VIRIDIAN GATE ONLINE: NOMAD SOUL BY D.J. BODDEN (Chapters 5 - 6)

FIVE: 

The half-Risi grabbed my wrist and raised it. “No brand,” he told his partner.

“Doesn’t mean he belongs here,” she answered. “Are you drunk? Affka? Have you been doing drugs?”

“I’m sorry, officer. I don’t know what Affka is, but I’m very, very sober. I’m a citizen and—”

“Where do live?”

“I… I’m not from around here.”

“Then you can’t be a citizen.” She looked at her partner. “Vagrancy?”

“Let’s just get him out of here.”

“Vagrancy’s against the law, Gork. He should pay—”

“Does he look like he has money?” the half-Risi asked, raising an eyebrow.

The female watchman clenched her jaw.

Gork grabbed me by the upper arm. “Let’s go.”

They led me out through the crowd of proper citizens, all too happy to look at me now that I’d been put back into my place.

#

“I’ll take him from here,” Gork told his partner.

“Fine. Meet me back at the station.”

“I will.”

His partner peeled off, heading back into the upper city. Gork pulled me on, his grip never loosening. I got the feeling he wasn’t squeezing anywhere near as hard as he could have, but there was still no chance of me breaking free. Maybe I’d been hasty, picking a human starting character.

The further downhill we went, the fewer people stared. In fact, at some point, people stopped looking at me at all, and it was Gork who drew the most looks. We passed through a narrow tunnel in one of the 10-foot-thick stone and mortar walls and emerged into the outermost and widest ring of the city. Gork let me go.

I took a few steps back, then stood there feeling terrible about myself. If I didn’t have to be here to save the project, I might have quit. Gork looked me over his thumbs hooked into his belt, reminding me of Frank. “Are you crazy?” he asked.

“What?”

Gork spit on the cobbles. “The woman who dragged us over to the plaza said you were talking to yourself, and then we found you leaning against the railing. You planning on jumping?”

“No!” I said. “I’m just… I traveled here from a long way away.”

Gork nodded. “I thought so.” He reached into a pouch tucked into his belt and pulled out two copper coins that looked tiny in his hand. “Here,” he said. “That should feed you for a day. Find some work. Beg, if your pride can take it. Get some clothes from a thrift shop or one of the temples. Bathe. Don’t let me catch you in the upper city looking like that again, and don’t talk to yourself in public; it scares people.”

I blushed. It’s hard to tell with my complexion, but trust me, from the inside it feels like your face is on fire. I took the money though. A prompt appeared.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Productive Citizen

You now have two coins to rub together! Work, beg, or steal your way to respectability so your meteoric rise through the ranks of the Empire can begin!

Quest Class: Common, Faction-Based

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Equip a full set of clothes other than your shoddy starting gear.

Failure: None.

Reward: 500 EXP

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

Just like that, I was reminded this was all a game, a challenge I chose to overcome.

“Thanks,” I told him, accepting the quest. “Are you my starter NPC?” Every player was supposed to get a starter NPC to guide them through their first moments in the game.

Gork frowned. “Your…?” He scrunched his face up. “You know what? I don’t want to know. I’m just Gork, and I know what it’s like to be a bit different,” he said, tapping one of his fangs with his index finger. “You take care of yourself, traveler. Remember what I told you about talking to yourself in public.” He walked away.

I clutched my coppers to my chest and headed downhill.

“Well, that was intense,” Jeff said.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching. I was in one of the narrow side streets, only wide enough for two or three people to walk next to each other, and currently deserted. “I’m okay,” I said, and it was mostly true. “Is that something you guys programmed in?”

“I’m hardware, dude. But no, nobody ‘programmed’ that in. There is no programming. It’s just people. We scanned thousands of brains to get Kronos’s personality database set up. A statistically normal percentage of those people were jerks.”

I laughed. “It’s always the God damned meat, isn’t it?”

“Amen,” Jeff answered.

For all that, I did think Gork was trying to help, and he’d given me a path to success and acceptance, even if it wasn’t paved with roses.

Speaking of which, my heels ached. I’d never done this much walking without the cushion and support of a modern sole. Three-story buildings with narrow balconies rose on either side, providing shade, which was a good thing because, either from the stress or the warm air, my armpits and lower back were starting to get damp. A cobbled gutter ran down the middle of the street, but the sides were paved in flat stones, and those were a bit more forgiving on my feet, so I walked with one hand trailing along the wall. I felt the texture with my fingertips, smooth and warm if a bit dusty. Most of the buildings’ faces were plaster painted over in shades of cream, yellow, or powdery red. In some place, holes had been knocked into the plaster, exposing the mortared, rough-cut stone blocks beneath, just like the fortifications. The doors were tall, thick, dark wood which was reinforced or sometimes just decorated with iron bands and spikes. Some doors were scorched but intact. The whole city felt heavy and permanent in a way modern plywood and glass never could, and I liked that, in spite of what had happened earlier. I could imagine living somewhere like New Viridia, even in the lower city.

I stepped out into another plaza, but this one seemed more diverse. Merchants peddled their wares from carts, stalls, and the doorsteps of permanent shops. Those nearest me offered trinkets, charms, pottery vases, wooden bowls and pitchers, candles and lamp oil, candlesticks and lamps, carved wood, stone, and bone dice, games and figurines, as well as an assortment of different decorative and functional knives, three-tined forks, and spoons. It was all junk to a gamer, the kind of stuff that weighed down your inventory but did nothing for your coin purse when you sold it off. But in VGO, I guessed, maybe one day I’d own a home, and maybe I’d want a fine, clay pot with depictions of naked men hunting wild boar from the backs of giant lizards, with spear, bow, and hounds. I smiled at the artist’s imagination.

Several groves of a half-dozen palm trees were planted throughout the plaza, ringed by outward facing cast-iron and wood-slat benches. Triangular orange sheets had been strung from the rooftops to the trees, offering slices of shade to the crowd as it flowed around the islands of green. I moved with them, clockwise around the palms, jostling and getting jostled without a second thought. Leather goods, from water or wine bags to smiths’ aprons and decorative bracers, an array of flasks, phials, and phylacteries to which the proprietor ascribed all manner of magical powers… I paused at that. There was such a thing as magic in VGO, after all. But the seller’s eagerness and the paucity of my wealth had me bobbing along with the crowd once more. Finally, I reached the corner of the market I’d been subconsciously searching for, the one that made my throat ache and my nostrils twitch.

Food. I’m not what you’d consider a comfort eater, but I’d had a hell of a day. I’d slept badly, puked, stressed in the real world and stressed here, and then got perp-walked to the bad part of town—though it smelled like the best part of town right now.

I pushed my way toward it. I could smell herbs and spices—rosemary, thyme, oregano, and coriander seeds—and the thick, slightly bitter aroma of olive oil. The wholesome scent of just-baked bread; the bright, pungent, and sour odors of fresh cheeses. A sharp tang of fried peppers, onions, and garlic wrinkled my eyes. I pushed through into the old world equivalent of a food court.

The crowd was thinner here. A few locals, mainly older men, sat on benches eating finger food. Most people darted in to grab what they needed before continuing their circuit. There were fruit and vegetable stands, both fresh and dried, and several tables of salted fish. I made a beeline for a semi-permanent stand where a plain-faced woman with small eyes and big arms worked several spits of roasting meat. There were three spits of red meat—maybe beef, maybe lamb—and two… things smaller than chickens. Quail? Squab? Pigeons? They were making my mouth water, whatever they were.

“What can I get you?” the woman said, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked me over, taking in my clothes, but her face stayed impassive.

I swallowed. “How much for one of the small bird things?”

“Ten coppers,” she said. “Five for some mixed meat and vegetables wrapped in flatbread.”

My heart sank.

Her face softened. “How much do you have?”

My ears burned. Beg, if your pride can take it, Gork had said. My pride could take it. There wasn’t so much of it left. “Two coppers,” I said.

She held her hand out. I reluctantly dropped all the money I had into her palm. It’s silly, I know; I’d come into this world with nothing but the (shoddy) shirt on my back, but this was the first time I really felt broke.

The vendor laid out a quarter-inch thick piece of flatbread and spread a thin layer of smooth, white cheese over it. Then she added shredded kale, peppers, and chopped onions on top of that. She dipped a spoon into the drip pan under the spits and drizzled the warm, black-flecked fat onto the pita. She frowned, then pulled a few stuffed olives from a pickle jar, cut them in half, and added them to the mix before rolling it up and handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

I’m not going to lie, I’d hoped she’d put a little meat in it, not just the drippings, but I was literally the beggar who couldn’t afford be choosy. I looked up and realized she was watching me, waiting, so I forced a smile and took a bite.

It was amazing. I’d eaten some nice meals in my lifetime—I’d been to Michelin starred restaurants twice in the past year, working for Osmark—but this was better. The cheese was rich and creamy, and I could taste the char and seasonings from the spits making my whole body… just… happy to be getting great food. It was like I was vibrating slightly. The pickled and stuffed olives did a perfect job of cutting through the fat from the cheese and drippings, letting the fresh kale, onions, and peppers do their job of finishing the texture and complexity of that bite. And the bread! It was fresh baked, warm, soaked with all those juices, and spoke to that part of a person’s heart that knows bread is a food group all on its own.

The vendor smiled and turned away. She must have read what she was looking for on my face. I drifted back into the flow of people, savoring each bite as we circled around the far side of the plaza.

It was the second moment of bliss I’d experienced in the game. The first had been floating free of my body during character creation. The second was enjoying the fruit of someone’s kindness. Gork had been kind, too, in a way, but he’d done it for himself—because of who he was. That woman—I felt a moment of shame I hadn’t asked for her name—had reacted to my pain. I don’t know. I was making assumptions about her motives—assumptions I usually prided myself on avoiding—but that was how I felt.

Regardless, it was a drastically different experience from any other game I’d played. I was broke, I had grease all over my chin, and I hadn’t done anything. There wasn’t even a tutorial for me to have completed. If I died right now, my legacy would be “Fed by the compassion of strangers,” and yet I felt like my life had been changed in some small way.

The thought brought up a display of my current status-effects.

<<<>>>

Buffs Added

Olive Flatbread: Restore 40 HP over 60 seconds

Well-Fed: Base Constitution increased by (2) points; duration 20 minutes.

<<<>>>

Huh. I thought. Good for the soul, good for the body. As soon as I’d finished with the information, the prompt disappeared on its own.

I stepped out of the crowd again, licking my fingers, drawn by the sound of splashing water. A small fountain—really just a metal pipe sticking out of a wall—spilled clear water into a waist level basin. My approached scared a pair of sparrows away. I sniffed the water, then tasted it. It was cool and clean.

I rubbed my hands together under the stream of water, then cupped them and leaned forward, drinking from my palms. I stuck my head under the flow, sending shivers down my spine, and wiped my mouth and chin clean before bending down to wash off the knee I’d scraped. It had already healed though; not even a scab. Guess that’s one thing this place has over reality, I thought.

Looking around, I saw that several beggars were sitting in the dust with their backs against what appeared to be a temple. There was room next to one of them, an old man with wispy white hair on either side of his bald head. A bowl with three, lonely coppers in it sat in front of his crossed legs, making him my social better. He was leaning his head back against the wall, dozing. The shadows of palm fronds shifted over his face.

My stomach was full. I was hydrated, mostly clean, and the adrenaline from the earlier situation was spent. I had 20 or more hours to kill before I could log out; a nap in partial shade sounded like as good a plan as any. And maybe, I thought, looking at the bowl, when the old man wakes up, I can talk him into sharing the secret of his success.

I sat down, smirking at my own joke, leaned my back against the wall, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the old man staring at me with open, milky eyes from five inches away.

SIX:

“Is that June’s cooking I smell on you?” the old man said, his voice high and shaky.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Big woman!” he said. “Arms like ham hocks, smells like cedar. Her daddy makes cabinets for a living.”

Smells like…? I wasn’t even sure what cedar—

“Are you simple, boy? June! She’s a quarter turn around the square.”

“No. I mean, yes, that’s her, and I’m not simple.”

“Coulda fooled me.” He reached in front of him, feeling around until he found the money bowl. He gave it a shake. “Rats! Only three, but I need five.”

I winced. Had the game wanted me to give him my two coppers? “I’m sorry, I don’t have—”

“I know you don’t have money, boy. Don’t apologize. Apologies are for people with change hidden in their pockets, not us, the deserving poor! You don’t have a bent copper bit on you; not unless you ate that, too,” he said, with mock suspicion. “Now find me a mark.”

“A what?”

“A mark, boy,” he said more softly, placing a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “You pick a fish from that river of people, and I’ll land him. Or her! I’m a dab hand with the ladies.” He winked at me, then leaned back against the wall again, a playful smile on his wizened face.

I looked at the passing crowd and found my eyes drawn to a woman with twin braids twisted round in a circle, like a crown of laurels.

An alert popped up, and the woman was briefly outlined in purple.

<<<>>>

Ability: Keen-Sight

A passive ability allowing the observant adventurer to notice items and clues others might not see.

Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 1

Cost: None

Effect: Chance to notice and identify hidden objects increased by 6%.

<<<>>>

Hmm. I guessed VGO taught and leveled skills through use, at least the general ones. I’d always preferred that over just assigning points in a menu. I dismissed the window with a thought. “A female citizen near the seller of potions and charms. She’s moving slower than the crowd,” I said, wondering how the old man planned to act on that information.

“Is she wearing three bracelets?”

“Maybe? I…” I squinted. “ Yes!” She reached up to push a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Three slender bands overlapped on her wrist.

“Perfect,” The old man said. He sat up, hands in his lap, and pitched his voice like an angler casting a line. “Milady!”

To my surprise, she turned, as if he’d tapped her on the shoulder.

“Milady! A moment!”

She hesitated, then moved toward us. She was wearing a bright, daisy yellow shawl draped over a white dress in an intricate series of folds. The shawl had short, black fringes on its lower edge that swayed when she walked. The neck of her dress was high, peeking up beneath the shawl just below her collarbones. “What do you want?”

The old man smiled, turning his face almost but not quite in her direction. “Nothing, milady, but a moment of your time.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I see no goods laid out before you, beggar, and yet I feel you’re about to sell me something.”

“Only because you seek, lady. You seek, and you do not find.”

She stopped a step away from him and crouched, gathering her shawl and the hem of her dress to keep them out of the dust. It was an aggressive move for someone of her apparent status, and I wondered if the old man hadn’t bit off more than he could chew. I caught sight of a sandaled foot and a simple, henna tattoo of a chain of triangles around her ankle.

“Mmm. And did your helper tell you that?” she asked, her eyes flicking to mine. Her eyebrows were dark and full, and she’d applied some sort of clear balm to her lips, but her makeup was otherwise simple. She’d made no effort to hide the crows feet at the corners of her eyes.

“No, lady. I heard the bracelets chime on your wrist and knew I’d found a fellow seeker.” He reached with his hand, palm up, and she placed hers in his. “What do you seek, lady? A pretty husband? Luck in love?”

She laughed and looked at me. “He truly is blind, isn’t he, young man? Or is he offering you up for coin?” She looked me over. I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. She smirked and looked at the old man again. “I’m past such things.”

“Your husband—”

She withdrew her hand, pain rippling across her face before freezing over. “My husband is dead in the Storme Marshes these last 10 years. He fell to the elves, outside of Yunnam. I have a fabric store in the upper city, a warehouse and a factory in the low. I have no need to replace him or his memory.” She lifted her chin. Her eyes glistened.

“Why the bracelets, then, lady?” the old man said gently. I was able to see them clearly, now. They were pencil-wide and penny-thin bands of copper, embossed with simple, repeating symbols. One was a circle of waves, the second what looked like wind, and the third a vine that circled her wrist.

She sighed. “I need an heir.” She tucked her dress beneath her and sat in the dust. “My daughter married a fool. The fool gave her two daughters, and he’s spoiled them with my money. She’s pregnant again. I hope for a grandson, so all I’ve built won’t be destroyed.”

“All men and women lie in Kronos’s hands, lady.”

She grinned. “But Gaia follows her whims, old man. Can you not hear her chiming on my wrist? I saw three portents just this morning.”

“And yet, you will have another granddaughter,” the old man said.

There was a weight to his words, and I suddenly had the notion that they were true. The woman flinched as if she’d been slapped.

“But you’ll raise this one,” the old man continued. “She’ll learn to ride instead of sit, learn the gin and carding room instead of how to bat her eyes, and you’ll go to your rest easy with her hand on the loom and her eyes on the books.”

The lady swallowed. “The fool won’t like it.”

“Even a fool knows who feeds him, lady.”

She nodded and licked her lips. Then she stood. “And what of you, old man? What do you seek?”

The old man grinned. “Just a coin to remember your beauty by, lady.”

She smiled at him with what I thought was genuine affection. She dropped three coppers into his bowl. “One for you, one for your helper, and one for the Goddess, may she prove you wrong.”

The old man dipped his head in thanks.

The woman walked away.

“That was amazing,” I told the old man.

“Wasn’t it, though?”

I rolled my eyes. I’d been thinking it was amazing that a random NPC had so much backstory. I was less impressed by his work. The old man had talked a pretty good game, but he’d also made mistakes. He’d almost lost her over the husband thing.

“I smell the bitter stench of skepticism over there, boy. Wipe it from your mind! Success belongs to the believer!”

I snorted. “Dude, you’re a beggar. We should have asked her for a job.”

One of the other beggars leaned forward and glared at me, but the old man waved him off. “And is that why you came to New Viridia, traveler? To get a job in textiles?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I mentioned I was from somewhere else.”

The old man blew a raspberry. “Your accent, boy. And your innocence. Did you think she was a lovely lady? Was she a nice old widow you needed to help? That woman was a wolf, boy! She runs a store for the gentry and keeps her labor and stock in the worst parts of town. Do you think she pays a fair wage? Do you think the local gangs leave her warehouse alone because she’s nice?

“I am not ‘a beggar,’ boy. I am a skilled orator. I convince people to do me small favors, some of them monetary. I could have talked her out of her Stola on a cold day, and she’d have walked home to her marble villa, bare-armed like a common girl, feeling like the soul of charity and goodness. Did you smell the saffron on her? Bright yellow, wasn’t it? I could have sold that for gold if I’d cared to walk uptown and haggle.” He crossed his skinny arms. “I’m not sure what a ‘dude’ is, but I suspect thatgarment would look better on your shoulders. I’m a prince among men. I could have talked you into her fine cotton sheets—”

“Oh, come on! She said—”

“She looked. Don’t tell me she didn’t strike you speechless with a glance, boy, because I was right here. There’s no shame in comforting a wealthy widow. She’d have taught you a thing or two—more than you’d learn whoring yourself out to a copper-an-hour paycheck.”

I laughed. “All right, all right, fine,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “You win.”

The anger and indignation vanished from the old man’s face like they’d never been there, and he grinned. “Good. Now find me another.”

#

Sathis ran down the central aisle of the temple, his sandals slapping against the marble floor. He was hot and out of breath, too old to have run halfway across the city, and scared out of his wits. He threw himself down in front of his goddess’ statue.

“Blessed lady Sophia, ever may you slumber, may your peace and justice wrap the world forever in its loving embrace.”

An acolyte came out of the sacristy. “Justicar Sathis? What—?”

“Out!” Sathis bellowed.

The acolyte ran out of the room.

Sathis looked up at the representation of his goddess. The statue was made of carved, lightly striped black onyx, with a wide, white band of quartz that hung from her left hip to right thigh like a sash. Her eyes were flawless emeralds artfully set into the stone so they seemed real. She was naked, looking up and to the left at a set of bronze scales she held by a hook above the beam in her hand. In her right hand, trailing behind her leg so it was partially hidden, was a sword. Sathis swallowed. “Forgive me, blessed lady, for my fear.” He inclined his head once more. Drops of sweat ran down his back and dripped from his forehead.

“My lady, there are rumors of insurrection in the provinces. The senators ignore your earthly apostles. Most refuse my visits or make excuses. Some expect me to amuse them with stories of the old days, like a jester or a bard, or to educate their children.” He clenched his fists on the floor, made slick with perspiration. “I have become something of a joke.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and touched his forehead to the floor. “But we, the faithful, are content with the bounty of your peace, blessed lady. The offerings are few, but I encourage the acolytes to seek work, so long as it does not interfere with their duties to you and to your ministry.”

He looked up at the statue again, searching for a sign. The statue had been carved from a single, massive block during the first, great Imperial war to conquer Eldgard. The stone had been quarried and then moved from the hills above New Viridia to the safety of the Imperial stockade, under constant attack from both wild Risi and Hvitalfar druids. Sophia was always at her most popular when her people wearied of war.

The stone was carved by a devout man whose name was forgotten. When the last chisel blow fell, the statue became immovable, which is why it stood here, in the outer city, and not the hill which had been occupied by barbarians at the time. A temple was eventually built around it. It was a holy place.

“My lady, a traveler arrived today. He fell from the sky and did not disappear, like the others. He is loose in the city. I don’t know what to do.”

There was a loud crack as the statue turned its head to look at her disciple. The scales clattered on the ground. She stepped down from the dais, sword still in hand. Her feet hovered inches from the floor. “Tell me everything,” she said.

#

“Huh,” Jeff said, leaning forward.

He’d stopped watching the world through Alan’s eyes when the self-appointed lab-rat hit the market because, while fascinating in a theoretical sense, seeing a partially chewed pita approach the camera over and over, like a gross, organic spaceship flown by garbage people coming into dock and failing—and hearing Alan chew in surround sound—was the opposite of appetizing.

Instead, Jeff had taken his earphones off, moved the window with the video feed to the top right corner of his monitors, and done his job. He’d taken notes on Alan’s readouts—the man’s cortisol level had dropped, which was good because Jeff had been starting to worry the game was a technical marvel and a developmental flop. Gamers didn’t want to play games that made them feel like crap; they could get that in the real world.

He had another screen that graphed activity inside the server farm. VGO didn’t have—and never would have—game masters. Instead, it had eight Artificial Intelligences that ran the virtual world.

Kronos, Cernunnos, and Thanatos, the AIs respectively responsible for physics and memory, monsters and wildlife, and data analysis, were constantly running in the background. Aediculus, the AI that procedurally generated cities and settlements, great and small, was also active, but his activity depended on the player and NPC economy which was currently stagnant. Its processing share would increase on release day and with any expansions. Enyo, the AI of that created conflicts for players to participate in, was dormant. Then there was Gaia, the AI that, for all intents and purposes, was responsible for drama. It took care of the weather systems and plants, but it also intervened directly to make life… interesting for both players and NPCs, from record crops that led to trade wars, to natural disasters that ended civilizations. “Lady Luck,” the devs called it, though Jeff didn’t like anthropomorphizing software. Its graph was a steady, low-level bar, with occasional spikes.

Sophia was the nickname the developers had for the AI responsible for game balancing. It kept the NPCs, players, and other AIs from destroying the world, and it had just gone active.

Jeff put on his headset.

#

“Hey, buddy, how’s it going? Did I miss something?” Jeff said in my ear.

I smiled and shook my head, hoping Jeff got the message.

The soldier the old man and I were working on gave me a curious glance, then went back to talking to my companion in mendacity. “Did you say you were in the Legion?”

“Oh, no, sir!” the old man said, hanging off my arm. “I’ve neither the physical talent nor the strength of character for military service. I did a bit of traveling, though, and I spent many a night behind the shield of the Legion. You’re with Marquard’s Janissaries?”

The soldier stood a little straighter. He was young, barely in his late teens, but wore a thick, padded jacket, a saber belted at his hip, and had a full, waxed mustache. “Yes! How did you know?”

The old man tapped his nose and looked at me. “You ever hear of the Janissaries, boy? Tough as nails, that lot. They use Svartalfar muskets in battle.” He looked back at the soldier. “I smelled the saltpeter on your hands, young man, and the myrrh Marquard’s finest rub into their mustaches to keep the stench of the battlefield from their noses. It’s nice to feel the old traditions are being kept alive.”

The soldier beamed.

“How are the borders, son?” the old man asked, his voice serious.

The young man’s smile was tight. “We’re holding, sir. My unit… I shouldn’t say where we’re posted, but we’re doing what we can to keep things from spilling over into civilian areas.”

“I’m sure you’re doing your best. Bandits?”

“I really shouldn’t say, sir.” He smiled. I thought it was heartbreaking. At his age, I’d been worried about which major to choose and whether I’d get to sit next to Angela Hendrickson in calculus. “Is there anything I can do for you before I head back out?” the soldier asked.

The old man waved his hand. “I was going to ask you for a drink to toast fallen friends with, but—”

The young man pulled a whole silver—the equivalent of ten coppers—out of his pocket, and laid it in the old man’s hand. “Have several, on me. We just got paid, but I won’t have time to spend it until I come back. Tell your friend a few stories about the Janissaries.”

“I will.”

The soldier grinned, brought his heels together and his fist to his chest, then sauntered off.

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“Maybe,” the old man said. “The Janissaries were a slave unit, once, but now they only take volunteers. It’s the life he chose.”

It didn’t sit right with me, even if the soldier was an NPC. I found I was having a hard time remembering these people weren’t real. I watched the old man tuck the silver coin into a hidden money belt. He was smooth about it. If I hadn’t seen the soldier give him the coin, I’d have thought the old beggar was just scratching himself. “Why didn’t you lie to him?” I asked.

“About what?”

“About being in the Legion. Wouldn’t it have been easier to say yes?”

The old man glowered. “I told you I’m not a beggar, boy. Never lie to a mark unless your life depends on it. Never lie at all.”

“Even a white lie?”

The old man spat in the dust. “No such thing. Tell a lie out of kindness, and you rob someone of the chance to better themselves. There’s a difference between kindness and judging someone so weak they can’t bear what’s plain to see. Shape the truth; twist it around into something useful. If you can’t, keep your mouth shut.”

I didn’t know if I agreed with that. What he said was rational, almost noble in a sense. I wasn’t sure I owed people that much honesty.

The old man groaned and rubbed his lower back. He looked tired, and not just in a physical sense. Then he took a deep breath, straightened, and the grin crept back onto his face. “Let’s do one more. Then we’ll find ourselves a terrace with some chilled wine, a breeze, and shade to hide in for a few hours.”

I searched the crowd. The old man had been giving me pointers about how to pick my targets. I’d leveled my Keen-Sight skill a couple times, but I didn’t need it to spot my mark this time. He was young, like the soldier, but clean shaven, with short, thick black hair. He wore the clean, white tunic of a wealthy citizen, with two finger-wide red, vertical stripes from throat to hem. He must have left his toga at home to move faster; he pushed through the crowd, his face anxious, with one hand guarding a courier bag strapped across his body. “Some kind of nobleman. Let me try—”

“Not that one,” the old man said, gripping my forearm with surprising strength.

“Why?”

“Because he’s already being hunted, and he’s going to die.”

#

“What do you mean he’s going to die?”

“Look!” he said, extending both hands toward the marketplace and not quite managing to look at me with his milky white eyes. “Read the angles, boy! Have I taught you nothing?”

I focused on the plaza. The nobleman had reached the far end and strode through an archway. In the crowd behind him, a tall man with a vertical scar on his right cheek and a gray-skinned Risi shoved their way through the crowd, clubs drawn and focused on their prey. They flashed purple as my Keen-Sight skill marked them as hidden threats, and the word [Thug] appeared over their heads.

<<<>>>

Quest Alert: Save the Scion!

A nobleman has gotten himself lost in the wrong part of town. This is probably none of your business.

Quest Class: Unique, Faction-Based

Quest Difficulty: Moderate

Success: Save Provus Considia within 7 minutes.

Failure: Provus Considia dies.

Reward: 1000 EXP

Accept: Yes/No?

<<<>>>

Oh, hell. I took off after them. The moment I stepped forward, the prompt disappeared, and a timer appeared at the bottom of my field of view.

4:58

I pushed my way through the market crowd, squeezing between a couple holding hands and knocking over a servant carrying three live chickens in stacked wooden crates. Flapping chickens, feathers, and curses everywhere. Someone took a swing at me. I ducked, saw the gray Risi make it through to the archway and break into a lumbering run.

4:49

There was a narrow alley closer to me that looked like it ran parallel to the one the nobleman, Risi, and now the scarred thug had vanished into. I took a chance. I jumped onto one of the palm-encircling benches and running a few steps before dropping back down. I stepped over and through two street vendors floor displays, knocking over a full sack of almonds and very nearly twisting my ankle. More cursing, some of it stunningly descriptive if anatomically impossible. An oil seller jumped in front of his amphorae, arms wide and face panicked. I dodged right, bumped into a woman wearing a faded blue Stola over her head and apologized over my shoulder as I sprinted down the alley.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jeff said in my ear. “What’s going on?”

“Not now, man!” I took the first left, saw it was a dead end, and nearly skidded onto my ass.

4:24

I backtracked, took the next left, and ran to the next intersection. The cobbles were beating the crap out of my feet. A yellow stamina bar appeared at the top right corner of my view, emptying with alarming speed.

I took a right, now on the same side street as the trio I was after, and ran on, breathing hard. In the real world, Osmark had tried to get me to run with him, but I always came up with an excuse not to go because I didn’t want to get shown up by my boss. I jogged on my own time to clear my head and stop myself from looking like I spent all day in an office, but my Level 1 body was in even worse shape than my real one. My stamina bar ran out as I reached the end of the street.

I’d emerged onto one of the wider avenues I’d seen from the upper city. The road, paved with wide, fitted stones, ran straight and clear from one of the large, fortified gates in the outer and passed to the right side of the heights, near some kind of colosseum. Palm trees were planted at regular intervals on either side. In between was a slow and steady flow of carts and people—dozens of ox-, horse-, and donkey-drawn wagons, and hundreds of pedestrians of every race I knew of in the game.

3:26

I started moving. I didn’t know how and when the thugs were going to attack, but I knew the general direction the nobleman had been heading. There were just too many distractions. A group of four armored Risi completely blocked my sight until I got around them. A pair of Accipiters flitted down the avenue, chasing after each other. “Jeff! I need help!”

“Dude, your heart rate’s—”

My pace faltered. “Am I dying?” I asked, suddenly less concerned about the game than my heart exploding in the real world.

“No, just—”

“Damn it, Jeff!” I started running again. “Help me find—”

Something flashed purple in the corner of my eye. I looked and saw the gray Risi charging down a side street.

2:56

<<<>>>

Ability: Keen-Sight

A passive ability allowing the observant adventurer to notice items and clues others might not see.

Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 5

Cost: None

Effect 1: Chance to notice and identify hidden object increased by 30%.

Effect 2: 1% chance of slowing time 90% for 5 seconds on spotting an enemy or triggering a trap.

<<<>>>

I dismissed the notification and changed directions, heading straight across the avenue. I spooked a yoke of oxen, making the two big beasts lowe, eyes rolling, and they backed into the cart they were pulling. I saw the driver stand and raise her whip. The lash fell across my back and upraised arm, and my health dropped more than a sliver. For a second, I felt the urge to turn and pull the Wode off her cart and rip the whip from her hands, woman or not, but the timer kept winding down, and I kept moving.

I made it to the side street, another alley wide enough for three people or maybe a handcart, and followed it around a bend to find… nothing. The alley kept going for a hundred yards without meeting another road, wide or narrow, and it was empty.

1:15

I slowed to a walk. There were dozens of doors, a stairway to the second and third level of a condominium, a metal plate shaped like an anvil... I thought of the old man and closed my eyes, listening.

“—the money? There’s only paper in this—”

I yanked on the wooden double doors to my right—they weren’t locked or barred—and burst into a small courtyard. The scene flashed purple, and time slowed.

0:44

Nearest to me, the gray Risi and his scarred friend were crouched over the nobleman’s courier bag. The Risi’s mouth was twisted into a snarl, his hand raised to show the scarred Imperial a sealed scroll. Time was moving so slow, I saw his eyes widen and slide toward me gradually instead of an instant flick. Behind and to the left, the nobleman was on his toes, back arched, and it was only by focusing on him that I noticed the Dokkalfar. The murk elf was dressed in gray leathers and had an ash colored bandana covering his face. He had his fists raised on either side of the nobleman’s neck, and wire glinted silver between them. The nobleman had gotten his left hand up between the wire and his throat, palm out. The murk elf was sawing through his fingers. Off-balance and in pain, the nobleman was reaching for the short sword on his left hip.

0:39

Time picked up again. I charged. The Risi’s eyes flicked to me. The scarred man turned, drawing a dagger. The Dokkalfar kicked the back of the nobleman’s knee. I felt big, rough fingers slip off my ankle as the nobleman gave in to panic and grabbed at the wire with both hands, and I plowed into him and his would-be assassin at full speed. The three of us slammed into the far wall. I went down sideways, dropping onto my shoulder with a loud pop. The nobleman ducked, spun, and drew his short sword across the assassin’s stomach, between the dark elf’s cuirass and leather belt.

The timer stopped at 0:35 and faded.

<<<>>>

Debuff Added

Dislocated Shoulder: You cannot use your left arm and cannot cast mage spells requiring hand gestures; duration, 1 minute 30 seconds.

<<<>>>

“Alan?” Jeff said. “Alan, are you okay?”

My health bar, at the top left of my sight, had dropped to 50%. I couldn’t hear anything. My left shoulder was further forward than it should be, and the pain was like a bell ringing over my head. I rolled onto my back, my mouth wide open. I’m not an athlete. I’ve never been in the military. I think I screamed.

“You’re okay, man. Your vitals are all over the place, but you’re okay,” Jeff said.

The part of me that descended from fiercer men and women was alert enough to see the Dokkalfar stagger toward me, a curved dagger drawn, and I thought I’d probably done enough.

<<<>>>

Log out: Yes/No?

<<<>>>