Chapter 69: Mourning Thoughts

”Chin up, players. Our dead are watching.”

-Quote, Nathan the Sledge, SD425, during the Battle of Highsor Bridge, Undead Event

Brent could not sleep that night, and so when the sun crept through the blinds of the little room he shared with Thomas, he got out of bed and dressed.

No one was in the main room of the inn, and the bar where the innkeeper was usually getting ready for the day was empty. Brent felt a grim satisfaction at his absence but wondered when people would start questioning where he had gone.

Who cares, Brent thought numbly to himself.

He left by the front door and made for a player owned cafe he had seen on his first day in Birchtown. He couldn’t ever remember having coffee before but decided the establishment was a good enough place to sit and wait for the day to begin. After a few minutes of walking he found the little building a few blocks off the main road. It’s sign read “The Noble Brew”, clearing punning off of the famous weapon shop in Moontown.

“G’morning,” said a cheery young woman when he entered the cafe. She had her hair up in a bun and was wiping down a counter filled with freshly made cakes and pastries. She was pretty, and seemed only a few years older than Brent.

“Hi,” said Brent.

“You want a coffee?” She said after a moment. She looked at him with sympathy for some reason. “You must have never been to a cafe before, huh?”

“No,” said Brent, shaking his head. “I mean, it seems familiar.”

“Most people say that,” she said with a smile. “Must have been a fixture of the Old World, I guess. Well how about I pour you a cup of the house blend? It’s a good place to start I reckon.”

Brent agreed, and waited as the young woman went about readying the coffee. He didn’t feel like talking but she didn’t seem to get the hint so he allowed him self to answer her questions.

“I am guessing you’re here for the tournament, then?”

“Yeah,” said Brent simply.

“Today is the second day,” she said. “Are you fighting, or just watching some friends?”

“I am fighting.”

“Congratulations then,” she said. “That means you won your fight yesterday. I didn’t manage to take time off to watch it but will try to today. The second day is usually eventful in my experience.”

“How so?” Said Brent. He was curious despite himself.

“Well, the fighters are usually holding themselves back the first day, and the weak ones get weeded out. The second day is more of a show. At least from what I have seen over the years. Here,” she placed a steaming cup of dark liquid on the counter.

Brent pulled a couple coins from his bag and set them on the table.

“Thanks,” he said, picking up the cup. It was hot in his hands but he liked the mild pain it imparted. “You’ve had this cafe for a while then?”

“Almost nine years,” said the woman. She smiled and suddenly Brent noticed lines around her mouth and eyes. Perhaps she was not as young as he had first thought. “I was an adventurer for some time, but then decided that all that fighting and running around wasn’t for me. Decided to sign as a Merchant for a while, and then had my advisor make a contact for Cafe Owner. Best decision I ever made.”

“Why Birchtown?” Said Brent. And then he hurriedly added, “if you don’t mind telling me.”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Well, the Fighter Tournament happens every so often, so I get steady business as well as slower times to just relax. Also, I spawned in Avalon so it’s always felt more like home to me than the other areas. I know I could have made more money living in Great Nexia but I just like it here. You would be surprised who comes through, too.”

“Always a cast of characters,” said Brent, repeating something that Marlon was fond of saying.

“Right,” she said brightly. “It’s humble work but I love it. Not everyone can be a famous adventurer, you know? To be honest, had I stayed in that life I would likely have died somewhere all alone and not even my advisor would know.”

Brent felt a pit open up in his stomach, and he only nodded, mumbled something acceptable, and then excused himself to a corner of the cafe. He felt supremely awkward as he retreated from the conversation but as he glanced back at the cafe owner she just smiled politely and went back to work.

Brent summoned his journal, drew a pen from his inventory, and gently rested the tip on a fresh piece of paper.

September 9th

He stared at the date for some time. What was he supposed to write about, anyway? The events of the night before were like photographs in his mind of a crime scene. Just bloody and tragic and it was the last thing he really wanted to process just yet, but he felt as though he had to just the same.

Last night we found the players who attacked Chase and Meredith. They had a camp outside Birchtown. We attacked them but they were illusions from a mage. Then we got ambushed...

He took a sip of the coffee. It was bitter and tasted gross and he decided he didn’t like coffee at all. But there was something about the heat in his mouth and the bitter liquid that made him feel as though his sins were being washed away. He enjoyed the mild discomfort.

We defeated them all. I killed the innkeeper who was running the show. Chase was really mad at me because he wanted to question him. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s like I wasn’t in control of my body.

Again, he stared at the freshly written words. They made the night feel real again and not some kind of fever dream that he had been hoping it was. His bloody sword and the bodies on the ground came into his mind. The smell of the campfire and Alex wailing on the dead swordsman. Daniel...

The mage was still alive when we found him, though, but he wouldn’t talk. There was an arrow in his chest just an inch from his heart, and blood was coming from his mouth. He could only cough more blood and shake his head. I don’t think he even knew where he was when we found him, and he didn’t tell us much. I recognized him from the tournament, though. He was the mage who had made the giant face for us to strike when we signed up for the tournament.

So all these people are just working with Xemnara, it seems. Even NPCs are starting too, which surprised everyone. Chase said it should be impossible, and seemed really worried. But we didn’t get much time to talk about it because we had to carry Daniel back to Birchtown. He got stabbed in the stomach. He-

Brent took another sip of the hot coffee. He scratched out some of what he had written.

My journal says I am a level five warrior now. So I have a another 5% buff in defense. That means 10% in strength and 10% in

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Morning, Lady Christie!” said the cafe owner brightly in the front.

“Morning, Robin. And such a morning it is!”

Brent looked up to see Christie of the Old Guard ordering some coffee as she small talked with the owner. He set his pen down and stared at his coffee. He really didn’t want to drink anymore.

“Are you coming to watching the tournament?” Christie was asking the owner, Robin.

“I will do my best,” said Robin. “We shall see how busy I get before then.”

“Today should be some good matches,” said Christie. “Yesterday a young girl broke her hand but still managed to show her opponent what for. It reminded my of myself, a bit.”

“Odd,” said Robin mischievously. “I don’t remember you ever carrying a sword.”

“Well, not like that,” said Christie with a small laugh. “I meant her resilience. Of course you know that, Robin.”

“You know I do,” said Robin. “But I like to tease you just the same. Will it be the usual?”

“Please. With extra cream.”

Usually Brent would be enamored by the sight of such a powerful player, from the most famous guild in Esem, but this morning he could only listen listlessly as they talked. Only a few months, heck, days ago, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. There was something about the power and confidence she exuded, not to mention her beauty, which captured his mind and his gaze. But every time he looked at her he only saw the innkeeper laying on the ground, and all the blood and dead human players.

“How long will you be around Birchtown, Christie?”

“Only till after the tournament today,” said Christie. “I wish I could stay till the end but I am sure the results will be in the papers.”

“Old Guard business, I assume? Oh, you don’t need to tell me, I know what that face means,” said Robin.

“It’s nothing too important,” said Christie. She sounded light and airy but her voice had a slight strain to it. “Just making the rounds.”

“I see,” said Robin. She seemed to know when to prod and when to relent. Soon she placed a mug on the counter and Christie paid. “Enjoy the coffee, Christie. Come by and see me again before you go. I’m making a pie for Harold later and you can have a slice.”

“That would be nice,” said Christie. She retrieved her mug and as she turned around she saw Brent.

“You’re up early...Brent, is it?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Yes. That’s me,” he said quickly.

Christie walked over and sat at a nearby table. She took a sip of her coffee and sighed contentedly.

“Relax, Brent,” she said. She eyed his journal. “Getting some thoughts down before the town wakes up?”

“Um,” he glanced down at his journal and then shut it, trying not to seem like he was worried about her reading what he had written. “Something like that, yeah.”

“It’s a good practice,” said Christie. “I used to write in my journal every morning and also before I went to bed. Really helped me with my training, actually. Of course my friends made fun of me.”

“You mean the Old Guard?”

“None other. They like their hazing, as I am sure you have heard.”

“Not really,” said Brent. He struggled to remember any book which mentioned hazing among the Old Guard. “In what ways, exactly?”

“Well, we haven’t had a new member in over 15 years, but I remember when Mack joined Karkren and Spade-heard of them, yes?-painted his face with makeup when he went to sleep. The next day we got into an ambush and I remember distinctly the enemy laughing till they fell over when they saw his face.”

“Wow,” marveled Brent. He would have to mention this to Chase later. “That’s funny.”

“It was,” nodded Christie with a smile. “But what made it more funny is there was a reporter there from the AION post. He took a photo of Mack and it got printed in the paper the next day. Other players started calling him Mac the Beauty, or some such.”

“I’m sure he didn’t like that.”

“No,” said Christie. “He did not.”

“How did he get current his name then? Mac the Tooth?”

“It was right after that, actually,” said Christie. The corners of her mouth smiled slightly but she looked more tired than amused. “One night someone called him that to his face and Mac bit him so hard he nearly tore his arm off. Or...maybe it did come off...I can’t remember now. But after that ‘the Tooth’ just seemed to fit better than ‘the Beauty’.”

Suddenly Brent had a vision of the hand he had severed the night before, and felt like he wanted to vomit. He could almost hear the man grunting in pain and alarm again.

“Are you alright, Brent?” Said Christie with concern. “You are looking rather wan. Don’t you have a match today?”

“I’m fine,” said Brent a little too forcibly. Christie raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment further.

You’re an idiot, thought Brent to himself. Here was a member of the Old Guard, Christie, in the flesh, and he was acting like a fool. Only a few days ago he would have given anything to have the chance to talk with her. He wracked his mind for something to say that could redeem itself.

“I’m sorry, Lady Christie,” began Brent. “I just have some nerves about the fight is all.”

“Just Christie is fine,” she said. She rolled her yes and looked at Robin who was serving another customer who had walked in. “Robin likes to add that to be funny.”

“Oh,” said Brent dumbly.

“It’s because I knew her in her old life, before she settled down with Harold and became a business owner. We are old friends, actually.”

“She mentioned adventuring to me earlier.”

“You wouldn’t know it now,” said Christie as though she hadn’t heard him. “But Robin used to be the most dangerous Pyromancer in all of Esem. Well, maybe not the most dangerous, but she was pretty close.”

“Really!” Said Brent with shock. He looked back at Robin who was preparing another coffee. She didn’t look like someone who had much power. “But I don’t understand. Why is she here?”

“She fell in love,” said Christie. “Met a player who didn’t have two contracts to rub together and decided to start a life with him.”

“I didn’t realize people actually did that,” admitted Brent. “Why give up all that power and prestige?”

Christie then looked at him critically.

“There is more to life than fighting and glory, Brent,” she said. Then she sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know why I am saying that, really. I had the same question when she told me. I think my exact words were: ‘you’ll never be remembered if you give it all up now for a no name player.’”

Brent winced. Those were some harsh words.

“I know,” chuckled Christie. “We had an argument about it, and she started calling me Lady after that. We didn’t talk for a while but reconnected a couple years ago and had a laugh about it. Now she just says it as a joke, of course.”

The words were out of Brent’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Did you ever consider doing the same? With Spade, I mean?”

Dead silence. Christie stared at the far wall. She didn’t touch her coffee, and Brent berated himself for a fool all the while. He had to look at the floor while he thought in horror at what he had just asked. Finally, she responded.

“Nope.”

“Ah, I see—.”

“I know the Old Guard’s story is in all the books, Brent,” she said. “But you should be careful bringing them up to us in the future. Those are our lives, not some story for a soppy fan to be prodding into.”

Brent’s mouth dropped, and he watched as Christie drained the last bit of her coffee and stood up. She didn’t look happy but smiled politely at him.

“Good luck today, Brent. I’m off to the arena.”

“Thank you...and sorry about that.”

Christie only shrugged and as she was walking out the door she waved. Brent waved back but then realized it was meant for Robin, and quickly pretended that he had been swatting at an errant fly.

“Smooth one,” said Robin from behind the counter. She was covering her mouth to stop from laughing and Brent felt his face flush.

“Whatever,” he muttered. They were the only ones in the cafe again. He decided to wait a couple minutes and then go back to The Royal and see the others. Anywhere he could forget about this moment would be better than here.

“You know, Christie is a hard woman to get to know,” said Robin.

“Really,” said Brent flatly.

“Yes. But I don’t think she goes for younger men, just so you know.”

“I wasn’t...!” Now Brent’s face felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t remember ever blushing this hard before. He wanted to die. “I...I was just.”

“I’m only teasing you,” laughed Robin. “What did you two talk about, if I might ask?”

“She told me you were a great pyromancer.”

“Were?” Robin gave him a mock frown. Then she opened up her palm and burst of fire appeared there. It was bright and felt hot despite the distance between them. “I still got the chops. Just because I stopped signing for those Classes doesn’t mean I lost anything.”

“Amazing,” said Brent, staring into the fire.

Suddenly she made a fist and the fire disappeared.

“Thank you. It’s a humble life this—going from what I was to serving coffee. But never a day goes by I don’t thank AION I made the right choice. Maybe you will understand one day.”

“I guess,” shrugged Brent.

Robin shook her head and sighed softly.

“Anyway, want another cup?”

Brent declined, and soon left the shop, after telling her he would be back the next morning. He trotted back to the inn and had to avoided the newly risen players who were slowly getting ready for the day, and the NPCs who were going through their predetermined motions for the countless time. When he got to The Royal he found the main room empty and so went out through the back door to the stables.

Alex and Claire were both there, guarding the stable door, and they nodded when he arrived. Both had a haggard look about themselves and neither said a word as he walked past them through the large open pair of doors.

Amelie and Clark were sitting on a bench, both looking extremely tired and defeated. Both had blood on their shirts and their eyes were like those of veterans of war who had lost an important battle. Brent wanted to avert his eyes, or run away, but he walked to the final stall where Chase, Meredith, Seb, and Hackney were gathered around Daniel. His limp hand was being held by a stone faced Meredith.

“He didn’t make it,” said Chase as he saw Brent. There were dark bags under his eyes. Hackney appeared to be made of granite, and Seb looked as though he had been crying for hours.

“Daniel is dead.”