“Forgive my brash friend,” the man said. “But he is not incorrect. You should have no cause for alarm.” The way the man spoke was concise, though it followed an irregular tempo. Dakkon wondered passingly if this was Chronicle’s translation software at work, or if the man was simply a little odd.
“Why do you have to stand up in such a flashy way?” complained Saden in blatant hypocrisy.
Sift looked confused by the question.
Saden sighed. “My friend here is some kind of superhuman training machine. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was for me to convince him to take a few days off from training to come out and gauge his strength.” Then, as if muttering to himself, he added, “It’s about the only way I could think of to show him he’s way-way-way over-trained for his level.”
The comments seemed to cause the listening crowd to reexamine Sift, who met each gaze unabashedly.
“Anyway,” said Saden, with a snap from the fingers of his free hand, “if the shamans can’t handle it, the exorcists will. Again—nothing to worry about.” Saden turned abruptly and walked away.
Sift put his left fist into the palm of his right hand and bowed his shoulders forward slightly before turning to follow his companion.
Cline looked somewhat relieved by the others’ firm expectation of success. Dakkon would have to talk to him about that. Death in the game sucked, sure, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Cline seemed to believe.
Before Zelle and Damak had a chance to get back to their bickering, Dakkon sought to learn about how, what looked like, 60-80 people would manage to work together.
“Hey Damak, how are parties going to be set up?” asked Dakkon.
“This won’t be one large raid group with a few leaders calling the shots. That requires too much cooperation,” said Damak. “So everyone will form their own groups. If they’re found to be contributing and survive, they should have a shot at any loot.”
“That loot distribution seems like a headache to manage,” said Dakkon.
“Not really,” replied Damak. “We’ll let the AI figure it out and distribute items however the system deems fair.”
“If we form our own groups, what do you all say to joining forces?” asked Dakkon.
“No can do,” said Damak. “I’m employed by the city on this one, so I’m stuck with the other career warriors.”
“Zelle?” asked Dakkon.
“Sorry, Dakkon,” the shaman replied. “I’d love to, but the chance to learn from other shamans is a lot rarer than you might expect it to be.”
Dakkon shrugged. “How about you, Cline?” he asked in a joking tone.
“I don’t know, Dakkon, you seem to be pretty unpopular,” Cline said. “Maybe I can stick around for a reasonable bribe.”
“Ha. Ha,” said Dakkon dryly, as he sent Cline a party invite.
|Cline has joined your group.
“So then, we’re two and growing,” Cline said after accepting the invitation. “A healer and a tank would be nice. Maybe we can ask the guy with the cane and the martial artist?”
“From my understanding, it’s a long march to the cave. Actual days of travel. We should have plenty of time to meet some willing party members. I just hope the rewards justify all the walking and waiting around we’ve signed up for. I’ve never played any game that required that sort of dedication to a quest.”
“Yeah, me neither,” said Cline.
The two set to buying provisions together over the next half-hour before heading out. The expeditionary force departed in a nice, neat formation at the head—made up of a proportionally small group of Tian’s soldiers. Behind them, the rough lines devolved into an amorphous mass which shifted tirelessly.
Walking was slow, but it was relaxing. Dakkon and Cline shared stories about what had happened to each in turn. Cline had moved from group to group, progressing smoothly along with little-to-no downtime, as far as Dakkon could tell. Dakkon told Cline about meeting Letis, their travels, unethical business practices of their own design, and the trouble his small party had found in the woods. He spoke freely about events to his friend about everything, save for any mention of his dagger and the target that was now metaphorically painted on his back.
The whole of the first day’s journey was slow, at best, and left most participants in the march feeling rather bored. Players would take any opportunity to strike out at whatever random woodland creature wandered too close to the traveling force, but even that was a rare distraction as most animals were too scared or too clever to come near the disorganized rows of stomping men.
As dusk approached, the leading military party—consisting mostly of NPCs, insisted that the expeditionary force halt for the night to the protests of many-a-player who just wanted to be there and be done with it. After a day’s worth of walking, much of the enthusiasm for the large expedition had waned. Despite their grumbling, players and NPCs split into smaller social circles which began to build fires and even lay out a few bedrolls amongst the trees of the darkening forest.
Dakkon and Cline found themselves a nearby, newly-kindled, and welcoming campfire where they hoped to ingratiate themselves when, from deeper into the woods, came a loud, intimidating snarl.
“Are there—uh—any large, night-time predators in the area?” asked a young man of about 18 years seated by the fire.
“There are,” said an old man squatting next to a large metal pot which rested in the center of the young fire. “There’s worse, too. Why did you think we’d need an army to go talk to a spirit, hmm?” The old man wore dirtied, brown skins with small tufts of fur that had been mostly rubbed away by wear. He stooped, cracking small branches to place fuel around the pot. When the older man stood to grab more wood, his movements were surprisingly spry.
“Worse?” asked the startled boy.
“I take it you aren’t a local,” said Damak, who had just walked up to their small camp area from the direction of another. “He’s talking about the Tribe, boy. Since it looks like you’ve got the gist of it, I’ll be finishing my rounds.” Damak turned to leave as soon as he’d come then added, “Be on your guard. It could be a busy night.”
“That explained nothing,” said the young man once Damak was out of earshot. “Is there some kind of hostile settlement out here?”
Dakkon and Cline watched the woods as they listened. The old man broke apart more twigs to feed the growing fire.
“The Tribe is ancient,” said the old man. “Probably older than men. They all look… hmm, like me—but shorter and a lot less handsome.” The man gave a broad smile at his comparison, showcasing several missing teeth. Dakkon took that to mean he was an NPC. There was no easy method to differentiate player from NPC when outside of a city, short of asking them he supposed, but Dakkon doubted that any human player would choose an old body with only a fraction of teeth.
“You can’t tell the men from the women, if they even have sexes,” the old man continued. “Their skin hangs loosely ‘round their body. When they fight, they imbue themselves with spirits which warp their shape and frame, stretching their sagging skin tight. They fight like demons, and they don’t abide men in their lands.”
“And where exactly are their lands?” asked the youth.