before he died. Apparently there are a set of quests somewhere meant for the Black Hats—meant for Haven. As questkeeper, we need you to find them."

  Trafford's good eye enlarged more than usual. "Interesting. I'll get right on it."

  I turned back to the frightened banker. "Drummond, aside from keeping the books, you've been helping Trafford inventory the armory. Not only did Dragonperch come with a ton of supplies, but all the loot from the recent attack was added to our coffers. Coordinate with Jixa on equipping the soldiers."

  The bald man nodded, clearly relieved. "I can do that."

  I locked onto the next familiar face I saw. "And Phil, uh... put some pants on."

  The bearded man in a loin cloth widened crazed eyes like he'd been found out. "Gah!" His bare feet bounded outside and he disappeared.

  I huffed, feeling some of my momentum lost. I cleared my throat and raised my voice. "The rest of us, well, we're going to kick ass."

  The gold helm of the commander of the city watch bobbed as he entered the pub. "What is this, some kind of public disturbance?" Gladius looked around, locked eyes on me, and clenched his teeth. "I'd almost say it looks like you're planning on going to war."

  "We are."

  A random voice: "But the goblins!"

  I put a hand up. "Stronghold is secure. A host of legionnaires will protect the town, but the walls will do most of the work. Beside that, we're digging deep for allies. The enemy won't be able to ignore us."

  There was the expected reticence.

  "There're too many crusaders!"

  "How are we supposed to get allies?"

  "We have no friends outside these walls!"

  "The only friends we need are right here." A green cloak flashed behind the ranger as Dune shoved to the head of the pulpit and spun on the crowd. "Disaster after disaster, Talon has seen us through. Izzy and Kyle have been there. Lash and Bravo Team. The pirates. Even an old army veteran turned shopkeeper turned builder turned—" Dune swiveled his head to the bar. "What are you now?"

  "Curse it, I don't know anymore!" exclaimed Trafford.

  I smiled as the old man handed me a mug. "Buildmaster general, questkeeper, and one hell of a drinking buddy."

  Dune turned back to the audience. "Point is, if there's one person in Haven who can pull off the impossible, who can bring a bickering town together, who can unite allies with nothing in common, it's Talon, the Protector of Stronghold."

  The ranger faced me and lowered his voice just a little. "You know me. I'm the furthest thing there is from a follower. I'm here to blaze my own trail. But if there's one cause I'd risk everything for, if there's one person who can lead us to overcome insurmountable odds, it's you."

  Dune fell to one knee and I got a faction notification.

  [Dune] has joined the Black Hats

  I widened my eyes as the ranger accepted his longstanding invitation. Caduceus and Stigg approached.

  "Peter was a solid dude," said the Viking. "He'll have a place wherever his Valhalla lies."

  Caduceus shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for social activism."

  [Stigg] has joined the Black Hats

  [Caduceus] has joined the Black Hats

  "Oi!" said Nooner, pushing forward with his gangly crew of tough guys. "Youse want the same thing I want: to protect this here town. We might disagree on whose town it happens to be, but I like yer style. That, and you're a nasty brawler to boot. I propose a dalliance!"

  I blinked awkwardly. "A... what?"

  "A dalliance!" he snapped. "You an' me, together."

  "Watch it," laughed Izzy. "I might get jealous."

  Nooner's eyes creased. "What're you on about? We can help each other!"

  "Oh," I said, "you mean an alliance."

  "Of course that's what I meant. That's why I said it!"

  I took a moment to process the unexpected gesture. I extended the gangsters an invitation, and more approached as they accepted.

  "Move along!" instructed Trafford,
trying to bring order to the madhouse. "Move along!"

  Soon Black Hats were stepping aside as regular town members sidled up for their turn. Izzy moved to the opposite end of the bar to split the line and ease the flow of traffic, and before we knew it demand for joining the faction trumped those waiting for beer.

  "Saint Peter was a hell of a man," they said. "It wasn't right, what happened."

  As Stronghold's Protector, it was no secret I'd been taking on more city responsibilities, but with the saints gone for good, the mantle of leadership was wide open. I'd expected some resistance, some competitors and politicking, but this was the polar opposite. Saint Peter's death was uniting the entire population of Stronghold into action, into joining the Black Hats.

  1800 Dark Souls

  Key members of the faction set off to address various duties, but a few of us were stymied by the sheer number of Black Hat applicants. It seemed like every player and NPC in the city wanted in, although logically that wasn't the case. Between the desperate times and the enormity of the crowd, there was no time to screen the applicants. If you were here and you wanted in, then welcome to the Black Hats.

  Black Hat faction has reached level 3!

  Congratulations! As long as you maintain a minimum of 100 faction members, you gain the following benefits:

  Captain Controls

  Promote faction leaders. Coordinate with private chat and tasks.

  Group Bonus = 3%

  When 3+ faction members are working together, this bonus applies to combat damage, hit percentage, and crafting skill successes.

  Next Level Up: 500 members

  Although our headquarters had already leveled up due to building construction, the faction itself had a separate leveling track that was purely based on membership. After two hard hours of accepting new guild mates, I admired the new headcount.

  Black Hats

  Faction Level: 3

  Members: 320 / 500

  War

  Catechists

  Brothers in Black

  The Black Hats were now a group to be reckoned with. My newfound pride was tempered as I noticed the armistice with the pagans was no longer listed. One step at a time, I told myself.

  I opened the new captain controls, curious about how they worked. I was the faction leader, but there otherwise weren't official positions built into the structure. I went through my party, promoting Kyle, Izzy, and Trafford. Crux had already left, no doubt to party up with the rest of Bravo Team. Although Errol was missing, I promoted him as well.

  I chewed my lip. Assigning only party members to captain positions defeated the purpose. The point was easy communication with key leadership and we already had party chat. I scrolled through the list of faction members and promoted Lash and Dune for a start.

  With the guildhall emptied, I wandered Oldtown to manage our preparation. The neighborhood was more packed than it had ever been, with large swaths of onlookers following me around wherever I went. I didn't mind the attention. The mood in the city had definitely turned, from one of listless apathy to hardworking drive. The wheels were in motion now. Our engine of war was turning.

  I approached the pirate, Errol Oates, as he sliced pieces of mango with an oversized Bowie knife and plopped them into his mouth.

  "Ho, Captain," I said. Now that Crux had cleared a space, I re-invited Errol into my party. "You're a captain now," I noted.

  "I was always a captain."

  "I guess." I scratched my chin. "I was surprised to see you weren't in the guildhall meeting."

  He hiked his shoulders without paying me much attention. "We know the score, Talon. We're in fer a fight on a whole lotta fronts." He stood and faced me. "I'll do what ye require o' me."

  As always, the rogue was a stout friend. He walked with me to Dragonperch. "How's the Cutter doing?" I asked.

  The Heartcutter was Errol's frigate, the flagship (and only ship) of the Black Hat navy. Before Hadrian was captured, his forces—comprised of bandits and mermaids—had scuttled the docked ship. It was in the process of being repaired, but as most of our builders were ogres who refused to partake in shipbuilding for fear of the water, it was slow going. Many of the pirates had returned to building duties, but they were far from experts.

  "Arr," mulled Errol in answer. "She barely be seaworthy an' has nuthin' on her ol' self."

  "Well we're gonna need a bunch of duct tape and bubble gum. We might need the old girl soon."

  Outside the tower we consulted with Drummond.

  "Most of the rogue gear from Hadrian's army consists of light arms, poisons, leathers, and cloaks," he reported.

  I nodded. "We have some rogues and explorers who could use that stuff. Look for artisans who can craft potions and poisons. Maybe they could use the supply overflow. Reserve the lighter armor for mystics and other noncombatants. We'll have plenty of stronger stuff to go around."

  "Makes sense," he said. "What about the mermaid drops? We have an abundance of ocean gear and resources."

  "That all goes to the navy. Admiral Oates and his men will load it onto the Cutter"—I smirked—"given she'll take the load and stay afloat."

  Errol's brow hardened. "Jest all ye want, matey. She'll take the supplies. I'll collect me scoundrels an' show ye what's what."

  As he stomped away, I gave further instructions to Drummond. "Our armory has ample high-quality blacksteel and heartwood. I want every combat-ready soldier to measure their loadout against the Dragonperch stock. The surplus should go to the heaviest explorers and artisans."

  "But that could clean us out."

  "I'm betting on it. The Black Hats aren't hording treasure while the entire simulation is fighting for survival."

  We spent some time going over specific distributions so our army wouldn't be so haphazard. The discussion made me realize the need to chat up the general about our troop makeup. We'd want separate units to attack different problems to keep us agile and ready for anything. With Trafford working on our special project, I applied what expertise I had for the time being.

  Jixa's ogres rolled up the wagons on time and ready to work. I left them to it and returned to the guildhall to find Trafford deep in study. The pub had mostly cleared out by this point, with the barstools returned to their place, Trafford planted in one. His nose was buried in a large open tome.

  "I've never seen you so studious," I said as I approached his back. When I clapped him on the shoulder, he started with a jolt and almost lost his seat.

  "What? Who's that? I'll..." He groggily searched the room.

  I dropped my jaw. "Were you sleeping?!?"

  "What? Never. Men my age don't nap, we just think with our eyes closed."

  I turned to the book filled with lines of jumbled scrawl I couldn't read. "Is finding the quests that complicated?"

  The old man sighed. "Aye, boy. If they'd been released proper, I'd have found 'em, but they're missing from the usual spots. I'm doing my best to dig deeper, but it's like mazes within labyrinths."

  I snorted. "Interesting expression. I would've said it's like peeling an onion."

  "Why?"

  "You know, because for every layer you remove, you uncover another."

  Trafford scrunched his brow. "Well, what's so damn hard about that? It's an onion, for chrissakes! Just put a knife through the whole thing at once and be done with it!"

  I sighed. "If only. So what are you gonna need to get this done?"

  "I dunno." He mulled on it a moment. "I don't suppose we have someone on the dev team who had a hand in creating 'em?"

  "No."

  The quests had been Peter's project. He tried to tell me about them, when we'd been in the middle of things with Hadrian. The details were glossed over and I hadn't inquired further. As for our current Kablammy support, Tad already gave me what he learned from Peter. Even Christian hadn't worked on the side project, trusting his team fully and relegating control to his community manager.

  Still, it belied belief that someone from suppor
t couldn't be of assistance.

  I opened my main menu and dinged the blue question-mark icon on the top bar. Given recent developments, I half expected nothing to happen at all. So I was pleasantly surprised when a clean-cut man with blue eyes and short blond hair blinked into existence. The tech support "resident companion" wore a British red coat with white pants and shiny black boots. He stood hunched forward, hands upraised and actively clawing at something invisible before him.

  "Headshot!" he screamed in delight. "Take that you overcooked mutton!" He stiffened and looked around anew. "WTFBBQ?"

  "Varnu!" I cried, overjoyed to see the friendly face, even if it wasn't really his. You see, despite Varnu Johnson looking like your average Texan wearing colonial garb, he was clearly from an outsourced office in India. I didn't tell him I knew better. He put a lot into the act and calling him out on it would break his heart.

  Varnu stood at attention and clasped his hands behind his back. "Talon! By the graceful visages of Bovar, it is good to see you!"

  "You too," I exclaimed, surprised at the sentiment. "What were you doing just now?" I asked. "You know, with your hands?"

  "Oh, would you believe I was consuming a Double Whopper Pounder, sir?"

  I shook my head. "I've been dead for a bit but I'm pretty sure that's not a thing."

  "I see."

  "Is tech support still up and running?"

  He winced. "Actually, sir, to cut to the cake and eat it too, our entire company was shut down without warning this morning."

  "And you're still in the office?"

  Varnu shrugged in a rare bout of honesty. "I'm gaming. The internet in this building really shoves ass."

  I smiled as I realized his upraised hands had been furiously attending a keyboard and mouse. But this wasn't a social call, and there was little to smile about.

  "Have you heard about the explosion that took down the servers? The attack on Kablammy headquarters in Seattle?"