Look at that! This means that Barliona has preserved the ancient tradition of treating the bard as a universal class. I’ll need to figure out exactly what the deal here is.
“So I can study to be a full-fledged hunter then?”
“I doubt you’ll become a full-fledged hunter,” Coleus was quick to check my enthusiasm. “The hunters’ instructor will offer you one of the starting skills to choose from. At level ten you’ll receive another training point and you’ll be able to choose from the hunters’ second tier skills, or for example from the first tier mage skills. In other words, either you follow a single skill tree from another class (yet still lag behind dedicated hunters) or you take a little from everywhere but end up with pretty basic spells and skills. In addition to this, their efficacy will be decreased to 70% and you won’t be able to learn specialized class skills. You can learn the standard spells of necromancers, but you won’t be able to learn spells available to demonologists.”
In other words, the skills are more basic and their efficacy is truncated. What’s the point then? I asked the last question out loud.
“You can amass a unique assortment of skills and spells that is custom-tailored to you. You can acquire additional healing abilities or learn how to shoot a bow or learn the art of stealing. It’s up to you.”
“Is that all to say that it’s best to develop within one class?”
“Depends on the individual. You can choose some class as an auxiliary, go through the class initiation and receive access to the stronger skills of that class, as well as a wider selection of skills and an increase in their efficacy. But in that case you’ll be closing off other classes to yourself—their instructors will refuse to help you.”
“So that means I can become a bard-hunter?”
“Yes—this specialization is called a Wild Bard.”
“What are the other combinations?” I wondered.
“There are very many. I doubt even I’ve heard of all of them. But I could list the main ones.”
Having received the nod of confirmation, Coleus went on:
“There’s the aforementioned Wild Bard—a child of nature. Her songs are tied to nature, she is capable of taming beasts, she is a good shot with the bow and is close to the hunters’ fraternity. The bard that follows the way of the druids can use her performance to pacify animals and call them to her aid; she can speak with plants and animals too. If you wish to dedicate your life to the service of one of the gods of Barliona and follow the way of the priests, you will become a Divine Bard. As a rule Divine Bards are adept healers, famed for their psalms which strengthen the party they travel with, but here everything depends on the given patron deity. Their opposites are the Singers of Death, who wield the spells of necromancers. Their songs can bring death, destruction, ruin and illness, weakening their foes. A Scaldic Bard is a courageous warrior who inspires himself and his companions with songs and verses. A bard who studies the art of wielding daggers and short swords with rogues becomes a Singer of the Edge. If she studies deceit, stealth and thievery, she becomes a Spy. There are bards who have become the Voice of the Elements. There are others called Dark Minstrels, Acrobats, Jesters…I don’t know all of them, but you can try and learn about them in the library.”
My eyes went wide from the plethora of options. It follows that the devs had collected just about all of the diversity available to the bard class, turning the different variants into individual specializations. All I had to do was reach my fifth level and figure out which way I would grow from there. And I really did need to stop by the local library. What if I find a good description of the various directions there?
“Say, Coleus,” I asked the last question I had. “And if I want to remain a simple bard? Borrowing certain skills, but without merging with any other class?”
“Then you will be able to choose your own way within our class, but you and I shall discuss that only when I see something special in you.”
“And what is that?”
“I’ll tell you when it happens,” Coleus replied enigmatically and, clearly indicating that our conversation had ended, headed back to his tent.
Chapter Four
Inspired, and at the same time a bit puzzled, I wandered from the bards’ tent considering what I should do. I couldn’t keep my mind on Coleus’ quest. My thoughts circled around the class specialization and that something ‘special’ that I had to accomplish in order to delve further into the bard class. Some special quest? An item? A secondary characteristic or several carefully chosen secondary characteristics? Most likely the latter. If only I knew what to choose and how…It was pointless to rely on the guides, so the library was my only hope. And yet, I really didn’t feel like riffling through dusty parchments. I wanted to take a stroll, to look around and take in the beauties of this place. So that I could tell the boys about this location at our next practice. Tomorrow morning I’ll go see Amaryllis to get the info she promised about increasing reputation. I’ll eke out some newb quest and go hunt some bunnies or some other dangerous monsters. And why not? Maybe biota are like carrots to them—a delicacy—and our biota race struggles for survival battling their merciless teeth.
But all that tomorrow. Right now I’ll go for that walk. Only I seem to be lacking something…
The Market Branch bustled with activity: Players darted between the vendors’ stalls, the bank and less frequently the auction. NPCs praised their goods, talked with each other or simply stood around not doing anything. My eye was drawn to Prickly Sloe, the necromancer I’d met earlier, who was now doing something odd. Paying utterly no attention to the looks he was getting, he was going around with a wicker basket full of gorgeous flower garlands, decorating the vendors’ stalls. The vendors didn’t object, so I doubt this was entirely Sloe’s initiative. The conclusion was that he’d come up with some quest.
“Hey! I’m not getting in your way, am I?” I greeted the necromancer, approaching him.
He glanced at me suspiciously and muttered a reply:
“Hi. What’d you need?”
Why is everyone so touchy here anyway? First that Chip, now this Sloe…
“Nothing much. I simply wanted to ask about this quest you’re doing.”
“I’m helping decorate the city for the coming First Bulbs Festival, whatever that means. It’s like they don’t have enough flowers here as it is.”
I was forced to agree. In my opinion, the Tree didn’t need further decoration, but I guess the devs had decided to give players a chance to level up and earn some gold with this kind of activity. Considering that Sloe was the only one doing this, I suppose the majority of players preferred slightly more interesting quests.
“And who can I speak to about getting such a quest?” I asked just in case. What if it’ll come in handy?
“Talk to the NPC who met you when you hatched,” Sloe advised.
It just so happened that right then a party of players was passing us, consisting of a necromancer, a mage, a hunter and a priest. Noticing what Sloe was doing, they began to giggle and point at him.
“Look at that! He’s doing a social quest, the moron!”
“Clean my boots! You’ll get some rep!”
“Come level up with us, you ninny!”
Prickly Sloe twitched a muscle but didn’t reply, focusing on the garland he was arranging. I could see now why he’d responded so defensively when I approached him.
“Thanks,” I thanked him sincerely, trying to dispel the impression left by the stupid players, who had lost interest and headed off on their business. “I guess I’ll help arrange the festival too.”
“Uh-huh,” Sloe barked ambiguously and here our conversation drew to an end.
My review of the market wares ended up being brief and informative. Practically everything on offer exceeded my paltry budget. Even the most modest bags cost at least one gold, to say nothing of prettier or more elaborate versions. The one silver lining was that there were plenty of vessels for water on sale a
nd the cheapest one cost exactly 20 silver. Having examined all the options I noticed that there was a difference between flasks, bottles and other containers—and that was their volume. My basic one was enough for four gulps and then I’d have to find a source of water to refill it. The most expensive, meanwhile, despite its similar size contained as much as a hundred gulps, which meant I could restore stamina a hundred times with it as well as increase my mana recovery rate. On the other hand, that one cost five hundred gold. An amount I couldn’t imagine at the moment.
The sky was beginning to lighten and—at a whim—I went looking for a good vantage point. The edge of the branch opened up on a stunning view of the surroundings: An endless, it seemed, forest rolled in waves of treetops up onto a mountain range, from behind which the sun was rising. It turns out that when it rises from behind a mountain the dawn looks different. The mountain range occluded the purple dawn and so the sky was gradually losing its darker colors, paling and then filling with bright gold rays as the sun peeked from the jagged peaks.
The desire to leave the Tree and see what was going on around us, as well as test myself in battle, flared up somewhere in the pit of my stomach. As a friend of mine used to say: “Sometimes the boot up your ass is the piston that drives you onward.” Either way, I found a leafevator and sitting down as per habit, thought about how I needed to descend to the Tree’s roots. And as the leaf obediently carried me downward and toward new adventures, I took my lute in hand and imagined my heroic victory over some rabid squirrel or roly-poly or whatever mobs had been prepared for us newbies. I had it all calculated. I’d slay one or two mobs, get some XP, check out the combat system and maybe even find some cool loot.
The leaf landed in the middle of a peculiar forest which looked like no forest I’d ever seen before. Impossible trees wound with vines chockfull of stunning flowers…birds singing…
Damage taken. -32 HP (Blighted Lynx bite: 40) - (Physical resistance: 8) HP Remaining: 0 / 30.
Attention! We recommend you disable damage detail in combat settings.
Attention! Respawn Penalty: -30% XP. Current XP: 24 / 76.
The Barliona launch screen appeared before me with a large inscription announcing:
You have died. You may enter Barliona again in 12 hours.
And before my eyes the 12 changed to a cheeky 11:59:59 and began counting down.
“Oh sure,” I muttered to myself realizing what had happened. It looks like I’d miscalculated.
Checking the logs didn’t teach me anything I didn’t know, but it did occur to me that in addition to the damage detail I should disable every other notification as well. Agility bonus percentages, points to Intellect et cetera, made for some pretty dull reading. Luckily the abundant interface settings allowed me to keep only notifications about new actions that cause my stats to grow, as well as notifications of when my stats reached integer milestones.
I clambered out of my cocoon, stretched my limbs and body and plodded off to the kitchen. My basic autocook fixed me a cup of coffee and I dug up some chocolate candy from my pantry. Having provisioned myself in this manner, I set out to adventure in the toxic climes of the Barliona fora.
Searching for ‘biota’ led me to an unbelievable amount of reference information and other noise all mixed in with various ads for paid guides. Sipping my coffee I rephrased my search query to ‘biota combat low level’ and a couple other phrases that added up to ‘what the hell?’ I should mention that the first results were way more informative, even if it was way harder to read them. Briefly put, players who played biota were emotionally asking the Barliona admins why this race’s starting location was chockfull of aggressive monsters. And not only aggressive ones but also ones that were no less than Level 5. And the only response from the admins was a reminder that biota are a hardcore race and are hard to play—but not impossible. The players were advised to stop screwing around and team up. And this was mixed in with glaring links to the already-familiar paid guides as well as random users bragging about solo leveling with pure aggroed mobs—in response to which, such users were called trolls and told to go to places dark, gloomy and uninhabited. In general, just like any other community hubs, the Barliona fora were paragons of harmony and understanding.
Three hours spent studying the guide allowed me to come to grips with the main game professions and choose a suitable one. While I was at it, I checked out the pirc race—our closest neighbors and allies.
Racial reputation penalty: Most races regard pircs with distrust. -50% to reputation growth.
Racial bonus to Strength: +50%. Stat point cost: +2 for 1.
Racial bonus to Constitution: +50%. Stat point cost: +2 for 1.
Racial bonus to Agility: +25%. Stat point cost: +4 for 3.
Racial penalty to Intellect: -50%. Stat point cost: +1 for 4.
Racial trait: Resistance to cold. -10% damage from ice.
Racial trait: Resistance to magic. -10% damage from magic. This trait has no effect on fire sensitivity and is added to the race’s cold resistance. This trait likewise weakens incoming healing, auras and other beneficial magic.
Racial weakness: Fire sensitivity. +10% damage from fire.
Racial trait: Gluttony. The pircs must consume raw or cooked meat no less than once a day. Otherwise they receive the Hungry status effect (-50% to Strength).
Racial ability: Silent step. When in a natural environment, like a forest, pircs gain the stealth movement ability.
Racial ability: Magic defense. Temporary immunity to magic (10 seconds. Cooldown: 30 minutes).
Racial trait: Savage mien. Most other races of Barliona consider the pircs savage in appearance. -10 Attractiveness with NPCs.
Racial trait: Large predator. Many animals are afraid of the pircs.
A curious race indeed. As I understand it, reputation and attractiveness determines whether an NPC will issue you a quest or not, as well as how much they’ll charge you for their wares or whatever else. And the poor pircs have to break a sweat to earn the trust and pity of these same NPCs. At least they don’t die from a mere breeze like the biota do. The logical thing to do is go visit the pircs and join one of their parties. Judging by their penalties to Intellect, the furballs could use some casters and healers. I’ll need to locate Chip and ask him how he managed to reach the Tree without drawing aggro from the mobs infesting the woods.
The words I was reading began to resemble series of garbled symbols, hinting that I should take a break. There was no practice scheduled today and I didn’t have any orders from my freelancing gig, so I decided to go out and take a walk.
The real world greeted me with evening dusk and the feeling that I had traveled in time. I had watched the sunrise but a short while ago in Barliona and here I was back at sundown in real life. Although it wasn’t like I could see it: The city’s impenetrable rows of high-rises merely allowed me to bask in the glory of some pink-tinted clouds, which for an urban dweller is as nice as it gets in terms of nature.
My neighborhood was a quiet one. My neighbors, whom I knew by face if not by name, nodded to me politely. Children chased after a canine imitator. The adults stared into their visors. A real living pigeon sipped water from a puddle. An ordinary evening to an ordinary day. I put on my headphones and wandered aimlessly along my preferred route (where my legs take me) enjoying the music and not thinking of anything in particular.
At an intersection, a screen on a building was broadcasting the news: A huge helicopter was launching rockets at invisible enemies from its stubby wings. Soldiers in power armor led a column of prisoners who cast around, looking at their captors fearfully. I couldn’t hear anything but it was clear that this was footage from the ongoing African conflict.
That’s the way people are—we can always find some reason to go to war. On our little planet, even despite our universal government, there was always conflict. Either someone didn’t like someone else, or some spiritual prophet would appear who’d claim to know the one true way to salvat
ion, or simply (and typically) someone didn’t split the money they had earned. More frequently than not, it all ended with a visit from the cops, though sometimes, like now, our brave army would rally all the king’s horses and all the king’s men to restore order. Of course, there were still some pseudo-sovereign states remaining like the ancient Christiana and Sealand, but they were independent strictly formally-speaking. Who’s going to start a war over some tiny piece of land? So the microstates continued to exist, minting coins and printing money for the tourists. As for Africa…There was always a coup happening there. Someone was getting deposed or reinstated. Typically, all that was really going on was yet another warlord trying to shove his way to the trough. It was the same story year in and year out: As soon as Somalia calmed down, Sudan flared up. When Sudan calmed down, it’d be Libya’s turn. On top of all this, a year ago—maybe for a change of pace—a riot broke out on the moon. The miners were unhappy with their salaries and their living conditions. It didn’t get much further than some yelling and rabbling: Someone in the lunar administration was fired, someone else was brought up on charges and everyone calmed down.
A building’s wall bloomed into a holographic ad for Barliona, interrupting the news footage from Africa. A vivid ad that ended with the words: “Feel the world you love!” This was followed by the address of the nearest support center. I brought up the city’s map on my visor and looked up directions to the center. It was less than thirty minutes from me and open 24/7 so I headed that way without giving it more thought.
The branch building was stylized to resemble a small castle—it even had towers with embrasures. I bet it was the recreation of some famous in-game location but it wasn’t one I was familiar with. It’s not a bad marketing ploy: You’re walking along a street when—bam!—you come upon a castle…or a tavern…or a fortress. Or even one of the biota buildings. And then you get your décor, your marketing and your service center all in one place.
The Renegades Page 6