Volume 2 - Mischievous Friends of The Earth
Suchi. The Earthfriend Habitat.
On the outskirts, there was an area with cages covered in thick blankets. Now and then, a cage would shake, and from inside could be heard the beating of giant wings.
Aside from the guards stationed to protect the Earthfriends transformed by the curse, few dared to approach.
The scene within The Habitat was equally sad. Hundreds of sick beds were laid out with unconscious Earthfriend NPCs.
Earthfriend players, who were immune to the curse, were rushing about rubbing a balm onto the backs of the patients that reduced the swelling of the rashes on their shoulder blades. Its recipe having been included in the research notes given out by The Slum Empire, this balm would delay the transformations until a permanent cure could be produced,
Archfriend Nagy, leader of The Society of Suchi Earthfriends, was propping herself up with a wooden stave. The more the curse ran havoc on her body, the more leaves she used for clothing changed from spring green to an autumnal yellow.
Watching the relief effort, she felt her heart thumping in pain for the suffering of her friends.
"Archfriend!" A younger Earthfriend, whose fingernails had fallen out, ran over in a panic. "Friend Zold, he..."
The rest didn’t need to be said.
Zold had transformed, too.
Although Nagy was 109 years of age, due to reaching the higher steps of the Earthfriend discipline while young, she’d never appeared much older than 30. Now, though, the grave news seemed to summon the decades hidden inside her to the surface of her tired face.
According to The Empire’s research, no cure had ever been created for those who underwent the full transformation. Friend Zold and the others hidden in the cages might remain abominations forever.
“Have faith,” spoke someone beside her. “After we formulate the lost cure, we’ll set about immediately producing one for the post-transformation state.”
The speaker was an Earthfriend Offworlder. His natural boyish-good looks had been accentuated by the changes to his body after taking The Celestial Path. His skin, partially translucent, was imbued it with tiny, glittering stars.
Archfriend Nagy used the last of her strength to pat his arm. “You can’t know how thankful I am for your and The Empire’s help, Duke Franco.”
“Am I not a member of The Society?”
“Either way, I am thankful.”
Feeling In safe hands, she allowed herself to give in to the tiredness.
“Archfriend!”
The youngster leapt forward to catch her.
The surrounding Earthfriends, witnessing the collapse of their matriarch, were overcome with dread and began to weep.
Duke Franco pressed two fingers to her throat. Her pulse was 24 beats per minutes.
Her plant clothing was beginning to peel loose, revealing a highly-developed wing-shaped rash at the top of each shoulder blade.
“Beautiful,” said the Duke. “So deep into the late stages, but she maintained her consciousness through force of will.”
He tore a tuft of grass from the ground and scattered it over her. After a few spell gestures, they enlarged to wrap her in a cocoon.
“Help me lift her.”
The others joined him in raising the unconscious matriarch. Carrying her over to a sick bed, they were silenced by the gravity of the situation.
Beneath the thud of their heavy footsteps, a quiet whirring could now be discerned that'd been present all along. Following them was a blowfly with azure wings. Its flight path seemed oddly erratic, oddly playful, oddly human.
A campsite in a private forest on the west bank of the Suchi river.
Guarded by earthen walls, the campsite included a yurt with cosy furniture and a small barn for a napping donkey.
Standing outside, a figure wearing a Tiki mask was being assaulted by a pack of Grey Wolves with rose-pink eyes. Their attacks bounced harmlessly off his reinforced skin.
“The dog tracks did not excite Unk. Unk’s soul wasn’t filled with the music of sociability or the light of hope...“
To flip the page of the book he was reading aloud, Henry had to throw one of the wolves from his arm.
“...when he saw a warm-blooded creature’s tracks...”
A white wolf with a button nose, the pack’s matriarch, howled. “Quick, we don’t know how long before the human figures out the diversion.”
“We’re moving as fast as we can,” replied a wolf in a group dragging away the rib-cage of a butchered cow.
Henry could understand their speech after learning their language while fighting The Wolf Empress. For now, though, he continued acting oblivious while they took his bait.
-Silver Wolf: Are you logged on?
Speaking of wolves...
“On alert!” called out the matriarch, noticing a change in the human’s demeanour.
-Silver Wolf: HENRY!
Silver Wolf...this would be one of his nemeses in his quest to conquer literature.
A year ago, to improve his writing skills, he’d created a circle of authors based in his in-game bookstore. The plan was to bounce ideas off each other and accelerate their growth.
One day, though, this Shaman, Silver Wolf, waltzed in with her ‘stories’ – they were no more than a daily diary of her in-game adventures.
The other authors had showered her with praise, they even began imitating her style, but Henry’d thought her writing was utter trash. The plot and characterisation were provided by the game. Like a casual pleb, she wrote exclusively in the first person, never exploring alternative voices. Most of the art of writing—the weaving of narrative threads, the spinning of delicate words, the stitching together of disparate psychological elements into an intriguing character—they were all absent.
Yet, mysteriously, the world ate her stories up like deep-fried seaweed. She became Saana’s most popular player-writer, her stories flying off bookshelves in-game and out.
What made Henry especially mad was that when he wrote a similar story using a higher-level, infinitely more intense Legendary quest, the readers panned it as ‘the delusional fantasy of a pretentious, unrelatable narcissist’.
What separated them?
Was it because she was pretty? Perhaps it was the halo effect tricking the readers into mistaking her garbage for gold.
Henry wasn't so arrogant as to believe it was only that. With his guild responsibilities, he’d lacked the time to properly analyse the gap between them and develop a method for surpassing her, but, now, with The Cap of a Thousand Dreams...
-Silver Wolf: HENRY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?
‘You should know,’ he finally replied. ‘I’m already playing with you.’
-Silver Wolf: ???
He messaged her a screenshot of a wolf gnawing on the toe cap of his shoe
-Silver Wolf: Hilarious.
‘I don’t think you fully understood. It’s a female wolf. What’s a synonym for a female wolf?’
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Her reply took a while.
‘That’s so rude. I’m not talking to you ever again.’
‘Bye.’
Silver Wolf has blocked you.
Henry laughed.
“He’s up to something!” the matriarch howled. “Scram!”
While the wolves were sprinting back into the forest, one of them complained about the disappearance of the wild game that was forcing them to risk these encounters.
Real life. Surabaya city, Indonesia.
A young local lad of 15 was biking home from the morning market.
He was in a sour mood, his day having been ruined when he found a toy figurine of him being sold at a stall holding his sword.
That deceitful blackguard, just he wait, one day soon, revenge would be had!
The young lad bolted upright, shedding his frustrations in an instant.
“A damsel in distress!”
He actually yelled that sentence out loud.
At a pedestrian crossing up ahead, a grandma was scratching her grey hair before a ceaseless flow of self-driving cars.
The young lad peddled hard to catch up to her.
“My lady,” he said, pointing at the crossing’s call button, “without activating this device, the traffic will continue unabated!”
Slamming the button, he caused the cars to slow to a halt.
“Thank you, young man. Usually, my son takes me to the market. He’s on a business trip today.”
When the grandma began to hobble along, she tipped to one side due to the weight of her shopping bags.
The young man bolted upright again. “Allow me, my lady!”
Hopping off his bike, he relieved her of her burden and helped her cross the street.
On the side, he asked the grandma where her home was.
“Such a kind offer, young man, but it’s unnecessary. It’s not far, and Dr Michael says I need the exercise. Tell me, though, what’s your name? Young ones who still care for their elders are so rare these days.”
The young lad puffed out his chest. “Noble citizen, you may call me Justinian!”
“Nob-la-huh? Just-i-what? Why do you keep speaking English?”
The boy blushed. “Sorry, grandma. I’m Hadi.”
“Well, thank you kindly, Hadi.”
Hadi puffed out his chest again. “It’s only a knight’s duty!”
The grandma blinked, snatching her shopping back from the weird young man.
As she hobbled away at speed, Hadi, a.k.a Justinian The Great, watched her with the growing pride that comes after all good deeds done, big or small.
Beep, beep! Beep, beep!
“A message!” he yelled, spurring the grandma to speed up.
On his e-assistant was a notification from The Empire’s leadership for an imminent competition to cure the suffering Earthfriends.
His hand trembling with excitement, he forwarded the message to his Village chat group.
–Justinian: Citizens of Byzantium arise and assemble! The goodfolk of The Society are in dire straits! We must answer their call for aid!
–22qb2022: please no more not today
–cathysong31: Good morning, Justinian!
–frosTyclover: i just awoke...
–Justinian: Good morrow, Lady Cathy!
–cathysong31: Good morning, Frosty!
–22qb2022: let the others save them. there’s 8 hours to go until our play slot
–frosTyclover: sup
–Justinian: Enough excuses! Spit out of the pacifier of indifference! While we rest, the goodfolk bleed!
Henry’s campsite.
Although the pack of wolves had doubled in size, only three of them were bothering to attack him. Having habituated to his presence and his voice, having realised he was harmless, most of the pack focused on transporting the meat that kept spawning here back to the den.
The peace was broken, however, when a giant mastiff made of shadows stepped out of the air beside him.
“Scram!”
The wolves scattered, vanishing into the trees.
Henry himself leapt back and unsheathed a long dagger from his belt.
Above the Shadow Mastiff’s head floated an orange-red username, indicating that the Earthfriend intruder was a criminal.
The mastiff’s body dissolved, transforming into a young teen with antler stubs.
Quinoaking38 raised a pair of empty hands. “I mean no harm. I overheard you talking to yourself earlier...”
The kid trailed off, too embarrassed to ask.
Henry’s dagger twirled through his fingers as he scrutinised the intruder.
The light shade of red in their name indicated only a petty crime.
Their demeanour was soft and non-threatening.
Another lover of literature?
“You're a fan of Vonnegut, kid?" asked Henry, referring to the author whose works he'd been reading out loud. "I can make you a copy if you want. In fact, I’ve collected his whole oeuvre.”
In the presence of a stranger, Henry had instinctually switched to a San Franciscan accent.
This had been the wrong choice.
Quinoaking38’s eyes widened as though he were coming face to face with a childhood hero. “Uncle Peace said you could imitate his way of talking! It’s really you, Takezo33, The Cripple!”
Crap.
Of all the ways to be discovered...
He should have guessed from the kid’s username and class.
The backstory to this was kind of dumb.
When he’d started, he'd named his character after the protagonist of the classic manga, Vagabond, which his school friend Abigail had been loaning him at the time. That manga was also the inspiration for him rolling a Cutthroat and choosing duelling as his first Digital Justice Club assignment – he was mirroring the main character’s story of wandering around feudal Japan challenging masters to duels.
At one point in his own wandering through Saana, Henry accidentally featured in a children's webshow produced by a hippy Earthfriend called peaceloveharmony. PLH was from San Franciso, although these days he ran an organic farm in Alaska. Henry's San Franciscan accent was ripped straight from his.
The current monster army thing he was playing with had also been stolen from that guy. So, the dude's hardcore fans might put two-and-two together.
Coincidentally, PLH was the other participant in Project Aevitas.
“It is most definitely not me,” said Henry, trying Indian English. “This Ta...tank-eh-so fellow, I do not know him. I started this game today morning only.”
Quinaoking38 had an epiphany about the wolves. “Oh my god, you’re building Fuzzy Friendships! Uncle Peace was right, you are crippled by love!”
PLH was the originator of the rumour that Henry's slow reaction speed was due to a deep-seated aversion violence.
“That’s exactly what I am doing. Please go away now. You’re trespassing.”
Quinaoking38 became embarrassed, his face turning as red as PLH’s organic beets. “Uncle Peace always said to admit our wrongdoings. Takezo, I’m sorry, I was stealing your herbs.”
“It’s cool. Have them as payment for skedaddling away.”
The name flashing above the kid’s head burst with a pop.
“Really? I...I...”
To Henry’s bafflement, the kid randomly started crying.
“Sorry, it’s...I’m so...hey, can I hug you?”
“Nope.”
Quinoaking38’s expression changed to shock. “Oh, no! I’ve got to go to school soon. Hey, can I add you?”
“Sure, my username hasn’t changed.”
He hadn’t reserved it, so someone else had stolen his old username. The new Takezo33 was currently failing to restart his pacifist cult in Togavi.
The kid laughed. “Everyone knows that’s not you.”
“I’m a private person. PLH must have a saying about respecting one’s privacy.”
Quinoaking38 grinned and raised a finger in a pose of wisdom. “The neighbour who never says hello back is the one you should greet most warmly!”
Henry grimaced in disgust.
His friends were idiots.
“Before you go,” he said, pushing past the issue. “I’ll remind you not to spread the news that I’m here. I won’t be able to...build Fuzzy Friendships if strangers are barging through scaring them away.“
Quinoaking38 nodded. “Hey, are you going to be here in 7 IRL hours? That’s when I get back home.”
“Catch you then, mate.”
“OK!”
Quinoaking38’s body vanished as he logged out.
Henry would have to work out a way to relocate his operation later.
The Slums. The staging grounds for The Cure For The Friends Gala.
Hours earlier, this had been an undeveloped patch of land on the eastern edge of the slums. Now, it was a bustling festival grounds with over 180,000 souls crammed between stalls with food, carnival games, and trinkets. In wrestling rings, rowdy players could let out steam by fighting duels, while gamblers wagered over the would-be victor. The boisterous atmosphere was enhanced by a 40-player ensemble of Performer class users playing covers of the latest pop sensations.
In the space designated for the competition, next to a stage, a medical area housed a couple of unconscious Earthriends who would be acting as guinea pigs. In front of this was an open plaza with Alchemy stations containing workbenches, tools, and crateloads of ingredients. The stations totalled 120 in number, one for each of The Empire’s Duchy-level administration divisions.
While the teams waited for the signal to start, many of them were eavesdropping on one station in particular, The Duchy of The Balkans.
There, a Duke was talking to the Counts and Village-Heads under his supervision, assigning the prize items out in advance.
“The WW-iron set will be given to Elephant Foot Village in preparation for the Open World Day tourney. The mounts will be distributed through a blind bid unless someone can make a strong case to me – later...”
They had a good reason for their confidence. Since a star talent had been born in their midst, they’d dominated The Empire’s Alchemy competitions for a quarter of a year.
The star in question, an Alchemist with a head too large for his thin neck, was leaning over a crate containing live beetles, his arm immersed in it shoulder deep.
“uNmistAk3n.”
The Head Scholar of the Duchy’s research team approached him.
All his senses were concentrated on the beetles crawling over his hand. Their bites were causing purple welts to appear on his flesh, before the healing effect removed them.
“uNmistAk3n.”
“What?”
“We’re about to begin.”
As the Head Scholar said this, the band stopped playing.
Except for the genius Alchemist, the crowd turned to the stage, where a chubby-faced man with a goatee was standing, his entrance as discreet and modest as his attire.
“Your majesty!”
A shout rang out from the crowd, followed by a symphony of others equally as fanatical. The most frenzied calls came from NPC slum-dwellers chanting, “Saviour!” again and again.
“Please,” said Ramiro, waving for them to stop.
For those too far from the stage, screens had been set up around the festival grounds showing his face. On these, his embarrassed smile was displayed in full, exposing a man lacking the confidence to accept the adoration being heaped on him.
From his humble expression, no one would be able to guess that minutes earlier he’d been screaming his head off at his assistants to discover the reckless ant who'd foiled his plan with The Wolf Emperor.
“Please,” he repeated. Using a Peopleworker skill, his voice projected throughout the grounds and contained a small trace of magic that lifted the listener's spirit. “I’ll be quick since I’m sure no one wants to hear me prattle on.”
“Talk for hours, your majesty!”
“Yes, your majesty, grace us with your wisdom.”
Ramiro faked further embarrassment. “Nevertheless, guys, I’ll keep it short; we don’t want the herbs expiring.”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“I want everyone to know that, while there are many prizes to be had, assuming The Balkans don’t monopolise them again—”
Once more, the crowd broke into laughter. Like the previous bout, it was far too loud for the quality of the joke.
“—I think the greatest prize on offer, and the one every single person in attendance will receive, is the sense of fulfilment in helping our companions in suffering. It’s acts like these—it’s the communal spirit which drives them—that have raised us from the sand to where we are today. I hope none of us lose sight of that. Without further ado, let the competition begin. Best of luck, comrades.”
On cue, a cymbal crashed as the player band ripped into The Empire’s anthem.
Most in attendance mimicked Ramiro by pressing their hands to their hearts.
As the string section began to soar, the collective voice of the slum rang out in harmony.
“Unbreakable union of free men and women
Welded together by famine and strife...”
Even those who didn’t sing along felt a chill of awe run down their spines.