Amaryllis’ face grew grim at my words. Had I said too much?
“We always knew that one grown in a bulb may see this in her dreams. Let’s go—I will bring you to someone who can tell you the meaning of what you saw.”
Following Amaryllis to the local eco-friendly means of transportation, I couldn’t help but wonder who this dream-interpreter could be. Some local oracle? Or do the mages fulfil this purpose? Maybe, just like in Avatar, I’ll be hooked up to the Tree and it’ll reveal to me some immense truth?
Amaryllis didn’t answer my questions and we spent our journey to the Tree’s higher branches in silence. The creature I encountered once we’d entered one of the buildings was neither mage nor oracle. The epidermis of the biota sitting at his desk was black like cooled embers and his yellow fibers turned his face into the terrifying mask of a predator. The branches sticking straight up from his head in lieu of his hair completed the picture. The Seventh. A master assassin and one of the first biota to appear in the world.
“Please accept my highest esteem, oh Seventh,” Amaryllis bowed and I hurried to mimic her genuflection. I couldn’t help but recall the bloodied drow head in the grim biota’s hands.
“It is a great honor for me to see one of the first of my people,” I uttered my greetings respectfully.
“Yes, I am one of the first biota to behold the Barliona heavens,” the Seventh agreed majestically. “I have been alive for a very long time, do you know this?”
“Yes, oh Seventh,” I replied deferentially.
“In that case try and imagine how tired am I of hearing these endless platitudes and get to the business at hand,” he said, screwing his mouth into a smirk. “What has taken place, Amaryllis?”
“What you were worried would happen, Eben,” she replied enigmatically as I stood staring at the Council member at a loss.
“And what did she see?” the Seventh said grimly.
“The schism,” Amaryllis said and Eben’s face grew even dourer—just as Amaryllis’ had done when I first told her.
Can someone please explain what I’ve done wrong?
As if reading my mind, the Seventh sighed and turned his full scary face to me:
“I am sure that the reason for this is that you are a bard. Your lot always sees and knows more than everyone else. Our race’s particular feature makes it very difficult to keep everything a secret. Any moment of your life may be seen by one of our kin who is still in the Twilight Dream. As a result, we try not to keep secrets from one another. Life’s much simpler that way. We live in accord and agreement. At least this is the way it was until recently.”
The chair squealed as it slid back. Eben stood up and began pacing back and forth.
“Not long ago a shaman named Geranika managed to assassinate the two major leaders of our continent. The Emperor of Malabar and the Dark Lord of Kartoss fell and the world began to change drastically. Free Citizens began to appear in the Dark Empire, and later even here, emerging from our bulbs. Geranika drove two cursed daggers in the imperial thrones and if no one finds a way to extract the defiled items, the Empires will lose their new emperors as well. Despite this mortal peril, the new Nameless Dark Lord of Kartoss is concerned for the future of the peoples in his empire. Without wasting time, of which he does not have much, he sent messengers to all the races living in the Kartossian borderlands that are not part of its empire. He offered us an alliance. The Dark Lord has no doubts that the renegade shaman Geranika will not stop at what he has achieved, and thus offers that we and the pircs forget our ancient enmity with Kartoss and join its empire. It seems he was right too because Geranika himself approached us offering an alliance. This shaman wields a tremendous power, a part of which he is willing to share with his allies. Geranika offered us the chance to exact revenge against our old foes. He spoke convincingly and his gifts are generous, but many of us have traveled beyond the Arras over the last few years to study the other peoples. Some have changed for the better, some have remained as they were, but one thing is evident: Despite our former disagreements, we do not want to destroy them. It turned out that not everyone shared this opinion. The Sixth, the Second and Kodiak—one of the pirc chieftains—argued before the Joint Biota and Pirc Council to accept Geranika’s offer. An unparalleled power, a long-awaited chance for revenge, the bounties of new lands—all of this fogged our reasoning, but the majority in the Council voted in favor of the alliance with Kartoss. The Sixth and her faction refused to accept the Council’s decision and a schism took place—as a result, the renegades abandoned the Tree.”
The Seventh cast me a dusky look and went on with a sigh:
“We hoped that our friends would cool off and change their minds, but soon after they departed, terrifying changes began to take place. An alien blight appeared in the forest. Some of the animals began to change and attack us. Parts of the forest changed entirely, vegetation and all. We have not found a way to restore them and are therefore forced to destroy them to keep the rest of the forest safe. If you decide to descend from the Tree, you should be very careful. The Hidden Forest is dangerous even for us now. If you find a way to kill a dozen of the blighted beasts, you shall be rewarded.”
Quest available: Slaughter of the Blighted Beasts. Description: The forest around the Tree is flooded with blighted creatures which have been altered by some unknown magic. Help save the forest—kill 12 blighted beasts. Quest type: Common. Reward: +100 Reputation with the Biota, +200 XP, +5 gold. Penalty for failing/refusing the quest: None.
“I will do everything I can to save the forest,” I assured the Seventh, accepting the quest. “What do I do if I find the source of the blight or a way to heal the defiled creatures?”
“Then you shall become a hero, bard.” The smile on Eben’s face resembled a terrible scowl. “If you do that which neither the Council nor the mightiest druids of our race could accomplish, you shall receive a worthy reward indeed.”
Quest available: Source of the Blight. Description: A blight is spreading through the Hidden Forest, changing everything that lives. Find the source of the blight and/or a way to heal the blighted creatures. Quest type: Rare scenario. Reward: +1000 Reputation with the Biota, +1000 XP, +200 gold for accomplishing either objective. If you accomplish both objectives, you will also receive an extra +500 Reputation with the Biota and a scaling item from the Biota Council. Penalty for failing/refusing the quest: None.
“I will try to find the source of the blight, oh Seventh,” I announced triumphantly, regretting that I couldn’t go riffle through the guides this instant to find out what a scaling item is.
“Perhaps, Lorelei, perhaps,” judging by his voice, Eben didn’t share my optimism. “But at the moment, I’m more worried about something else. We are keeping the schism that has afflicted our Council a secret for the moment, as well as our coming alliance with Kartoss. We are doing this in order to prevent any panic among the populace. At the First Bulbs Festival, the Council will announce the embassy’s arrival and the Council’s ratification of the alliance. When our people see with their own eyes that the other sentients have changed, they shall accept the idea of an alliance. Besides, I am afraid that the Sixth and her adherents might come up with a provocation to imperil any future negotiations. This is precisely why it is vital to keep the embassy’s arrival a secret. Do you understand how serious the situation is, Lorelei?”
“I understand, oh Seventh.”
“Then give me your word that you won’t tell anyone what you saw in your Twilight Dream about the schism in the Council or what you heard from me.”
“I swear this will remain a secret between you and me.”
Your reputation with the Biota has increased by 50 points. Current status: Friendly. You are 2944 points away from the status of Respect.
Attention! You have been charged with a responsibility: You may not use any means of communication to tell anyone about the schism in the Council, the departure of the Sixth and her adherents or the arrival of the Kartos
sian delegation and the coming negotiations. Penalty for violating your promise: -1000 Reputation with the Biota and a variable punishment from the Seventh.
And that’s it? Where’s the reward for staying quiet? Where’s the invitation to the negotiations? What happened to one good turn deserves another? But okay. Let the drowning biota rescue himself.
“Since I’ve accidentally become a part of this affair, perhaps I can be of assistance by getting things ready for the arrival of the Kartossian messengers?”
“You can discuss this with Amaryllis, Lorelei. This is not within the scope of my cares,” the spymaster replied. “It’s time you go.”
I bowed politely and followed Amaryllis out.
“You have chosen difficult times to behold the stars, Lorelei,” the NPC smiled wistfully. “As for preparing for the meeting with the messengers, the preparations are already under way. Only, everyone thinks that they’re preparing for the First Bulbs Festival. If you take care of a simpler quest, I’ll consider what else you could do.”
“Help me with one more question. In my dream I saw the Tenth among the Council, but I didn’t see his demise. Did something happen to him?”
“Cypro journeyed beyond the Arras almost five hundred years ago. He has not returned since. Many biota see his travels in their dreams and we hope that the Tenth still wanders along the countless roads of Barliona.”
Well, crap. So the head Bard isn’t even in the Hidden Forest? This means I can’t rely on this source of class wisdom.
“Last question. Several times I’ve noticed an ornament that consists of intersecting circles,” I traced a vague semblance of the pattern in the air. “Does it mean something or is it simply decorative?”
“This is Cypro’s personal sigil,” the NPC smiled. “No one knows why he painted them, but if you meet the Tenth you should absolutely ask him about it.”
Quest available: The Mysterious Sigil. Description: For reasons known only to him, the Tenth left his sigil in various locations around the Tree. No one knows whether this is a jest, a prank or a hint for inquisitive minds. Perhaps you are the one who will discover the answer to this mystery? Quest type: Rare. Reward: Variable. Penalty for failing/refusing the quest: None.
A class-based quest from someone other than the bard instructor? Curious. I’ll need to look for any patterns in the sigils’ locations. I accepted the quest, opened my journal and couldn’t help but smile: What an assortment of quests—everything from global politics to custodial duties. Nothing to be done. I’ll need to do the basic quests first to get something a little more interesting.
Chapter Six
It was not the heroic endeavor I had envisioned when I fantasized about my future adventures in Barliona. In my mind, I had imagined journeys to distant climes, libations in taverns, webs of intrigue, sweeping battles and encounters with monsters and dragons—and here I was about to wash some floors. Although, what’s so surprising? I’m basically no one here. My name means nothing and at Level 1, I doubt I’d even be a worthy snack for a dragon. So all in all this quest was a fitting one. I could naturally object that this isn’t a task for a player—that manual labor should be left to the NPCs—and yet it’s not like anyone was forcing me to do this. And the extra XP, reputation and cash wouldn’t hurt right now either. This being an RPG, even this modest quest chain could easily lead me to some high-level meeting—even if only as a servant. At least I’d get to see the servants of the Dark Lord of Kartoss if not the Dark Lord himself. The way the players on the fora talk about it, seeing the rulers with one’s own virtual eyes is a rare occurrence that one shouldn’t pass up.
Having used this reasoning to pacify my pride, I made my way to the enormous spiral staircase that led to the palace. The spacious plaza before this staircase had been entrusted to me—to clean. Well they wouldn’t just let any old biota clean something as important as the palace square. Even here, there was a progression to observe. First wash the square, then the staircase, then the royal balcony, then the royal toilets…Hmm. I’m getting carried away.
Like every other architectural detail I’d encountered, the staircase was vegetative in nature. A vine that grew spiraling around the trunk and fleshy leaves that served as stairs. Another vine, a bit thinner, served as the rail and banister. Both the staircase and the square around it were quite dusty and tarnished, as if the level designer had tried to skimp on the flowers for this location.
“Enough labor from here until sundown,” I muttered an old proverb, examining the work ahead of me.
It wouldn’t be such a big deal if I could imagine how I was going to actually clean all this. I was used to having imitators clean the house. Right this instant, my own cleaning imitators were setting my apartment in order on the other side of the virtual barrier. All this feels slightly karmic actually: The imitator is cleaning my place and I’m cleaning the imitators’ place.
Along with the quest, I’d received a bucket, a rag and this like T-shaped stick that I had no idea what to do with. Could I use it to pick fruits in the orchard? At least the bucket part is clear enough—that’s for holding the water to do the cleaning with. Why hadn’t any book I’d read ever discussed this topic? All they’d ever mention was something like ‘she scoured the floor with a wet rag and muttered profanities at the passersby.’ All right. If it’s scour and mutter, I can scour and mutter.
I wandered over to the nearest creek, still beset by the problem of how a creek could run down a tree. The only hypothesis I had was ‘high-proof magic’—which happened to be Straus’ favorite explanation for anything he didn’t understand. At least there was a surprise waiting for me at the creek: yet another sigil of the Tenth on the bark at the edge of the water.
Quest updated: The Mysterious Sigil (1 of 36 sigils located).
I guess the ones I’d found earlier didn’t count then? Well, that wouldn’t be difficult to remedy. I’ll wrap up this social quest and swing by the other sigils. I filled the bucket with water and dragged it to the square with a little difficulty. My stamina dropped by 30 points. Sucks to be weak. After some consideration, I dumped the water onto the incredibly disgusting wooden surface that reminded me more of imitation parquet than bark. Then I tossed the rag into the puddle I’d made. Okay. Now the scouring. Scratching my head, I stepped onto the rag and began to drag it back and forth. The puddle spread out but nothing seemed cleaner. I’m doing something wrong, aren’t I?
From over my head, I heard a monotonous grumbling that slowly arranged itself into the melody of the theme song to one of my favorite sci-fi shows. Looking up, I beheld the rear of a pirc, covered in taut green pants. A slit in the seat of the pants allowed his clipped tail out into the air where it jiggled to the rhythm of the song. Every thirty seconds or so, the singing gave way to the sounds of a wet rag splashing against a wet floor—instantly telling me what Chip was up to. The same thing I was. Only his take on the act of cleaning was much simpler than mine: Chip brandished the T-shaped stick in his hands having draped the rag across its crossbar. In two swift motions he cleaned a step and moved on to the next one. Just like that. One-two, one-two and the surface was clean and the singing pirc stepped down. And another observation: After every two steps, the furball rinsed and squeezed out the rag. I’m no Sherlock Holmes or anything—I can’t just adduce the profession of some random person, but I can say with a great deal of certainty that Chip the player had washed a floor or two irl before. Maybe he was some insane janitor? I’d encountered these hardened roleplayers before. Grown adults who maintained their role even at home: cooked food in ancient crockery, sewed their own clothes and, well generally lost their minds in their particular way. There was nothing bad about it of course, mere idiosyncrasy really.
“Ba-ba-bam,” Chip was clearly in an excellent mood. No, there’s definitely something wrong with him. Who in their right mind enjoys this kind of tedium? This guy’s having a ball!
“This is heavenly…” Chip rinsed the rag and finally deigned to notice
me.
“Greetings fellow culture warrior! He bellowed joyfully and saluted me with the wet rag. “What? Have you too been enjoined to put the place in order?”
“Looks like it,” I replied without an inkling of the pirc’s enthusiasm. Kicking the rag one more time, I sighed and glanced over at Chip, trying to see how he handles the mysterious T-shaped stick. Look at that. A complex tool which must be integrated with the cleaning medium in order to complete the quest. A puzzle.
“I’m just recalling my youth,” the pirc shared.
In the name of the Pasta and the Sauce, what a grin this fellow had. I wonder how much time the model artists had to spend in the zoo to recreate this phiz?
“Long before I was issued my rifle, I was issued a mop. The first day of the academy actually,” Chip shook the stick with its rag. Perhaps how I felt about his enthusiasm could be read on my face because the pirc examined me carefully, then the puddle at my feet and not so much asked as summarized: “I gather that the mop, the rag and the bucket are not your friends, my dear.”
“I’d sing a strange song about how diamonds are a girl’s best friends, but I generally consider friendship with inanimate objects a form of sociopathy,” I replied with dignity. “I can see this isn’t the first time you’ve undertaken this type of quest?”
“Any respectable airman has no choice but be proficient at waltzing with the mop,” he replied eagerly. “Pursuant to which, I propose we unionize and effect an evolutionary breakthrough in this impasse by means of a simple division of labor.”
This last bit was so incomprehensible and unlike the way the pirc had spoken back at the Market Branch that I found myself at a loss for what to say. Seeing Chip now, I wouldn’t dream of concluding that he was irritable or combative.
“What is this division of which you speak?” I asked suspiciously.
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