Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1)

by Alexey Osadchuk

  Capacity: 150

  Durability: 90

  Lastly, a sword sling. Made of a dark brown fabric with leather inserts, it had 90 pt. Durability and twenty-five slots.

  The dwarf zoned out temporarily, then hurried to inform me, “All in all, that’ll be nine hundred gold forty-five silver with the discount.”

  I heaved a sigh. More expenditure. Still, it had turned out much cheaper than I’d expected it to be before logging in.

  I paid, then asked him, “Will it be all right if I change here?”

  The dwarf was beaming like the desert sun at noon. “Absolutely! We have a fitting room here. And a mirror too.”

  I walked into the large fitting room and stopped, facing a large mirror. “Jesus,” I mumbled. “What a state to get into. No wonder everyone was poking fun at me.”

  I smiled sadly, remembering Walter White the way he looked in the last episode of the fifth season of Breaking Bad. Quite a semblance, really. The shaggy beard, the tired eyes... I needed a makeover really badly.

  It took me only a few minutes to change my clothes. That was it. All done.

  The familiar Ennan stared back at me from the mirror, looking quite the same. Only, how can I put it... he was sort of pimped up. His leather clothes were of good quality, his boots with thick strong soles hugged his calves nicely. The hat resembled one of those funny Alpine hats with a tapering crown jauntily pinched on top, its medium-width rim turned up at the back and pulled down in front. It made me look like the epitome of a Bavarian climber. All I needed was a long feather tucked into the headband.

  Right. What I looked like wasn’t really the point. My stats were. And I had to admit that the said stats were quite pleasing to the eye,

  Strength, 116

  Stamina, 83

  Speed, 34

  Kit’s Durability, 150

  Energy, 1700/1700

  It even made it easier for me to breathe, as if I’d dropped twenty years or so. What a feeling! Now all that was left for me to do was choose some tools, a few Capacity runes and some jewelry.

  I stuffed my old clothes into the knapsack. After a moment’s hesitation, I hung the silver feather around my neck. It might be a dark horse but it would make a nice pendant for the time being.

  I gave myself another once-over. No. That just didn’t look right. I needed to sort myself out properly before heading for the big city. Really. At the moment I looked like a tramp who’d robbed a well-to-do townsman.

  I scrambled out of the fitting room. The dwarf was still smiling. Still, as I approached the counter, his smile faded. His jaw locked. He glared at me from under his bushy eyebrows. What was going on? Just a moment ago he was all cute and cuddly and now he looked like a thunder cloud?

  I tensed. “Everything all right, sir?”

  He drew his eyes away from my chest and glared at me, sniffing. When he finally spoke, his cold, level voice rang with a threat,

  “Black scavengers have no place in my shop.”

  His announcement dumbfounded me. What the heck? “I’m afraid there must be some misunderstanding,” I did my best to sound calm and confident. “What makes you think I’m a scavenger and a Black one at that?”

  He sniffed his indignation. “Grave robbers have no shame! You’re walking in flashing a relic artifact that can only be taken off a dead body, and you’re asking me what’s wrong!”

  So that’s what it was, then. I looked down at the silver feather. So the girl was a thief, after all. Still, something didn’t add up.

  The dwarf kept glaring at me, his eyes livid with rage. I locked his stare in mine and answered calmly,

  “Firstly, you’ve just insulted me. I can actually file an official complaint with the admins now. And once they check the logs, they’ll see that your accusations have been both hasty and unfounded. Secondly, I bought this so-called ‘relic artifact’, as you say, at the market today. It cost me all of fifteen gold. This can also be checked. Thirdly and fourthly... but that’s enough for you, I think, at least until I hear your apology complete with your side of the story.”

  He sort of deflated under my stare. His face betrayed confusion. “I, er, all I wanted... you know...” he kept mumbling.

  I shrugged. Crossing my arms on my chest, I stared at him. Deep inside, I was shaking with agitation. If the truth were known, it was my brother who’d told me about “the logs”. He'd said this was one of the magic words in Mirror World. Apparently, you could solve any argument by applying to the admins for a copy of your “logs”. It did cost you but this seemed to be the most effective tool in the game’s judicial system. The game’s server registered everything that was said or done, so my determination to contact the admins in order to provide them must have shaken the shop owner’s conviction. He sort of shrank.

  The vendor sighed. I could read confusion in his face. “Please accept my apology. I can see now that I was wrong. You don’t look like a scavenger even though you’re in quite a state.”

  I grinned and tried to keep my voice level, eager to take the edge off the situation. “I understand. I’ll tell you more: had I been who you thought I was, your stance would have deserved every respect.”

  His gaze warmed up to me as I went on, “But could you please be ever so kind as to explain what exactly prompted you to think so ill of me?”

  He groaned. “It’s that thing on your chest, sir. I literally turned to stone when I saw it. Private-stats items are extremely rare in Mirror World. That’s what players call relics. Now where would a common Digger, even of your level, lay his hands on something like this?”

  I froze. “I see. Shit.”

  “Actually, now I understand,” he went on. “Had you indeed been a scavenger, I’d have never seen you wear it. Besides, those rats only keep these things because they want to sell them. And you wore it in broad daylight.”

  “The more I speak to you, the more questions I have,” I replied with a sad grin.

  He chuckled. “That’s another thing confirming that you’re not what I thought you were. You’ve put the charm on. Now you won’t be able to give it away—neither for money nor as a gift. It’s non-transferable. It has no Durability. In other words, it’s eternal and it’s yours alone. Relics are non-transferable first and foremost. Or rather, you can try and give it to someone else—until its new owner tries to put it on.”

  I forced a smile. “You can call me a noob.”

  He smiled back. “Or a very rich Experienced Digger.”

  So he hadn’t believed the price I’d paid for it. Still, it gave me an idea. The whole situation rang a few bells... it was almost a déjà vu. I had to go back to the market place.

  “Mind if I give you some advice?” the dwarf asked. “You’d better hide it away from prying eyes. Till better days, if you know what I mean. I don’t want to offend you but this type of item only looks good on a level 200+ player.”

  I hurried to follow his advice, burying the feather in my new knapsack. “Okay,” I kept sponging more free intel off him, “so what am I supposed to do with it now?”

  “There’s only one answer to that,” he said. “Make an appointment with Aldor of Mellenville, the wizard. He'll open it for free.”

  “For free? Really?” I asked, remembering what Saimie—or whoever she was—had told me.

  He grinned. “He'll open it for free, no catch there. He charges for the appointment itself, not for the service.”

  “Oh. So much for my lofty illusions.”

  “Heh! You know nothing about prices yet! Are you ready?”

  “The way you say it already makes me sick.”

  “So!” he continued. “Jewelry: prices start at ten grand. Weapons and armor: twenty. And so on and so forth.”

  “Oh. So what’s so valuable about them?”

  He shrugged. “That I can’t tell you. Simply because I’ve no idea. I remember reading in some forum or other that apparently some of the relics are quest-bound. But this is pure speculation. There are no guides
available on them. As I’ve just told you, only top players are in possession of these kinds of items. And as you can well imagine, they’re not in a hurry to divulge any information about them. I’d think they must be extremely pricey even though I haven’t yet seen one at auction in the entire year I’ve been in the game.”

  Shit, shit, shit. What had possessed me to put it on? Once a noob, always a noob. I wanted to smash something against the wall—preferably, my own head.

  The dwarf must have read my state of mind as he added soothingly, “Don’t get so worked up about it. I don’t think you’ll lose anything by having it opened. This thingie must cost a fortune.”

  I sighed. “I wish. It’s about time I learned how to handle unknown items.”

  We didn’t even notice as we switched to friendlier tones. We chatted for another quarter of an hour, discussing the game and the world beyond it. He was all right. I needed to strike a few new friendships. I still had at least another month in front of me, digging in this hole. Finally, we agreed to meet the following night over a few beers in one of the city’s numerous taverns. Then we parted—if not as true friends, then at least as good buddies.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “This girl, she put up her tent right here, see. Then she brought you in. And once you were gone, she packed up and left, and that was the last we saw of her.”

  That was all I’d managed to find out about the scavenger girl. The place where her tent used to stand had already been taken by a ginger-haired farmer selling agricultural tools. His neighbor, a square-shouldered Dwand, kept telling and retelling me the story of the girl “packing up her stuff and disappearing”.

  He squinted knowingly. “Has she ripped you off?”

  “Not really, no,” I muttered. “I can’t really tell you what it was.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Women!”

  For the second time I left the market with mixed feelings. I had zero intel. Her motives were clear as mud. I had my suspicions but I tried not to even think about them. Time would tell. Basically, I had to keep my eyes peeled. Preferably grow another pair in the back of my head.

  As I walked past a large shop window, I couldn’t help seeing my reflection. It made me cringe.

  I opened the map. Immediately I saw something I could use. Lyton’s Tonsorium. I looked the word up. Apparently, it stood for a barber’s shop. Excellent. Time to sort myself out.

  At first I thought that the satnav had brought me to the local branch of the Red Cross. The benches in front of it were packed with shaggy individuals. The only things missing were soup canteens in their filthy knobbly hands and streaks of gravy dripping from their thick beards.

  I was about to turn round and leave when a neatly dressed dwarf appeared in the doorway, his own beard trimmed and plaited. His hair was nicely styled. Dandy being the operative word.

  Immediately one of the shaggy characters ducked into the doorway past him. So that’s what it was! I seemed to have come to the right place. If this dwarf used to look as scraggly as the others did, this was the place for me.

  When I took another look at them, I noticed that judging by their clothes, most of the queuing customers were Seasoned Grinders—although their professions differed, of course.

  I took my place in line, perching myself on one of the benches. The virtual sun warmed my body. I threw my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. Even so I could sense several pairs of eyes staring at me. The Reflection kit was a statement in itself. My hair might be a mess—no more than theirs, actually—but at least I was dressed to the nines.

  I decided to put the unexpected pause to good use. I opened the action tab and auctioned off the remaining items from my Hardy Digger kit. Reserve: fifty gold. Bid deadline: twenty-four hours. I didn’t think I’d have any problem flogging them. Every item had a malachite rune installed. Their Durability wasn’t as good as that of new ones but still quite decent. In any case, any of the runes cost fifty gold in its own right.

  A hand touched my shoulder, followed by an impatient voice, “Are you getting your hair cut or what?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I hurried to reply as I ducked into the shop’s doorway.

  I expected to see a standard barber’s layout but this was nothing of the kind. A small room harbored a small table and two chairs: one for the owner, the other for his clients.

  The barber was an Alven guy. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest. This particular race stood out from other Mirror World denizens through its finesse and style. I focused on his name tag: Lyton.

  Without saying a word, he pointed to one of the chairs. His slanted green eyes stared at me, impassive. “What would you like?”

  “What can you offer?” I countered his question, making myself comfortable.

  “Eh?” he sounded surprised. “Won’t you ask me to “just give it a trim” or to “tidy up the sides”?

  “Oh, no,” I said. “You’re the king here. It’s up to you to decide.”

  His eyes lit up. The guy seemed to be fed up with mediocrity. I just hoped I wouldn’t regret my decision.

  The already familiar transparent screen rose between us.

  “I’d like you to remove your hat and sit up straight,” the barber said. “Please don’t move. It’s only a second. I’m taking a screenshot... that’s it! All done. You can breathe now.”

  I saw myself on the screen—or rather, a picture of myself.

  “The engine will now generate several images and you’ll be asked to choose one,” Lyton explained, beaming. “All I’ll have to do is process it.”

  In less than a minute, I heard a soft ping. The screen filled with... er, with myself. Sort of. Lots of me, depicted in all kinds of colors and styles.

  “You can browse through it now,” the barber suggested, adding a background to the images. “You have a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  Firstly, I discarded everything too loud. The pink, acid green and other psychedelic versions of me went straight into the Recycle Bin. They were followed by all the hipster types, even though admittedly I liked the one with the Mohawk. He looked formidable but... I still had to go to the bank. Delete.

  I spent the next five minutes leafing through the catalogue until I realized that I needed to follow my plan and blend in with the crowd. Right. I opened the picture of an Ennan wearing classic Dwarven hair. This was what I needed.

  “All done,” I said.

  The barber hurried to switch off the background. The impression of insulted incomprehension froze on his face.

  “So that’s what you want,” he mumbled. “Standard issue. You shouldn’t have wasted all that time.”

  “You need to understand,” I began, “you might have already noticed that I belong to one of the dead races. I’m trying to avoid the limelight. How would you feel if you were walking down the street and every five minutes someone stopped you and asked you about your stats, abilities and other trivia? Every day. I can see it in your face that you know how it feels. So what would you do? Exactly. You’d go to an expert stylist.”

  I know, I know. I’d turned the whole thing on its head and flattered the boy shamelessly in the process. But you wouldn’t expect me to tell him the whole truth, would you?

  My arguments seemed to have worked. Once again the barber’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he began to fine-tune the chosen image. He spent the next five minutes perfecting the screenshot.

  “D’you like it?” he finally asked.

  “Excellent.”

  I seriously liked what he’d done. A dwarf stared back at me from the screenshot—a dwarf with an Ennan’s eyes. I thought I even detected a hint of reproach in his stare.

  Come on man, cool it, I said to him mentally. This is only a temporary measure. Once we did a bit more leveling, we’d be strong enough to wear what the heck we want. Traditional Mayan dress, if you want to.

  My beard had been trimmed and plaited into several braids, each ending in a tiny steel cylinder
covered in fine ornamental script. My hair was brushed back, some of it tied into the semblance of a ponytail.

  “No one will tell you from an Experienced dwarven Digger,” the barber commented. “Are you choosing this one?”

  I nodded eagerly.

  “That’ll be five gold with the matrix and virtual makeover. Payment upfront,” he said.

  I nodded again.

  “I would ask you to sit up straight and be still,” he said.

  Gently he pushed the screen in my direction. A 3-D copy of my head left the screen and floated toward me.

  A message materialized,

  Would you like to install a new image?

  Price: five gold

  Accept: Yes/No

  I accepted.

  Your avatar has been updated with a new image.

  Effect: +5 to Trust

  Duration: 7 days

  “All done,” Lyton summed up, then added bitterly, “What a shame no one will see this coiffe in a mine.”

  Gingerly I felt my face. “They will. I’m going to Mellenville first.”

  Lyton sat up. “That changes everything! How long are you going to stay there?”

  “I’ll have to live there, I’m afraid,” I said, “but I’ll be working here.”

  He threw his hands up in excitement, “Aren’t you the lucky one! Would you like me to enter your matrix into our database?”

  I tensed. “What for?”

  “What do you mean, what for? Once your seven days have expired, you’ll have to come back to me. This way we’ll have your image already created and set up. Updating it will only take a moment.”

  “Aha. I see.”

  “You might want to focus on leveling up your reputation with Mellenville, am I right?”

  “You are. Why?”

  He smiled. “I just happen to know that certain characteristics although utterly useless for mining somehow work wonders in the capital. I mean Winsomeness, Tranquility, Endearment, Inspiration and the like.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “That’s weird. The forums don’t mention anything of the kind.”