A
GAIN
Dakkon was standing in a corner of the Greenburne inn’s common room, which was empty aside from the bald proprietor and a few new faces sitting at a table playing cards. There was a terrible stench in the air. The crinkled facial expressions of patrons seemed to indicate that the odor was a recent development. Dakkon wanted to get out of the inn as soon as possible. If he was the source of the rancid smell, he’d see to fixing that immediately. Dakkon checked the in-game time. It was 14:15. He had about six hours until it would be time to hunt the goatmen. Dodging the offended gazes of those playing cards, Dakkon stepped out of the inn and trod with a quick efficiency toward the northeast of town. While he moved with purpose, he took the time to inspect himself and his bag to determine what exactly he’d lost.
Around 200 experience from his character’s level progression had vanished, along with all the EXP towards new ranks for all his traits—except for the one exempt trait: Thick. While it was a setback, it was easily bearable at such an early stage in the game. His wallet was lighter, now only containing 36 silver and 14 copper pieces—but that was enough for any provisions he might need. His dagger was—Dakkon’s tension was palpable—still in his possession. All of his items were right where they belonged, including the source of the pungent bouquet which continued to turn nearby heads as he walked by—a hefty pile of several-days-dead rabbits and snakes which had grown incredibly fragrant in his absence.
From a distance, the sight of a man no one had seen for nearly four days, if at all, walking in a manner that appeared serious and determined while casting all distractions aside caught the eyes and imaginations of players as Dakkon beelined his way out of the city to a spot where he could dispose of his foul cargo. In a town filled with adventurers who were waiting for any clue to advance their collective quest, talk begat speculation, and speculation begat rumor. The player ‘Dakkon’ must know something about the quest. Why else would he walk so quickly and pointedly out of town? Based on the direction he was heading, the key to the quest was northeast of town. It wouldn’t take long for parties of adventurers to make their way in his direction.
After walking about five minutes out of town, Dakkon unloaded his pack into a bush. While he was happy that there were multiple compartments, the bag would still need a thorough cleansing. Dakkon realized that, in his flight to dispose of his sack’s contents, he was foolishly walking in the familiar direction which he’d been led the night before—back into grand panther territory. He shuddered at the thought of the giant cat landing him with another 11-hour exile from the game and decided that, for the time being, he would be better off avoiding the area. Eyes wildly darting from tree branch to tree branch, Dakkon moved to the northwest in search of a stream where he could dunk and wring out his bag a few dozen times.
Successful in finding a rill to wet his bag, if not fully submerge it, Dakkon made his bag serviceable once again. Not wanting the damp of his bag to chill and disrupt him, he equipped it on the outside of his cloak and slipped back into his thermomantic training as he walked. He moved through brush and a thickening density of trees, lost in his hot-then-cold thermomancer conditioning. As the trees thinned once again to open space, Dakkon passed by a group of players leveling up. The party had only just finished a minute-long battle with a calcaba—a fiercely territorial flightless bird which stands as tall as a man—when they spotted another calcaba charge at Dakkon from the opposite side of where they stood.
“Watch out!” a teenage girl with pixie blonde hair screamed just as the angry green bird closed the gap to Dakkon and was cut down by an inexperienced, but deft, swipe from his dark blade.
[You have slashed a calcaba for 255 damage. Calcaba has been slain.]
[You have gained 420 experience! EXP until next level 45/1,640]
[You have gained a level! You have 5 free stat points to distribute!]
“What the hell was that?” exclaimed another girl with crimson hair and a blade nearly as long as her body.
“That some sort of badass high level?” asked a tall man of similar age with windswept, spiky, ashen-colored hair.
“That’s—hey, I know that guy!” the blond, taller-by-a-head, Cline stated with surprise. “We started playing at practically the same time.”
“But he cut that oversized bird down like it was nothing,” protested the girl with a massive sword. “Didn’t you say you started five in-game days ago?”
Cline shrugged and walked towards Dakkon who, now seated, was looking over the calcaba trying to figure out what parts of the animal would be useful. He didn’t want to take anything that would be likely to spoil in his bag again, but didn’t know if beaks, talons, or feathers would be worth taking the time to harvest. The feathers were a lovely emerald green color, but plucking an animal as big as he was of its feathers was a daunting prospect.
“Dakkon, was it?” Cline said, looking down at the seated man. “We meet again.”
Realization immediately flickered across Dakkon’s face. “Hello.” His answer was short and perhaps a little guarded.
Taking no mind, Cline continued, “What kind of hellish training have you been through since we last met?” The rest of his companions arrived at his side, waiting expectantly in case some great secret would be revealed to them.
Dakkon considered the events that culminated in him sitting next to a large, dead bird, then loosened his guard a degree. The group had tried to help him, there was a familiar face, and he really wanted to compare his first day in the game with the others. Did everyone go through trials like he had? He wanted to know. So, without much further deliberation, he told them of the message boards, the strange tasks he had set out for, and his narrow avoidance of several sticky situations. He spoke about the rat stew and the furry hell that was the Brass Badger’s cellar. He showed them the knife and bag he had been gifted along with his clothes, before embellishing his training to become a thermomancer—carefully omitting how he had fainted from the heat of the trial—and finished with the betrayal that had kept him out of the game for days of playtime.
The group listened in awed silence. None of them had experienced anything approaching such a rough start. None of them had even died yet, and from a cruel trick from higher leveled players of all things. Eventually, the ashen-haired man spoke up, “So then, what level are you after all of that?”
Dakkon glared at him for a moment and then relented, “Five—after killing that bird. I just leveled.”
“My god, man,” the crimson haired girl started, “You just killed a level 18 calcaba like it was nothing. We’re all around level 16 and it takes us a minute with healing support from Mina to finish one off.”
Cline looked around, and realized an opportunity. “Dakkon,” he began carefully, “I know you’ve had a rough go at it, but leveling up doesn’t have to be so difficult. You should group up with us.” He looked around at the others’ faces, checking to see if he had stepped on any toes. “Roth here is a good guy, if a little proud. Mina is new to healing and games in general, despite that she’s dependable and really knows her stuff. Melee has a gigantic sword so you can bet she knows how to dish out some pain. And I’m a noble, fearless leader who ra—”
The other three had a good, interjecting laugh.
“Yeah, I’m the proud one,” the ashen-haired Roth said with a smile laden with playful sarcasm.
“In any event,” Cline went on unruffled, “you should group up with us for a bit. We’ll all be better off for it.”
The evident camaraderie tugged at Dakkon’s desires. Wasn’t he there to enjoy himself? The grinning faces of the four before him felt exactly like what he was looking for. He stood up, brushed grass off of his pants and cloak, then said with a half grin, “Oh, wise leader, please accept me into your ranks.”