by James Hunter
“Geared toward a war of attrition,” Otto said, nodding slowly.
“Exactly,” I replied. “If we ever have to face Osmark on the open field of battle—army against army—we’re totally screwed. We can’t beat them that way.” I moved back over to my seat and plopped down with a sigh, feeling incredibly tired. “If we specialize in Battle-Craft, we’re going to be throwing points into a faction build we can’t win as. Abby”—I locked eyes with her—“if you were playing a game of D&D and you rolled a character with no strength and minimal constitution, would you ever pick a warrior class? No, you’d pick a class that complements their abilities. We need to do the same thing. We’re small, so we need to be sneaky and smart. We need to outthink these guys, not necessarily outfight them.”
“Okay, okay,” Cutter said, raising his hands in protest. “Let’s suppose for a moment that I sorta see your arse-backwards point—I still don’t understand how getting these other skill sets is going to help us survive what’s coming our way. This is a war against the entire bloody might of the empire. The High Commander of the Imperial Inquisitors is personally coming for us.”
“Well, here’s something to consider,” I said. “A lot of the travelers migrating to this world are going to be older people, unfamiliar with a place like Eldgard. Those travelers, they’re not going to want to run around the countryside killing monsters and raiding dungeons—especially not since the gods and goddesses running this show help nudge people toward their class based on what kind of personality they have. That means a lot of those folks are going to end up as architects and alchemists and blacksmiths, and if we invest in skills that benefit them, we’ll attract travelers who’ll have fresh ideas and interesting skill sets.”
“Yeah,” Abby said with a devilish grin. “The battle skills are all good, but they’re obvious. Who knows what kind of crazy-awesome abilities a master architect might have? Or a brilliant alchemist. You’re basically saying, since we can’t win traditionally, let’s gamble on the unknown.”
“Yeah,” I said with a wince. When put that way, it sounded a bit reckless, but what choice did we really have?
“Gawh.” Cutter threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Whatever. You’re hopeless. Utterly hopeless. The whole bloody lot of you. But I don’t have anywhere else to go, so I guess I’m in.”
“What about the rest of you?” I asked, glancing at Amara, Chief Kolle, and Otto in turn.
“This choice seems strange to me,” Otto admitted with a shrug. “But perhaps there is wisdom in it. If Mistress Abby”—he dipped his head at mention of her name—“approves, then I will reserve my judgment for the time being.”
“I feel as the warrior does,” Amara added, face a sour grimace. “This feels backwards, but you are the Faction Chief, and in the end, this is your decision to make, so I will follow where you lead in this.”
I smiled and rubbed my palms together. “Good,” I said, “now let’s bring up the skill trees on the main display.” A wavering green wall of light formed in the air above the emerald crystal globe at the table’s center. First, we pored over the Merchant-Craft Tree:
We spent a solid hour examining and discussing the potential merits of each item in turn, making sure everyone had an opportunity to weigh in, before finally pulling up the State-Craft Skill tree on the main display:
Once more, we explored the options available to us, trying to decide what we should invest our very limited and hugely valuable points into. Finally, after yet another exhausting hour of back and forth arguing, we settled on our first six skills. There were so many cool goodies in the Merchant Tree—Barter, Investor, Entrepreneur, Caravan, and Fence basically amounted to a license to print money—but since we were specifically interested in attracting Crafters and potential innovators, we selected three skills from the Artisan path:
Faction Ability: Artisan
Though adventurers may have the more glamorous calling, Artisans make up the backbone of Eldgard’s society. More likely to be found in a bakery or smithy than crawling through a dungeon, Artisans are the creators, builders, and workers of Eldgard.
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Cost: N/A
Effect 1: Durability to all crafted items increased by 15%.
Effect 2: Increases all magical and stat effects on crafted items by 20%.
Effect 3: The effectiveness of all potions, food, and other consumable items increased by 20%.
Faction Ability: Industrious
In the production industry, efficiency is one of the fundamental keys to success. With the Industrious ability, Crafters can drastically increase their overall productivity, and master new skills more quickly!
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Cost: N/A
Effect 1: Gatherers procure 18% more material per hour.
Effect 2: Production time for all crafted items—including potions, armaments, and even buildings—is reduced by 15%.
Effect 3: EXP for all Gathering and Crafting Professions increased by 10%.
Faction Ability: Frugal
Any savvy entrepreneur knows lowering production costs increases revenue—after all, the lower the overhead, the greater the profit margin! With the Frugal ability, all faction members can drastically reduce the cost of crafting objects, including infrastructure.
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Cost: N/A
Effect 1: Production costs (coin, ore, lumber, and all other gathered ingredients) are decreased for all Professions by 18%.
Effect 2: Buildings cost 15% less to construct, including structures at the Faction Keep.
Although none of those abilities necessarily fit into my own skill set, I fervently hoped they’d lure in some of Eldgard’s finest talent. And if I was wrong … well, that wasn’t worth thinking about. We had a game plan, and as risky as it seemed, we just needed to stick with it and see it through to the end, for better or worse. With the last three points, we added a trio of abilities from the State-Craft Skill Tree to our ever-expanding list:
Faction Ability: Dignitary
Eldgard can be a hard, unforgiving land where everyone is looking out for their own best interests. Dignitaries, however, carry themselves with a natural ease and confidence, which endears them to everyone they meet.
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Cost: None
Effect 1: Increase reputation with all neutral and friendly factions by one level.
Effect 2: 10% improved favorability when buying from or selling to friendly merchants.
Effect 3: 12% improved chance to receive unique and rare quests from friendly factions and citizens. Additionally, merchants will be more likely to stock and display “secret” class-specific items.
Effect 4: Cast Anonymous once per day per (10) character levels. Anonymous allows faction members to pass unnoticed for (1) hour in a hostile faction territory.
Restriction: Anonymous will only work for players with an Unfriendly and Hostile reputation.
Faction Ability: Recruitment
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend …” Recruit travelers, citizens, and even whole factions to your cause. Recruitment allows faction leaders and other faction officers to form intricate alliances with the other powers of Eldgard. With the Recruitment ability, your faction can officially create treaties with NPC factions, even those that may otherwise be hostile to you.
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Cost: N/A
Effect 1: Create treaties and form alliances with NPC-controlled factions.
Faction Ability: Black Market
The Black Market is an auction house and a powerful tool for the outcasts and rogues of civilized society. It is a place for those looking to trade in illicit information, traffic in stolen goods, or hire black-hearted mercenaries … All for the right price, of course.
Faction Ability Type/Level: Passive / Max Level
Co
st: N/A
Effect 1: All faction members receive a new Black Market tab in their user interface.
Effect 2: All faction members gain (15) merchant slots within the Black Market.
It was creeping up on 3 AM by the time we finished, and everyone was bleary-eyed with exhaustion. I pulled the faction interface up one last time and froze. We had over eighteen thousand PMs waiting to be opened in our faction inbox. Probably, a good chunk of those were spam, threats, or people looking for freebies and handouts; eighteen thousand was still eighteen thousand, however. Thankfully, V.G.O.’s smart assistant would help filter out most of the junk, but even if only ten percent of those PMs were legit, that was 1,800 messages to wade through.
As if we didn’t already have enough on our plate. I simply shook my head and closed the interface.
There was still so much to do, but all that would just have to be a problem for another day. I was too worn out to do anything else tonight—not that I needed any more confirmation, but I was already sporting an Exhausted debuff, which slowed skill improvement, sapped carrying capacity, and decreased both Attack Damage and Spell Strength. My head also felt as foggy as a San Francisco morning in August.
“Alright,” I declared, “I’m calling it for tonight. We still need to decide what we’re going to do about Carrera and company, but everyone needs sleep first. How about we reconvene tomorrow morning at ten? We’ll meet here?”
Everyone agreed with muted, exhausted grunts, and before I knew it, I was shuffling my way toward my new private room, in desperate need of rest.
SIXTEEN:
The End Has Come
An alarm blared in my ear. Brrp, Brrp, Brrp, Brrp. Breaking News!
I shot up, shaking my head as I glanced around wild eyed and disoriented, searching for the source of the noise. Everything was pitch dark, and even with my Night-Eye ability, I could hardly see a thing. I knocked aside a light blanket draped across me, then swung my legs out over the edge of my new bed … well, technically it was a couch. A really nice couch, but still a couch. Our new master suite sported a bed—a humongous California King, big enough to accommodate five or six people—but I wasn’t sure Abby was comfortable splitting the mattress with me. Not yet, anyway.
Besides, I was used to sleeping on a couch anyway—I had lots of long nights of gaming to thank for that.
The alarm sounded again. Brrp, Brrp, Brrp, Brrp. Breaking News! Breaking News! Breaking News!
The noise was inside my head. “Alarm off, lights on,” I commanded groggily. The noise died as wall-mounted torches burst to life, coating the room in rich, warm yellow light. The master suite was everything my old apartment hadn’t been: spacious, luxurious, and expensive. The floors were polished granite, covered in places with thick area rugs of deep gray. There was lots of gleaming chrome, fancy modern art, and dark wood; honestly, it looked like a professional interior designer—with more money than common sense—had been let loose with reckless abandon.
I felt like a stranger here. Like an intruder. This was the posh pad of a billionaire—not the dinky, run-down hovel of a lowly EMT. It was definitely going to take a while to get used to living in a swanky place like this.
The mahogany double doors leading into the bedroom swung open, and Abby scrambled out, clad in only a flimsy nightgown, her hair frazzled, a look of worry flashing across her face. “Something’s happening, Jack. Something big.” She plopped down next to me in a huff, then turned her attention toward a glittering crystalline slab hanging from the wall in front of me. The object, labeled as a [Far-Seeing Crystal], looked like a big-screen television, which was oddly anachronistic compared to everything else I’d run across in V.G.O. so far. “On,” she said with a faint wave of one hand.
A muted flash filled the air as the Far-Seeing Crystal blinked to life, confirming my sneaking suspicion. I was guessing that a giant, magic TV wasn’t a feature most of Eldgard’s residents had access to, but then, the Faction Seals, and the Keeps that came with them, weren’t exactly meant for regular people either.
“Bring up the BBC,” Abby called out.
The TV fizzled for a moment, before a pair of news anchors materialized on the crystalline screen. There was a middle-aged man with wavy blond hair and unnaturally white teeth wearing a smart blazer. Sitting next to him was a thin Asian woman with straight black hair and an immaculate silver blouse. Though the anchors had well-coiffed hair and neatly pressed clothes, there was also an air of exhaustion mingling with desperation about them. These were two people hanging on by a thread—a fraying thread, only a moment away from snapping.
“It is with a heavy heart that I must announce we have reached the end, ladies and gentlemen,” the man said solemnly. His slightly clipped British accent reminded me of Cutter. He paused and ran trembling fingers over a stack of papers sitting on the news desk in front of him, adjusting and readjusting them, before clearing his throat.
“Despite the admirable efforts of our brightest minds,” he continued, “we have failed to split or divert the incoming asteroid. And so, we find ourselves on the verge of a catastrophe unseen since the extinction of the dinosaurs—a disaster the likes of which mankind has never known. With less than ten minutes to go, there is nothing left but to hold tightly to those we love and brace for impact. In preparation for the coming cataclysm, Lydia will now run through a rough simulation of what we can expect over the next minutes, hours, and days. Lydia?”
The camera panned to the Asian woman, Lydia, who now stood in front of a state-of-the-art holotable. “Thank you, John,” she said, her voice surprisingly pert for the end of the world. “Based on new information collected from the radio telescope in Arecibo, Puerto Rico, we believe Astraea will land somewhere in Central America or the Gulf of Mexico.” The holotable flared to life, and suddenly a perfectly rendered globe hung suspended in the air. With a few deft flicks of her hands, the globe shimmered and changed, until an enlarged view of Central America hovered in the air.
“Though the asteroid will likely land in water,” she said smoothly, professionally, “our experts have said this will make no difference.” Another flick of the wrist. Now the view of Central America was replaced by a giant hunk of rock and ice slicing through the dark expanse of space like a colossal bullet, aimed straight at the suspended Earth. “Astraea is traveling at approximately two hundred thousand kilometers an hour—or one hundred and twenty-five thousand miles per hour for our American viewers—and because of its immense size, Earth’s atmosphere will have a negligible effect on its incredible velocity.
“The asteroid will breach our atmosphere and will explode with the equivalent force of one hundred million megatons of TNT.” The holographically rendered asteroid collided into the projected Earth, and suddenly a mushroom cloud of water and fire and dirt exploded into low orbit. “Anyone within two thousand five hundred kilometers, or one thousand five hundred miles, of the impact site will likely be killed within seconds, which is devastating news for those living in coastal and southern areas of the United States. Shortly after impact, an EMP—or electric magnetic pulse—will erupt, destroying all technology not properly protected and causing world-wide blackouts. At that time, our station will likely go off air.”
She paused, took a deep breath, then tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. For the first time, there was a crack in her professional veneer. Although I couldn’t properly tell, it almost looked like unshed tears lingered just beneath her eyes.
“Now, if you live on the other side of the globe,” she finally soldiered on, her voice schooled to neutrality, “you will likely survive the impact. With that said, it’s very important you remain inside for as long as possible. Within twelve hours, the colossal amount of debris from the initial impact will start falling back through the atmosphere. Huge chunks of burning rock will rain down in a barrage of fiery hail that will destroy many major urban centers.” She spun one hand, and suddenly, in a horrific and spectacular display, the sky-bound debris on t
he holotable began falling, returning to Earth in a rain of burning rock and ash, peppering the surface like a barrage of artillery fire.
Abby scooted next to me until our thighs were touching and laced her fingers through mine. Her palm was clammy, slick, and trembling.
The news anchor, Lydia, seemed to crack a little more. She reached up and obliterated a lone tear, which had broken loose and run down her cheek. “Moreover,” she said, a slight quiver to the word, “the finer particulates will create a burning, suffocating cloud, which will choke out much of the life on the surface.” Once more, the hologram changed: the whole surface of the Earth was carpeted in rolling fire until it blazed like the sun.
“This burning cloud cover will hang overhead for a long time—perhaps as long as a week—and, as a result, the surface temperature will swell to well over one hundred and ten degrees Celsius. At such extreme temperatures, many forests and homes will spontaneously ignite, and even exposed water will begin to boil. It is imperative that you stay in shelter for at least a week, or longer if you are able.” Suddenly, her eyes bulged, tears leaking out wholesale, and the camera swiveled away from her, back to the male anchor.
“Well, we’ve just received a confirmation from NASA,” he said. “One minute and counting until impact.” A countdown timer appeared in the corner of the screen, making a mad sprint for zero. I could hear the anchorwoman crying softly in the background. “Good luck and Godspeed.” The anchor crossed himself before reverently bowing his head. “It’s truly been a pleasure and an honor to bring you the news.”