by Matt Vancil
by
Matt Vancil
This is a work of fiction.
The events described are imaginary, and the characters are fictitious and not intended to represent specific living persons.
Copyright ©2014 by Matt Vancil
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form or by electronic or mechanical means (including information storage and retrieval systems) without the express written permission of the publishers.
This stipulation does not apply to reviewers, who may quote portions of this book in reviews.
Published by Quiet Thunder Productions, Inc., Seattle, WA, USA
Edited by Rachel Edidin
Copy Edited by Janie Dullard
Cover Art by Rob Carlos
Book Design & Layout by Sherry Lynne Baker
Project Management by Kevin K˚ Wiley
Printed and bound in the United States of America
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication
Vancil, Matt
PWNED / Matt Vancil ; [edit. Rachel Edidin & Janie Dullard]
Summary: A fictional novel about a man reluctantly entering the world of MMORPGs to recover his lost love.
p.cm.
Paperback ISBN 978-0-9909097-0-5
Hardcover ISBN 978-0-9909097-1-2
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to everyone who made this possible:
The PWNED Development Team—James Snyder, Elaine Simone, James Herbert, Hawke Robinson, Robert Schimmel, and Steve Payne—for enduring the early drafts, and for your input and optimism;
Rachel Edidin, for honing the manuscript and helping me get out of my own way; Janie Dullard, for catching all my typos; Rob Carlos, Crystal Frasier, and Sam O’Hara, for bringing the world to life; Kº Wiley, for keeping the gears turning; Two Bards (Andy Dopieralski and Scott C. Brown), for making the pitch look good;
James Youngman, for giving the manuscript the game designer stamp of approval; Stuart Hume, for giving it the Aussie gamer stamp of approval; Tony Becerra, for not stabbing me (yet);
Zombie Orpheus Entertainment, Andrew Obertas, Douggie Sharpe, and Greg & Nancy Vancil, for your support;
Judith & Garfield Reeves-Stevens, my writing godparents, who told me that writing a novel was a when, not an if;
John Frank Rosenblum and Cindi Rice, for your years in the trenches;
All my backers and fans, for your trust and patience;
And Camille and Wesley, for everything.
for Dad, my first storyteller, editor, and fan
Prologue
Lorki splintered the helmet of the last automaton with his seven-foot sword. The mechanical monster wheezed like a punctured bellows and collapsed in a heap of clockwork.
Lorki looked around, his blood drumming. Destroyed automatons littered the dungeon’s five-way intersection. He smelled machine oil and blood soaking into centuries of dust. No more enemies.
He shook his head to clear it, and the red haze of battle faded. Two of his team’s five members lay dead in the sand: the archer and wizard. He’d never bothered learning their names.
Lorki snorted. Weaklings, flinging death from a distance. Contemptible, really. True warriors met their foes face to face.
Only the healer, the indifferent assassin, and Lorki himself were still standing. Their fate was in the healer’s hands now.
“You’re hurt?” the healer asked. Lorki pointed to the dead. The healer nodded, began to cast a revival spell over the fallen archer. Lorki was hurt, yes, but taking the brunt of the damage was his job: holding enemies at bay while his weaker comrades whittled away at them from the flanks. He pulled a healing potion out of his gladiator’s harness and downed it, bottle and all.
They’d come in fifty strong, an elite band of warriors honed to deadly precision over years of adventuring. They were an unstoppable army—until the automatons had scattered their ranks.
He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen another unit, and all he could hear down the distant tunnels was the clanking and clacking of the tomb’s guardians.
Doubt, that most dangerous of foes, crept in. There was no sunlight down here, no way to tell how much time had passed since they’d gone down the cold gray steps. Time stood still when Lorki was lost in the rage of battle, but judging by the damage to his equipment and the healer’s dwindling supplies, they’d been in this labyrinth for the better part of the day, and no end was in sight.
The archer gasped and convulsed, snatched back from death. The healer paused to rest before turning to the fallen wizard.
Lorki had died before. He didn’t care for it, but you did what you had to do—and trusted the healer to bring you back. So long as they had a healer, they had a chance.
But a chance for what? Lorki wasn’t even sure what they were searching for—the legend was vague. Some artifact from the dawn of time, a weapon that for centuries had eluded the brightest and bravest. Lorki grinned around his tusks. If his were the hand to claim it, those bastards in—
The archer shouted a warning. A trio of automatons had rounded a corner and was surging towards them—spinning gears, shrill whistles, whirling blades.
“Protect the healer!” Lorki roared, and hurled himself at the machines. The red rage took him.
He heard his ancestors sing as he cleaved through the first metal man’s shield. He would hold this ground to his death and beyond. He took a slash across the face and returned it, spraying bolts across the intersection and drawing the attention of another automaton.
“Shield!” he yelled to the healer. She began casting.
Lorki heard a shriek, and the top half of the archer landed at his feet. He snarled. Weaklings.
Another scream, and the assassin fell dead. The hell is this? Lorki thought. It was almost like they had no healing support.
The final automaton zipped over the assassin’s body and slammed into Lorki, knocking him into the far wall. He roared and sprung back to his feet.
“Shield!” he bellowed again. What was the fucking healer doing? His tanking drew crazy aggro, and there was no way he could hold three without her.
Lorki saw her where he’d last seen her—waving her arms above her head, still casting the spell that should be shielding him, repeating the same action over and over again. That spell had a casting time of seconds. The only reason her animation would be looping was if…
The healer froze—and disappeared.
The three automatons converged on Lorki. They were gonna wipe.
“Shit!” yelled Lorki. It come out “@#$%!” because he had the parental controls activated—sometimes he let his daughter play on his account.
Opening Cinematic: Human
The Age of Men is nearing its end.
After years of war against the savage Nations of Chaos, only a single human state endures: the proud kingdom of Marrowstone.
The last beacon of civilization in a dying world, the Men of Marrowstone and their allies in the Kingdoms of Order—the noble Elves, stalwart Dwarves, wise Dryads, and mysterious Ord—remain united against those who would destroy them.
The Age of Men is nearing its end… but a new age, an age undetermined, has just begun. Go now, and take your place among the great heroes of old!
Pick a server type:
Balanced (mix of RP and PvP)
RP (role-playing)
PvP (player vs player; not recommended for new players)
1
Anniversary
TIP: You can add important guild events to your in-game calendar!
“You can do this.” Reid kept his voice down, even though he was pretty sure Astrid couldn’t hear him. His heart beat like a rabbit’s as he fastened the brittle cuffs
on a dress shirt he’d inherited from his grandfather and wiped the sweat from his temples.
Reid found Astrid where he always did: hunched over her computer, plugged into her game. He turned the ring box around and around in his pocket. I should just spin her around. Spin her around, look her right in the eyes and say it: I’ve loved you since you made me cool, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
He knew why he didn’t. He was afraid she’d push him away and spin right back to the game. So he just stood there, sweating in his grandfather’s suit, twiddling his grandmother’s ring in his pocket.
She must have sensed him there after a time. Or maybe her guild was taking a pee break. In either case, she turned around, and Reid’s breath caught in his throat.
Astrid was the kind of pretty that punches you in the gut and locks your knees, and makes you instinctively glance at the third finger of her left hand. Slim with curves, a millennial Bettie Page in faded red highlights and yoga pants.
Astrid smiled at him, pulled one of her headphones away from her ear.
Reid swallowed. Now’s my chance. “Hey—”
“Why are you sweating?”
Reid wiped a hand across his forehead. “Oh. Big day at work.” What am I doing?
“Oh.”
“You sleep all right?”
“My hip’s been bothering me.”
“Sorry.” Maybe if you weren’t in that chair all the time, it wouldn’t hurt so often, he didn’t say. “Are you hungry? I could go for some breakfast.”
“Uh… sure, thanks.”
Reid regrouped as he sliced strawberries over oatmeal. Come on, you can do this. Just get it out. What is with this sweating? I look like I ran a marathon. He changed into a fresh shirt and brought Astrid breakfast. “Maybe you’ll get in a nap today.”
“Who can sleep?” she said. “No rest for the wickeds. We’re doing an epic dungeon today, fifty-man endgame. Been planning it a month. Damn lucky I don’t have anything else going on.”
Reid forced a smile. “That’s cool.” It would sting if she’d forgotten. “Did you get those job links I sent you? You’re way qualified. Think you’ll apply?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got a job.”
Reid bristled. “Could you clean up a bit, then? The laundry needs folding and the sink’s a superfund site.”
Astrid swallowed the last of her cereal. “Day’s full already. Have a good day at work. I don’t know how you do it, day in, day out. Why are you all dressed up?”
The wind went out of Reid’s sails. She had forgotten. “No reason.”
She snapped her fingers, nodded. “Right—big day at work.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, well… happy accounting.” She spun back to the computer. “Punch Lodge in the throat for me.” She pulled the headphones back on.
The ring box weighed heavy in his hand. You can still do this. He squeezed the box to keep from shouting. Get it out. “So, Astrid. I was thinking… we’ve been together a long time now, and we’re already living together, and doing other, you know… spousey things, so I thought maybe we could make today more…”
He chanced a look up at her. Her eyes were locked on the screen. She hadn’t heard any of it.
“Official.” He let go of the ring box in his pocket. “Happy anniversary.”
Reid had done what he could to personalize his cubicle. He still considered it his cell in corporate purgatory. The main decoration he’d put up was a poster of wine and cheese pairings, with color-coded thumbtacks to indicate which he’d tried, which he’d liked, and which were next.
Reid was sticking a picture of himself and Astrid at the beach to his work computer when Lodge ducked into his cubicle.
“Douche-hammer,” said Lodge, by way of greeting.
“Turd-burgler,” answered Reid. They exchanged a complex handshake and chest bump.
Lodge was a technical writer from fifth floor. He and Reid had started the same week and hit it off at the employee orientation; they’d been lunch and break buddies ever since.
The first time Reid’s boss had seen Lodge, he’d been plugging in Reid’s monitor after helping move furniture during the latest desk shuffle. Reid’s boss had assumed Lodge was an I.T. guy. Lodge never corrected him, as it gave him a free pass to visit Reid on eighth as long as he poked a few keys.
“Check it out,” said Lodge. “Game night. Tonight, my place, dudes only. Cheap beer and store brand chips for everyone.” He leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, “If it sounds too good to be true, it is. There will be no chips. Also, you’re gonna erase your hard drive if you keep doing that.”
“With fridge magnets? Is that your official I.T. Guy diagnosis?” The handbook prohibited tape or glue on company property, so he had attached a photo of Astrid to his monitor with a pair of magnets, cutesy cartoon mice dancing on oversized wheels of cheese.
“You would put these on a fridge? Where people could see them?” Lodge inspected one of the mice. “Where do you even get these?”
“This creamery in Oregon. I dragged Astrid out last year.” Reid mimed speech for the boy mouse: “We can see how all my favorite cheeses are made!”
And the girl mouse: “That’s the single most lamest thing ever!”
“I agree with Girl Mouse,” said Lodge. “So. Game Night. Should I save you a spot?”
“Sorry,” said Reid. “Can’t make it tonight.”
“I’ve got plans,” said Boy Mouse.
“Big plans,” said Girl Mouse.
“Please stop doing that,” said Lodge.
“Never!” said Boy Mouse. “Give to me kisses, sexy mouse!”
“Make me a woman, cheese-breath!” Reid made the magnets kiss, with appropriate smooching sounds.
His boss naturally chose that moment to appear. “Reid,” he said. “What does the manual say about toys?”
Reid froze. This was exactly how he’d lost his Captain Cotswold action figure. “Magnets,” said Reid. “Mr. Habermann. Sir. They’re actually magnets.”
Habermann nodded. “So they are. And what does the manual say about toys?”
Reid recited from memory. “Employees are allowed knickknacks in the workplace as long as they’re not a distraction.”
“And if a member of the Board happened by, and saw you playing with those?” Habermann held out a meaty hand. “I’d say they’ve become a distraction.”
“But.” Reid looked to Lodge for help. Lodge flattened his smile—sorry, man. “But they’re mementos.”
“I’m sure you’ll remember them fondly.” Habermann beckoned. Reid meekly handed them over. Boy and Girl Mouse vanished, doomed to continue their carnal encounter in the breast pocket of Habermann’s designer suit. “Can’t have you distracted right now. Not until the Englebrook-Meyer account’s done.”
Reid nodded, repeated “Engelbrook-Meyer” to cover that he had no idea what that was.
Habermann looked around his desk. “I don’t see it being done.”
“Englebrook-Meyer?” Stalling, Reid glanced around his desk. An email had just arrived in his inbox. “Is that the one I just got?”
Habermann sighed. “And it isn’t being done, because…?”
Reid checked the send time. Five minutes ago. “I just got it.”
“When you were playing with your toys.” It wasn’t a question. Habermann shook his head slowly. “The Board appreciates initiative, Reid. Back on track. Focus on your goals.” He finally seemed to notice Lodge. “Is there somewhere you need to be?”
Lodge unplugged Reid’s printer with a flick of his foot. “As soon as I get the printer running.”
“Okay, then.” With nothing else to confiscate or dress down, Habermann sauntered back towards his corner office.
Lodge waited until Habermann’s door clicked shut. “Douche. Sorry about the magnets. Hey, about tonight—I’ll keep a spot for you at the table.”
“For I am the Elijah of game night. It’s not go
nna happen.”
“Well, if it does. If it turns out Astrid’s, you know… occupied.”
“Occupied?” asked Reid.
Lodge moaned like a zombie and mimed some zombie-typing.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Has she noticed you live together?”
“Oh, she’s noticed.”
“Good,” said Lodge. “That’s the first step. Keep your distance, at least initially. First, acclimate yourself to her habitat, get her used to your presence, and only then initiate contact. It’s amazing what we can learn from these strange, magnificent creatures.”
“Addicts?”
“Women.”
* * *
Reid returned to the apartment with a picnic basket in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. “Man return to cave!” he yelled, striking a man pose, which he held with increasing discomfort as he waited for a reply. “Babe?”
He padded into the apartment. The blinds were still pulled, the laundry hamper still loaded and lying by the door where he’d left it. “I’m gonna go out on a limb, say you didn’t get around to cleaning.”
He found Astrid at her computer, where he had left her that morning. She was still in her pajamas.
“Hey. How was your day?” He knew she wouldn’t hear him with the headphones on, but he kept talking anyway. “Mine? Oh, you know, the usual emotional gratification I get from helping multinationals cheat on their taxes. Thanks for asking.”
She didn’t even look up.
Reid went on. “Had to kill a nun with an ironing board at the bus stop. Again. Got blood and nun juice all over my shirt. And then I got to check receipts for the next ten hours and skip lunch. But I’ll tell you this—it’s all worth it when I have this to come home to.”
Still no response. Reid pulled a headphone off one ear, let it snap back.
She whirled, startled, and smiled that perfect smile. “Boo-Bear! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Couldn’t tell.” Her smile wiped away all the frustration, and he grinned back.
She kissed him. Angels sang, and the world went away. Astrid adjusted her headphones so one ear was free and turned back to the computer.