Pangea Online 3: Vials and Tribulations

by S. L. Rowland

  A speck of mud flies through the air and lands with a soft plop against my goggles, obscuring my vision. I wipe it away with my thumb and focus on the task at hand. I whip the reins hard, urging my giant chicken to run faster.

  As best I can, I tune out the roar of the crowd, focusing on the squawk of the other giant chickens riding my tail.

  Position: 3/12

  The finish line is in sight. One final stretch of track and two angry chickens stand between me and first place.

  I reach into the satchel that hangs around the neck of my chicken, Bobo, and pull out a blue canister. Bobo is seven feet tall with bright blue plumage. A streak of yellow feathers juts out of the top of his head like a mohawk. This is our fifth race together today, and for the most part, we’re a pretty good team. I contemplate throwing the canister. It’s a great item, and I usually save it for when I’m in second place, but there’s no point in holding on to this one any longer. It’s time to make moves if I want a shot at winning.

  The lightweight canister zooms down the track like a rocket when I toss it forward. It splits open in the middle, and a rope with weighted knots on both ends ejects, wrapping around the feet of the chicken ahead of me. The giant chicken falls to the ground with a squawk, and red feathers flutter into the air. The fall launches the rider headfirst into the mud.

  She waves her fist at me as I pass, displaying one brass knuckle with the word “off” engraved on it. My imagination fills in the text from her other knuckle.

  Only one rider stands between me and chicken-race immortality.

  Okay, maybe not immortality, but between me and the next round of Buzz’s First Annual Chicken Cup Classic.

  Bobo plants his claws in the mud and makes a final push on the leader. I have no idea who the rider in first place is. He wears a golden samurai mask and full body armor, concealing his identity. His chicken is purple with a white head and long golden tail-feathers that whip in the wind.

  An item box appears on the track, hovering in the middle just as the leader passes by. These boxes are filled with useful items for attacking opponents. Whenever someone hits an item box, the contents automatically appear in their inventory.

  The leader equips a black canister and tosses it to the ground in front of the item box. Oil explodes from the canister, creating a slick right where the loot box is.

  The finish line grows ever closer and I’m no nearer to first place. I need to get that item box, but there’s the risk I’ll get stuck in the oil. It’s a risk I’ll have to take in order to win.

  Setting our sights on the box, Bobo and I race straight toward our salvation or doom. I urge Bobo to jump and we hit the box square on.

  A red canister instantly appears in my hand. Without a second to wait, I toss the canister to the ground before Bobo lands in the oil spill. The canister cracks open as it hits the ground, and a giant flame erupts from Bobo’s backside, barreling us through the air and past the oil slick. We continue to soar down the track and are inches from taking first place when the sky suddenly goes black.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  The leader and I are neck and neck when two giant rods of lightning fork down from the sky. An explosion of white light and deafening thunder hits, forming a crater in the track and immobilizing both me and the samurai. For the next two seconds, we’re unable to move, forced to watch helplessly as first and second place go to a pair of gnomes on color-coordinated chickens.

  “Dammit!” the rider next to me curses. “It’s always the gnomes. Gnomes suck!” He slams his samurai mask on the ground, and I can see that he is actually…a woman.

  We creep past the finish line once the stun wears off, taking fifth and sixth place.

  “Tough luck,” I say, but it does nothing to remove the scowl from her face.

  “Just once, I’d like to make it to the finish line without being blown to bits right as I’m about to win. You lead for three laps and then a well-timed item undoes everything. And of course, I’m never lucky enough to have an Infinity Shield.” She shakes her head.

  “Better luck next time.” I extend my hand. “Name’s Esil.”

  She cracks a smile. “I know all about you. I’m sure everyone competing knows who you are. Though, it’s a little harder to recognize you without that giant wolf. Name’s Sam, nice to meet you.”

  I check the updated rankings as they adjust to the most recent stats. I’m out of the top ten and won’t be competing in the final race.

  Oh well, at least I had some fun and can catch up with the others.

  “Well, what do you know,” says Sam. “Made it by the skin of my teeth.”

  Glancing at the rankings again, I spot a “Samantha Tarly” in tenth place.

  “Well, how about that. I’ll be cheering you on in the final race. Best of luck.”

  “Thanks! Really, though, who would have thought that a bloody chicken race would be one of the most popular games in Pangea?” She beams at me as she walks past to register for her next race.

  Over the past year, Buzz has turned his small chicken farm into one of the biggest attractions in Asgard. Between the time he spends in full-immersion and here, I don’t know how he has time for anything else. Considering I’ve barely seen him lately, I guess he doesn’t.

  A firm hand slaps me on the back.

  “I guess you can’t win everything.” Buzz flashes me a wide smile. “You were really making some moves before that lightning bolt hit you.”

  “You should really take that item out of the races.” I roll my eyes.

  “No way. The crowd loves it. You should see their reaction when it hits.” He tilts his head back in laughter.

  Buzz has been sporting some new threads since opening Buzz’s Chicken Races to the public. He’s let go of the wolf persona he’d taken on since coming to Asgard. His current outfit can only be described as a cross between a jester and a rogue. He wears the curled shoes and clothing of a jester, but with a dark, motley tunic that is almost somber. Instead of the typical fool’s hat, he wears a cowl in the shape of a chicken head. Several daggers hang from his side, each with a hooked talon on the hilt. He still pays homage to the wolves with a small patch in the shape of a wolf head over his heart.

  I still can’t decide if it’s funny or badass.

  “Is the turnout everything you hoped?” I ask, but I already know the answer. The stands are full. There are numerous races per hour. This place is booming, and Buzz of all people had a vision for it.

  “Business is good. You know, I always had dreams, but it looks like I am finally on the way to becoming the Chicken King. There have been talks with Asgard to have a race in honor of the gods, can you believe that? Loki might even compete.” He beams with pride.

  “That’s great to hear. I’m happy for you.” He’s come a long way since we both worked in the mines together, mining data for eight hours a day and barely getting by. And in spite of all the challenges, he’s overcome them all with a joke and a smile on his face. This truly couldn’t have happened to a better person.

  Buzz wraps his arm around my shoulder. “They say find something you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life. This sure as hell beats mining, I’ll tell you that.” He turns me around until I’m facing the stands. “I hooked up Grayson and Dean with box seats. Best view in the arena.”

  “Nice. I’m sure Dean is grateful.”

  “I can see why you picked him. He seems like a good kid.”

  “He is. He’s got a fire in him, that’s for sure. I’m hoping with a little guidance to make it a controlled burn and not a wildfire.”

  Buzz looks up at the display overhead as it counts down to the next race. It’s a busy life running a chicken empire.

  “I hate to cut and run, but you know, chicken king duties await.”

  We shake hands and Buzz disappears into the crowd. I’m glad he has finally turned his small farm into an empire. If anyone is deserving of this much success, it’s Buzz.

  I head
toward the stands to find Dean and Grayson, but the path is full of people moving about during the time between races.

  “Esil!” someone shouts nearby.

  I search for the person who called my name and spot a hand waving frantically from the stands. Dean beams at me. Grayson gives me a mock salute from behind him.

  Dean still wears his new cowboy getup, but Grayson has returned to his pirate outfit. He wears a white vest, halfway unbuttoned, exposing a roaring bear head tattooed on his chest. Several necklaces and amulets dangle from his neck. There’s a belt with a revolver on his hip, and two golden battle gauntlets cover his hands. His mustache curls up around the edges, forming two semicircles above a full gray beard.

  They jump the railing and meet me among the crowd.

  “Man, I totally want to come race chickens some time. It looked like so much fun. You almost had it too.” Dean grins.

  I pat him on the back. “I’m sure we could arrange that. I hear you guys had the best seats in the house.”

  Grayson gazes over the massive arena. “It’s a far cry from the chicken coop we defended from foxes and frost giants.”

  “That’s the truth. What do you say we explore what Buzzworld has to offer?”

  We walk around the stadium, taking in the small shops and vendors that have profited from Buzz’s genius. The sudden popularity of the chicken races means that Asgard is no longer primarily filled with warriors carrying large weapons and wearing tunics. Players come from far and wide to witness the mayhem of men and women battling for supremacy while racing giant, rainbow-colored chickens.

  “Thank you all for attending my first annual Chicken Cup Classic…” Buzz’s voice carries across the stadium. I’ve heard it all before, so I tune him out and continue exploring.

  A concession stand named the Chicken Hut catches my eye and I take a look at what they’re selling. It’s kind of sadistic that the only options they have are various forms of chicken.

  Chicken on a stick. +10% damage for five minutes.

  Chicken Nuggies. 10% increased movement for five minutes.

  Chicken Pot Pie: 10% increased Stamina for five minutes.

  Chicken Gizzards: +10 constitution for five minutes.

  Chicken Noodle Soup. Restores 500 health over 30 seconds.

  *Disclaimer: Effects are not active while in a chicken race.

  The list goes on and on. Dean buys himself a chicken on a stick. Even though he can’t actually taste it, he eats it like a man possessed. He and Buzz have that in common.

  There are so many shops surrounding the stadium that I’m sure Buzz is making a fortune just from renting out the locations. I pass a popcorn stand and a booth with cotton candy in every color of the rainbow that grants effects ranging from temporary flight to icy breath. A miniature pub with four barstools catches my eye, and we take the remaining seats next to a stout, red-haired dwarf.

  “Esil! By the gods, is that you!” The dwarf bangs his fist on the counter. His braided red beard hangs down into his lap and a mug of dark amber liquid swishes about, foam lingering on the ends of his mustache. “And this one. Grayson! What are the chances?”

  “Ordin! It’s been a while, indeed. I haven’t seen you since, what, the end of the Developer’s Tournament?” I give him a friendly slap on the back. The last time we spoke was when I gave him the Developer’s Chest that I won in the tournament. If it hadn’t been for his help in the final stage, I never would have won, so I figured it was the least I could do. “How have you been?”

  He takes a large swig of his drink, finishing it in one gulp and slamming the mug on the table before motioning to the bartender for another.

  “Honestly, the life of fame and fortune wasn’t for me. After taking on the leadership role after you and Aleesia quit questing with the group, the pressure was too much. I was good for a few weeks making the decisions, but it was a lot. I realized I’m a much better number two. I left the group to Klink and have been exploring on my own ever since. Thought today would be a good day to take in a race or two. Your boy Buzz has really made a name for himself.” The bartender hands him another full mug. “Fancy a drink?”

  “Why not?” I shrug. “What are you having?”

  “Scottish Ale.” He frowns, offended that I asked. “It offers a fair amount of buffs to dwarves. Increased healing, strength and defense bonuses. They don’t last nearly long enough, but if you ever see a group of dwarves together drinking and they get rowdy, this is the likely cause.” He takes another long swig.

  “What’ll it be?” asks the bartender.

  It doesn’t really matter to me. It’s not like I’ll be able to taste it. Not like in The Broken Lands. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way full-immersion feels. Indistinguishable from reality. Every sense reporting on what the world feels, smells, and tastes like.

  “Dealer’s choice, three of them,” I say, and the bartender reaches for two bottles—one filled with red liquid and the other blue.

  “You’ve got it, boss.”

  After pouring the two liquids into a glass, he adds a dash of a rusty brown substance, a sprinkle of white powder, and then muddles a few leaves in the bottom. The concoction begins to bubble and fizz as he pours it into three glasses.

  Ordin eyes me warily as I slide my glass closer to me. The blue and red liquids swirl together in the center, creating a miniature vortex.

  Substance. Bulwark Smash. Effect: Aura of Protection. Grants increased Health and Mana Regeneration for five minutes. Bonus effect: Aura of Protection is doubled if consumed when under 15% health.

  Not a bad recipe at all. I lift my glass to make a toast.

  “To finding our happiness.” The four of us clink our glasses together, and I take a sip of my cocktail. Immediately, my HP and Mana feel different. I feel more vibrant. “Can I have two more of those?” I ask the bartender.

  He makes two more cocktails and I add them to my inventory. They may come in handy in the future.

  A horn blares, signaling the start of the next race. Holograms of the race are displayed in countless locations around the track. One appears on the bar between Ordin and me. I spot Sam in the middle of the pack. She tosses a canister, and a violent explosion sends the three chickens surrounding her spinning in place.

  Dean and Grayson debate which rider they think will win. I’m not entirely invested in the race, so I make small talk with Ordin.

  “Do you mind if I ask what you found in the Developer’s Chest?”

  “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he says gruffly.

  He moves his beard to the side, showing me a shimmering amulet hanging from his neck. A blood-red ruby sits encrusted in a gold medallion with a set of runes engraved around the edge. It’s one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen.

  “What is it?” I try to focus on it, but like most items in Pangea, if it belongs to another player, I’m unable to see its effects or item details if they are wearing it.

  “It’s called the Eye of Elaine. It has several buffs, but its bonus effect is what makes it so special. Once every twelve hours, I can double all my stats for sixty seconds. The downside is that all the buffs disappear until the bonus is available again. In a hard battle, it’s a game changer. Double HP, attack, defense, everything.”

  “Wow.” That’s all I can say. The opportunities that item could have opened up for me are astronomical. Still, I’m glad that Ordin has it. If not for him, I wouldn’t be where I am right now anyways. I definitely wouldn’t have won the tournament, and that Eye of Elaine would be with someone else.

  Ordin drains the rest of his mug and stands up.

  “I think it’s time for me to be going. I’ve got a quest to attend to. You’re more than welcome to join if you’d like.”

  “Can I take a rain check? Me and Dean over here are training for the Pro-Am Tournament.”

  “You don’t say? I know who to place my bets on.” He winks. “It was good to see you, Esil. Take care.”

&
nbsp; We grasp each other around the forearm, and Ordin disappears into the crowd. I catch the last of the race, just as Sam crosses the finish line. Good for her.

  It’s time for us to get going, though. We have a tournament to prepare for.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I get home later that evening, I finally send in all the required documentation to enter Dean and myself into the tournament. A few minutes after hitting send, I receive a message from the developers.

  Greeting Esil!

  Thank you for your interest in Pangea Online’s Pro-Am Tournament. Over the next few hours, we will be confirming that your apprentice has not competed in an official Pangea Online tournament. Once this has been confirmed, you will be officially added to the contestant list.

  Since the Pro-Am Tournament is an opportunity for young players to compete alongside our great winners of the past, the stages will be constructed so that all entrants have a fair chance at the prize. For this tournament, levels will not matter. One’s ability to win will be based on their use of items, abilities, and natural skill. The tournament will consist of three stages, each one building on the last, wherein a winner will be crowned on the final stage. Once entry is closed, the first stage will be revealed.

  Thank you for entering the Pangea Online Pro-Am Tournament, and as always, never stop leveling!

  -Pangea Online Developers

  Well, that doesn’t tell me much. How am I supposed to plan our training if I have no idea what we’re up against? At least it puts all the competitors on the same page.

  Before heading to bed, I reach out to Aleesia, Buzz, and Grayson about teaming up for some training tomorrow afternoon. Maybe one of them will have a better idea of where to start.

  I wake up to a slew of messages. Buzz and Grayson both say they can’t come because of orientation for the new full-immersion units. I search through my messages for the details about orientation, but I can’t find anything. I do, however, have a message from Benjamin.