by Brian Simons
“Fourteen,” Sybil said, holding up the engraved stone she had taken from the clerk at the front desk.
“Performance type?”
“Song.”
“The competition is a non-combat zone. Do you have a non-combat song prepared?”
“No,” Sybil said.
She started to turn away, as if she were ready to drop this idea, when the dwarf with the clipboard said, “Would you like to generate a tune automatically?”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Just relax when you get on stage and the song will come from you,” he said.
“Like a cutscene?” Coral asked.
“I consider myself fluent in human,” the dwarf said, “but I can’t say I know that word.”
“Whatever you want to call it,” Sybil said, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“It sounds like the easiest option,” Coral said, “just sit back and let the game write the song for you.”
“Where would it get the lyrics from? It won’t just give everyone the same song, or the competition would be too boring.”
“You’re overthinking it,” Coral said. “Unless you have time to write a song before you’re in front of the crowd?”
“You’re right,” Sybil said. “I’ll just let the game handle it.”
The man checked something off on his clipboard with his pen. “Dressing area 14 is in the back on the left.”
“What does the winner get?” Sybil asked.
The man looked up from his clipboard for the first time. “You’ll get the title Mr. or Ms. Hiber Camp for the next year, and of course whichever crown or tiara you prefer.” He gestured to a glass case holding an array of golden headpieces.
“Great,” she said, “we can melt it down for parts.”
“But,” the man said, “you have to return it when the year is up.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
Sybil and Coral walked past a series of men and women getting their costumes ready. They were players, judging from the player handles that appeared above their heads when Coral gave them a close look. They were all dwarves though.
“I have a feeling the odds are stacked against us,” Coral said.
“Then we’ll just have to make sure I’m that much better than these dwarves,” she said. “I like a good competition. I’m very motivated to win.”
When they got to their dressing booth, Coral saw bolts of fabric, fancy buttons and threads, and all of the implements she would need to dress Sybil in something befitting a pageant queen.
“Come on,” she said. This was exactly the kind of thing she had wanted to do when she first joined the game. Now was her chance to create something beautiful, unlike all the macabre pieces she had assembled before.
Sybil stepped up onto a small stool and Coral got to work. She rifled through the bolts of fabric to find something that would suit Sybil.
“This camo print canvas reflects the contestant’s rough exterior,” Coral joked, pushing past a bolt of coarse fabric printed with an army fatigue pattern. “Or, on the other end of the spectrum, we have this beautiful flower print, to showcase her feminine side.”
“Absolutely not,” Sybil said.
“How do you feel about lace?” she asked.
“If it has too little tensile strength to strangle someone with, it’s not for me.”
“Noted,” Coral said, and kept wading through fabrics and other embellishments. “I think we should just go with a simple ivory satin. Maybe add a necklace and call it a day.”
“Fine,” Sybil said.
Coral took out her fabric shears, but she couldn’t cut the satin cloth from the bolt.
>> This activity requires Dressmaking 1.
That’s right, she had never unlocked the “Choosy Couture” option in her Tailoring skills menu. It was the one skill that would let her make normal clothing. She hated to spend skill points on opening another new skill, rather than furthering the ones she already had, but she was still curious how things would have gone if she had stuck with her initial plan of sewing gowns instead of skin.
She unlocked the skill, then spent one additional point to open up the Dresses option. That’s it. No more skill points.
Coral cut a length of fabric and wrapped it around Sybil. With a piece of tailor’s chalk, she started marking up the places she’d need to cut in order to fit the satin into a dress Sybil’s size. Luckily, since Sybil was an elf, it wouldn’t require much fabric.
Sybil squirmed as Coral drew against her skin. “Sorry,” Coral said, realizing she was pressing against Sybil’s ribs a little too hard.
She laid the fabric out on a small table to cut the pieces to size, then pinned them together with short needles and helped Sybil put on the partially formed dress. Then she lined up some more needles to keep it in place.
“Ow,” Sybil said as one of the needles dug into her skin.
“I’m sorry,” Coral said, “I’m not very good at this.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Sybil said.
“I mean, I’m only at Dressmaking 1,” Coral said, putting a needle in her mouth for safekeeping while she tugged some loose fabric taut around Sybil’s hips.
Coral found a sewing needle and some thread that matched the ivory satin she was working with. She started to stitch a seam up Sybil’s back. The plan was to leave the dress with a low back and a plunging neckline, with a sloping hem along the bottom.
“Five minutes!” shouted the dwarf with the clipboard.
“OW!” Sybil yelled again. “Seriously, watch it.”
“Oh no, I drew blood,” she said. “It’s just a little bit.”
“Maybe the judges won’t notice. Just get this over with.”
Stitching up this sheet of satin turned out to be tedious, and a little boring. It lacked all the challenge of making clothing out of exotic materials like monster hides. Also lacking was the hunt, the battle. Coral put what finishing touches on the dress she could and handed Sybil a sparkly costume jewelry necklace to finish the look.
“And shoes?” Sybil asked.
Coral hadn’t thought about shoes. “They have a pair of white heels,” she said.
“I’ll just wear my combat boots,” Sybil said and left the dressing area.
“Break a leg!” Coral said, following Sybil down another corridor. From there, a set of stairs led up to the area behind the temple’s main altar. Contestants lined up with tuxedos and gowns much better tailored than Sybil’s. Coral felt a little guilty sending Sybil out on stage in the makeshift satin dress, but there was nothing she could do about that now.
One contestant belted out an aria that might have outclassed Sybil’s singing prowess. Another contestant swallowed swords. One contestant juggled flaming wooden clubs while spinning a plate on his nose. Coral wondered how the judges would rate Bards against Acrobats for the talent portion.
Finally, it was Sybil’s turn. She strode up to the microphone, grabbed it in one hand, and closed her eyes. Her hips began to sway. The word “Taker” appeared above her head before she started a slow, powerful song.
You took it from me.
With every little shove,
You took it from me.
You told me it was love, but
You took it from me.
I watched your hand strike from above,
And I took it from you.
You took it from me.
My childhood and youth,
You took it from me.
And when I tried to speak the truth,
You took it from me.
Bruises were my proof,
And I took it from you.
You took it from me.
A father with no mercy,
You took it from me.
I always let you hurt me,
You took it from me.
But when you came after her,
I took it. From you.
I took it through violence,
T
he only tongue you speak.
I took it with my fists,
I refused to stay so weak.
And now you don’t exist,
No family of which to speak,
Because I took it from you.
You took hope from me,
But I wouldn’t,
I won’t let you take it from her.
Sybil’s hips stopped swaying abruptly. Her eyes opened wide and she clasped both hands over her mouth. She looked over at Coral for a split second, then she ran. Down past the altar, down the center aisle of the temple, past pew after pew of spectators sitting in awed silence, she ran.
So Coral ran too. She sprinted after Sybil, not pausing to give a single thought to the crowd or what they thought of her, a human in blue skin, chasing after a crying ex-drow.
Coral pushed open the double doors to the temple and burst from the single wooden door to the entry office. Sybil was on her knees in the road, sobbing under the setting sun. “Sybil,” Coral said, “I had no idea.”
“I just remember punching him,” she said, tears hitting the ground as she spoke. “Over and over. I just snapped. He raised a hand to hit her, and she was so young. I kicked him, I screamed at him to leave and never come back.
“There was a small statue that my mother had brought back from a trip to Japan, a few years before she died. I threw it at him. It hit him in the temple but it broke when it landed on the floor. I loved that statute. I told him if he ever showed his face again, I would kill him. I was tired of threatening to call the police. The police didn’t scare him. But I scared him. In that moment, in all of my pent up rage, I scared myself too.
“Farah doesn’t remember any of that, or if she does she pretends not to. But I remember. And I fight every day to make sure I can keep that house, pay the bills, put food on the table, because I know that if we fall behind, the bill collectors will come. They’ll come looking for him. And they’ll find him, and bring him back to us.”
“I should never have pressed you to let the game take over,” Coral said. “I had no idea it would probe your memories and pull up something so painful. Farah is lucky she has you.” She knelt on the ground next to Sybil and put a hand on her back. “We’ll get back on track,” Coral said. “Let’s go sell off the ore you collected, and the mud mitts I made in the mine. It may not amount to much, but it’s something.”
Sybil stood up and wiped the tears off her face. “Do you have my clothes?” she asked, starting to chuckle. “I have to get out of this hideous dress.”
“Yeah,” Coral said, “it is pretty awful.”
20
Farah sat in the temple with Jack, waiting for the show to begin. So many beautiful people crossed the stage, one at a time. She had been nervous about staying logged in for this long, and nervous about hanging out with Jack again when she hardly knew him. Sitting there, all of her worries faded away. It was such a far cry from anything she knew in real life.
The only people she saw IRL besides her sister were her classmates and teachers. No one walked down the street, because no one had anywhere to go. No one had events or large gatherings because everyone was logged into Travail or games like it desperately trying to scrounge together some gold.
Here, in this enormous rock-hewn temple, surrounded by players all watching these performances together, Farah felt a sense of community. She was glad Jack had persuaded her to join him. Sybil had always said Travail was full of dark images and dangerous people, but she was wrong. Travail was companionship in a lonely world.
A small woman with a shimmering ivory dress took the stage. She had short white hair and pale skin. Farah inched up in her seat. She peered at the person for a moment and her name came into view. She gasped and pressed her back against her seat. It was Sybil_in_Shrouds. It was her big sister.
Farah started to panic before she realized that Sybil wouldn’t be able to see her. Farah was just another face in the crowd. She tried to relax as Sybil started to sing.
Sybil’s song was full of raw emotion. Farah felt that song in her bones. It spoke a painful truth that Sybil had kept secret for so long. Farah tried to think back on her early days, before her father had left. She couldn’t imagine his face or remember his voice. She couldn’t picture him hurting either of them. She had just been too young.
Sybil had lived through that, and now Farah knew what happened between Sybil and their father. It was worse than she had imagined. She always suspected that their father just left one day, but it was Sybil who threw him out, who brought peace back to their home.
The song ended and Sybil ran down the center aisle of the temple. Farah wanted to chase after her, to comfort her. She started to stand up when Jack put a hand on her forearm.
“The show’s not over,” he said.
“I know, but…” But what? Was she going to tell this stranger her whole life story? Besides, Sybil would be even more upset if she knew Farah were playing Travail, and that she had just heard that song.
Farah sat back against her chair and sat through the other performances, but she couldn’t pay attention to any of them.
21
Daniel pulled himself up from the bed.
“You’re not back to full health,” Sal said. “You should rest.”
“We don’t have time to rest,” Daniel said, stretching cautiously to see how far he could spread his arms without tearing out Coral’s stitches. He was surprised to see that his wound had almost healed over. The stitches were completely gone. In the real world, it would have taken months to heal from that gash, and he would have a long stripe of scar tissue across his chest. Here in Travail, wounds faded as HP regenerated.
“We have to warn the Regent about the elves,” he said. He gathered up his things and left the small bedroom. He walked down the stairs and ran into a dwarf blocking his path.
“Six gold,” she said.
“Sorry?” Daniel asked. He looked back at Sal.
“I had to rent it by the hour,” Sal said, “but I don’t have any gold left.”
“I don’t care what you needed the room for, just pay my gold so I can clean the room for the next guest,” the woman said.
Daniel sighed and dug six gold out of his pouch. The innkeeper counted the coins in her palm before walking away.
“Do you have all your things?” Daniel asked. Sal nodded.
“Where’s your mallet?” Daniel asked.
“I sold it,” Sal said, pointing. “There’s a small item shop that way.”
“Sold what?” Coral asked, walking into the inn with Sybil.
“My mallet,” Sal said. “The tower isn’t complete yet, I had to.”
“Sal,” Sybil said, “that was a quest reward. You’ve had that mallet forever.”
Sal just shrugged.
“You’re brainwashed!” Sybil said. “You need to snap out of it!” She stormed out of the inn.
“I’ll talk to her,” Sal said, chasing after Sybil.
“How are you feeling?” Coral asked.
“Well enough,” Daniel said. “Thank you for piecing me back together. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I wasn’t sure it would work, but I had to try something.” Coral paused. “What’s going to happen when we get back to Havenstock?”
“How do you mean?”
“The Regent tasked us with attacking the dwarves. Well, here we are, up on Hiber Mountain. Which mine should we attack first?”
The sarcasm in Coral’s voice didn’t make what she said any easier to respond to. Daniel had accepted a quest that he neither wanted to finish nor fail. Attacking the dwarves would start a blood war with the humans and give the elves a tactical advantage. Failing the quest meant missing out on the reward of three gems, any one of which could be quite valuable.
“We should punt,” Daniel said. It didn’t feel like the brave, knightly thing to do, but there weren’t many options. “If we report back on the elves, maybe the Regent will see the wisdom in leaving the dwarves alone.
He needs to focus on protecting Havenstock.”
“He needs to send an army into the desert,” Coral said. “As his Knight, you’re in the best position to convince him of that. Who knows how much longer Sagma will keep brainwashing players, and if he really does destroy Podonos, there’s no way the dwarves will hold up against the elves.”
“And then Havenstock is next,” Daniel said. “Ok, let’s head back there and appeal to the Regent’s good sense.”
“If he has any,” Coral said, pointing at Daniel’s deteriorating armor.
“I do want to stop by an item shop before we head back though,” Daniel said. “Why don’t you three head back and I’ll catch up soon?”