Chapter 84: Interlude: Between the Velvet Lies
Sometimes I wish I had a guild, then these long nights would not be so lonely. I started out from Crescent City with only one thing in mind: to be the first player to ever defeat the Garblesnatch. Clearly, that was a bad idea. I underestimated my quarry and and so found myself in a bad situation. I’ve had bad before, but this ones feel different. That monster thing had such sharp claws it pierced right through my armor. I managed to heal myself from that attack but then, wouldn’t you know it, I feel into a crevice and shattered my right foot. It crunches every time I move it.
Why am I even writing this? I was never one much for self reflection. I guess I want some kind of record of myself before I die. I spent two entire days screaming my throat raw trying to get help. Nobody came. I still got some food left and there is a little pool of dirty water down here. My foot hurts, but its no longer feels as though I have an elephant on it. I can barely look at it.
Anyway, for whoever finds this. My name is Drestoritv. It’s a strange name, but the Emissary seemed to like it and so I said, why not? I spawned in SD905 on the training mountain of Nabonoban. My first contract was Fighter, and then Warrior, and now it is Warrior II. I never had a guild, but I have some friends back in the Crescent City. I wish I could see them again. If someone could tell Molly, the player who opened up a shop selling her Tinkerer creations on Main Street I wish I could have seen her again, that would be great.
Screw it. Molly, I love you. I have since the first day I met you. I thought it was fate that made us spawn together. I always wanted to tell you but there never seemed to be a good moment. I’m such a fool, I know. I went hunting for this blasted thing because I wanted to impress you. But just know this is my fault, okay? Anyway, hope I see you on the other side, whatever that is.
-Recovered journal of Drestoritv. Found fifty years after his death.
“Just tell me why.”
“What good would that do? I have told you many times, but when you reset you never remember.”
“This is madness!” Said Bedge. “You persecute us but it’s just our design. I was made to attack players!”
“And you killed the wrong player.”
“But that wasn’t my fault!”
On either side of Sir Antony were the bodies of Bedge’s henchmen. He had ridden out to find them and attacked them head on, even dismounting from his steed so that he could watch them die slowly. Only the leader, Bedge, remained, and he was beaten and bleeding from a dozen wounds as he kneeled on the ground, awaiting Sit Antony’s sword that would sever his head from his body.
“It doesn’t matter,” rumbled Sir Antony. He hefted his steel sword in his hand. “Are you ready to die again?”
“How many times?” Said Bedge, his eyes bulging as he glanced at the sword. “How many times have you killed me? Killed us?”
Not nearly enough, thought Sir Antony.
“Today would be the 57th time I have killed you.”
“57?” Said Bedge, hanging his head. “And who is it I killed?”
“My wife.”
“Your…oh, I see. Well, I am sorr—.”
“Silence!” He roared. “I will hear no apologies from a pathetic murdering NPC! Hold your tongue, schlub.”
Bedge was totally defeated, and though Sir Anthony could not remember the NPC ever trying to apologize he was unwavering in his dark commitment.
“It doesn’t matter,” muttered Bedge.
Something stayed Sir Antony’s blade.
“What?”
“I said it doesn’t matter, knight,” spat Bedge. When he glared at him there was no longer any fear. “The times are changing and there will be a day that your murdering ways will come to an end.”
“Nothing changes, you filthy coward,” said Sir Anthony. “And until I stop drawing breath you shall die again, and again, and again.”
Now Bedge’s look of defiance changed into one of near serenity and peace. He gave a small half smile.
“He is coming, Antony.”
“Who is?”
“The one who will free us. The child that was promised a thousand years ago.”
“Where is he now, hm?” Said Sir Antony. “I don’t see anyone, least of all a child. All I see are two dead NPCs and a soon to be third. If this savior of yours is real then can he stop my blade?”
“Not today,” said Bedge, shaking his head. “But soon. We NPCs know, though many have forgotten. We will one day be free. Free of this never ending hell of resetting. And on that day you will be humbled as you never have been before.”
Sir Antony spat on the ground.
“This is just schlub foolishness. I have heard similar things before.”
“But it is real. One has come who will herald the child. He is waiting in the wings of—.”
Sir Antony’s sword cut through Bedge’s neck like a razor through silk. He then cleaned his sword on Bedge’s tunic and called his horse over.
As he galloped away his thoughts raced with what Bedge had said before he died. Rarely had the two of them ever shared words, but always it fell along the same track, as though the NPC only had certain words that he knew to say. Today he had seemed to be able to articulate his own thought.
Something is afoot, thought the knight, and he was determined to find out what.
Some two hours later Sir Antony found himself crossing the moat bridge which led into Castle Wurstill. Young guards saluted him as he entered the courtyard and a young Fighter, though the academy called them pages, greeted him.
“Sir Antony!” Said the page. “Welcome back!”
Sir Antony sighed.
“Well met, Daniel.”
“Oh yeah,” said the page, blushing. “I meant ‘well met.’ It’s hard to remember all these phrases.”
Sir Antony dismounted and handed Daniel the reigns of his horse.
“It’s alright,” he said with a chuckle. “They are a tad arbitrary, I suppose.”
Daniel’s eyes widened and then he laughed.
Once his horse was being led away by the page Sir Antony entered the castle proper. Knights and pages were bustling about the hall as classes were in the midst of changing. He saw the teacher of horseback riding chatting with a couple students whilst waving a horse shoe around. The teacher of sword fighting, Lady Justaine, was carrying a bundle of wooden swords as she walked briskly across the hall. Any number of students hailed Sir Antony and the younger ones stared in awe at the knight. Sir Anthony made sure to smile and wave as he made his way to the staircase which led to the rest of the castle and soon he was past the crowd and walking down a hallway to the inner sanctum.
“Well met, Sir Antony,” said the academy headmaster as soon as he entered the inner sanctum. The room was small and was so named despite it being a working office of the headmaster. For all he knew the office always had that name and each headmaster since the academy began had worked within its sacred walls.
“Well met, Sir Gregan.”
Sir Gregan was old, as his sheet white hair and matching beard proclaimed. Despite his age he was still an intimidating figure and was nearly a head taller than Sir Antony when he rose to his full height. Right now he was sitting behind the headmaster’s desk as he poured over the Esem Monitor.
“I hope your ride was eventful,” said Sir Gregan, still reading his paper.
“As much as it usually is.”
Sir Gregan peered over his spectacles and gave him a small smile.
“It won’t bring her back, you know. But if it gives you some relief I cannot complain. Can’t have my number two stewing all day when the solution seems to bring you so much peace. Please sit.”
Sir Antony nodded and did as he bid, but something was bothering him.
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“Today I felt no such peace, headmaster.”
“And why was that?”
“Bedge-the highwayman who killed my wife-he said some strange things before he died.”
“Such as?” Said Sir Gregan. He folded up the newspaper and placed it neatly on his desk.
“He said that a child is coming to Esem, and that the NPCs were waiting for him.”
“A child? What do you think this means?”
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”
Sir Gregan drummed a tattoo with his fingers on his desk, then he removed his spectacles and placed them perpendicularly next to the newspaper.
“Have you ever heard of the NPCs prophecy?”
“No,” said Sir Anthony. And then he quickly said, “Sir.”
“They say a thousand years ago, when Esem was young. There was an NPC who was not tied to any set design. He was like a human-had free will, I mean. But this NPC was able to do things humans could not. He could move mountains and tame monsters and the like, and he changed Esem utterly before he died. Perhaps this is who this highwayman was speaking of.”
“Do you think me meant the Antagonista?”
“Perhaps,” said Sir Gregan with a shrug. “Of course if the reports are to be believed then the Antagonista is a women, and quite the beautiful one so I’ve read. Not really a young boy, hm?”
Sir Antony thought about that for a moment. Again he saw Bedge and the moment of serenity he had before he died. That was not a face he was accustomed to seeing on NPCs, whether highwaymen or farmers, or even the NPC nobility within Avalon.
It was the face of faith.
“The world is changing,” muttered Sir Antony.
“Let us hope that we can change with it,” said Sir Gregan. “Do not worry about what this highwayman said, Sir Antony. You’re duties are at the academy. Whatever may come in the coming years will only be helped if we can train as many knights as possible. Now, on that front—.”
There was a knock at the door. Sir Antony rose and answered it to find a familiar face with close set eyes and thinning hair on his head.
“Advisor Cellis, welcome,” said Sir Gregan.
“Good morning,” said the Advisor. He slipped past Sir Antony and stood before the headmasters desk. “Or should I say ‘well met’?”
“Either is fine,” said the headmaster, waving his hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“It’s my job,” said Advisor Cellis with a short bow. “You’re letter said I had three players who need a new contract.”
“Cleo, Arman, and Rebecca,” said Sir Gregan, checking a piece of paper. “Seems you chose them well. They all finished their second contract within the last two days.”
“And all three have decided to choose Knight as their next class?”
“None of them had the mettle to make it to Paladin,” said Sir Antony. The advisor jumped and then quickly smiled to hide his embarrassment.
“Very well, but what I meant is are they all going to be Knight’s here?”
“That,” said the Headmaster. “You will have to ask their teacher. Sir Antony?”
“Cleo and Arman have both pledged to stay at the academy and help train new recruits,” said Sir Anthony. “Rebecca wants to travel to the Hub. She has ideas of joining a guild there and adventuring for a time.”
“Really?” Said Advisor Cellis with some shock. “Last time I spoke with her she seemed dead set on staying here.”
“Things change,” said Sir Antony. “You can ask her when you sign her contract.”
“I think I shall,” said the advisor.
“We don’t force anyone to stay here,” said Sir Gregan, arching an eyebrow at the advisor. “I expect you to know that. We are in the business of training knights who live forthrightly and walk the honorable road. Whether they do that here or in another area of Esem does not bother us in the slightest.”
“Of course, Sir Gregan,” said the Advisor quickly. “I never meant to insinuate otherwise.”
The headmaster hm’d and then he waved his hand.
“Anyway, I have some work to do. Sir Antony, lead Advisor Cellis to where the players are. They have been in the Tower of Meditation all night. Time to add a few more knights to the world.”
The Headmaster then picked back up his paper and opened it, his face disappearing behind the pages. Sir Antony nodded at the Advisor and they both quietly exited the sanctum.
“I remember when Gregor spawned on training island,” muttered Cellis as they walked down the hallway. “He was older than you are now. Always had that air about him. Like he was better than everyone.”
Sir Antony did not comment and lead the advisor in silence down the hallway and then into the main hall. The hall was empty now as class was again in session, and the light murmurings of teachers speaking echoed about the large room as the sound came from their respective classrooms.
“This way,” said Sir Antony, holding the door for the advisor.
“Do you know who owned this castle before you?” Said the Advisor. Any awkwardness he may have felt over his comment about the Headmaster appeared absent.
“I do not know, Advisor.”
“A guild called the Manic Men. They preyed on new players for decades before a guild of knights came around and ended their reign. This was centuries ago, of course. I was a new advisor at the time.”
“Interesting,” said Sir Antony noncommittally.
Advisor Cellis shrugged and then allowed Sir Antony to lead him the rest of the way to the Tower of Meditation. When they were nearing the tower door, Sir Antony had a thought.
“Advisor, do you know anything about an NPC prophecy concerning a child?”
“Hm? Oh,” the Advisor frowned and then crossed his arms. “Why? Heard something recently?”
“Yes, from a highwayman. He mentioned a child that is to come and free the NPCs.”
The Advisor rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I’ve heard it before. There is a legend about an NPC centuries ago as well. One that had incredible powers and what not.”
“Do you know anything about it?”
The Advisor shook his head and smiled.
“I wasn’t around back then, but I know some who were. If such an NPC ever existed he did so very quietly.”
“You’re saying the NPC was lying?”
“They can’t lie. They can only do as they have been designed, Antony.”
“Then why would this NPC say such a thing?”
“Perhaps it’s the Antagonista’s work,” said Advisor Cellis. He sighed. “But I can assure you that no such thing is going to happen. The NPCs talk about freedom as if they even knew what such a thing was.”
“I see,” said Sir Antony. “But it is strange, no? Are you sure no records of this ancient NPC exist?”
“There are stories,” said the Advisor slowly. “But, again, if he did no one credible ever saw him, or he’s been removed from the history books by a very deep conspiracy. I go for the former. There is no way such an NPC could exist without AION knowing about it.”
Sir Antony peered into the hopeful eyes of the Advisor for a few moments. He did not seem to be lying. Perhaps Bedge was just wrong, and this Antagonista really was messing with the NPCs design.
“Very well, Advisor,” said Sir Antony. “I hope you are right. Let’s go make some knights.”
They climbed the tower in silence, and despite the many stairs only Sir Antony, despite his physical condition, was breathing heavily by the time they made it to the top. They entered the meditation room and found the three players sitting cross legged on the bare ground. Each looked exhausted to have stayed up all knight and Arman even seemed to be nodding off. When they entered each snapped awake and got to their feet.
Sir Antony raised a hand to stop their talking.
“Peace, soon to be knights,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Cleo, a young woman of around 25 nodded her head, her blonde curls bouncing as she did.
“I am, Sir Antony.”
“So am I,” said Arman, a tired smile breaking across his face.
“Let’s do it,” sighed Rebecca. She had long dark hair that was normally tied in a bun but now fell across her shoulders. She was around Arman’s age and was close to 20. “As soon as I am a knight I want to book it to the Hub.”
Advisor Cellis raised an eyebrow.
“Did something happen, Rebecca? Last time I saw you it seemed the academy life was all you ever wanted.”
Rebecca was nearly as tall as Sir Antony, which made her one of the tallest women in the academy. Sir Antony had watched her progress with interest as she had been a clear natural from the moment she joined. Everything from horse back riding to swordplay came easily to her and she was able to defeat most of her training partners with ease.
“Did something happen?” Said Rebecca, slightly tilting her head as she looked at her advisor in mild shock. “You tell me. The AION Post is talking about this new event happening. Players always get famous during events, and I don’t want to be stuck around here when everything goes down.”
“I see,” said Cellis, nodding his head. “So you are worried about being left behind.”
“Exactly,” said Rebecca simply. She said no more but glared at the other two players as though daring them to speak.
Cleo waved her hand as though she had heard this conversation a thousand times and wanted to hear no more of it. Arman likewise shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slightly.
“Very well,” said Cellis. “Well, it’s not my job to convince you one way or the other, Rebecca. How about we get this new contract signed, eh? Number three is a huge mile stone! Only one in 500 players ever get to it, I believe.”
And so it was that Sir Antony watched as the advisor went to work. He produced three contracts from his robes and then, after the trio had read them over, drew his ceremonial dagger.
“Shall we do this in private?” Asked Advisor Cellis. “I see a small room over there I could take each of you into one by one.”
“No need,” said Cleo, glancing at the other two. “We all decided that we can do this part together. We may not have spawned together but we all got signed by you on the same day. Seeing as Rebecca is about to leave we agreed that we can get our third contract side by side.”
“Very well,” said Cellis. “Um, Sir Antony? I forget, does the knighting come before or after?”
“After,” rumbled Sir Antony. “Go ahead.”
One by one Cellis said the words of binding. After each had repeated their vows, he cut their hands and then clasped them together. It was like three stars in deep space being formed and then collapsing on themselves. The blinding light made Sir Antony have to turn his head as each one of them officially received their third contract. By the time the final one was over, three Knights stood before Sir Antony and the advisor.
“Finally,” said Arman. He had his sleeve rolled up and was gazing at his new tattoo. It was a knights helm with a pair of sword clashing beneath. “I have waited so long for this mark I can’t believe I finally got it.”
“Same,” said Cleo, a small tear streaking down her cheek.
“You earned it,” said Sir Antony. He wanted to smile and pat them all on the backs, but had to keep his knightly bearing. He the drew his blade. “Now then. Cleo. Arman. Are you ready?”
Rebecca stood in the corner of the room as she watched the knighting ceremony. Cleo was first.
“Do you swear to uphold the academy laws and hold your vows sacred?”
“I swear it,” said Cleo, a look of determination in her eyes as she kneeled.
Sir Antony tapped his blade upon her left shoulder.
“Do you swear to help the innocent, and always help your brother and sister knights?”
“I do.”
His blade wandered over her head and tapped her right shoulder.
“Then rise a knight.”
She did so, and then it was Arman’s turn. He sounded slightly less confident as the ceremony got underway, but by the end his chest was puffed out like a pigeon and his proud smile matched Cleo’s as he rose.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay, Rebecca?” Said Cleo.
Rebecca had her arms crossed and a look of disdain crossed her face.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Sir Antony?”
“Yes?”
She reached out her hand, and Sir Antony grasped it in a warriors embrace, clutching her forearm,
“Thank you for all you have done for me,” she said.
“Thank you for all you have done, as well. You were an excellent student. I hope as you adventure out that you bring the good name of the academy with you.”
A sad look replaced the disdain, and Rebecca bit her lip.
“I promise,” she muttered. And then, with merely a wave at her compatriots, she left the room, allowing the door to slam behind her.
Cleo huffed and Arman sighed.
“There she goes,” sad Cleo, shaking her head. “Well, Arman? Are you just going to let her go?”
“What do you mean?” Said Arman, sounding sad.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Said Cleo, sounding accusatory. “Go after her and tell her how you feel.”
Arman’s face flushed bright red and his sudden burst of pride in becoming a Knight vanished.
“No I’m not,” she said in a small voice. “And even if I was she has made up her mind.”
Cleo rolled her eyes and then turned to look out the window. Sir Antony followed her gaze and saw the figure of a young woman on a horse charging out the front gate of Castle Wurstill.
Farewell, Rebecca, thought Sir Antony. May AION protect you during these times.