I’m back in Camelot ™, the massively multi-player online virtual reality role-playing game or MMOVRRPG. I’ve been away a few weeks due to real-life pressures and things getting a little too intense in the game and almost blowing my fuse. Here I am in my rock-cut chamber in the Silver Drift mine, lit by guttering wax candles in stone alcoves. I’m sitting at a heavy scarred oak table on a heavy oak chair padded in green velvet with a red design. I am Sir Gorrow of the Bloody Field after all, my arms awarded to me by King Arthur himself on the battlefield in front of Camelot just before the city fell to the Evil One.
That was a while back now. Here I am in my settlement with my friends. Yes, my friends: real and virtual, player characters (PCs) and non-player characters (NPCs). We run a dungeon in here called the Forgotten Chapel, which is intended as a front operation for our real purpose -- to build an army for King Arthur in a hidden settlement called Silver Drift. But I’m boss of the Forgotten Chapel dungeon and Baron of Silver Drift. I’ve just taken up the Prestige Class of Baron, more of which later.
In front of me sits, orange haired fire-mage Tye, dressed in his blue silk wizard’s robes. He’s mini-boss of Level One of the dungeon. To his right, is bearded Bernard the Alchemist, wearing a frayed brown cassock covered in chemical stains and last night’s dinner. He’s mini-boss of Level Two, which has an acid theme. (Tye’s level has a fire theme in case you didn’t guess that.) To Bernard’s right is shaggy-browed, beak-nosed Saint Fitheach wearing his white shift, long white Gandalf style hair flowing down his back. He’s mini-boss of the newly excavated Level Three of the Forgotten Chapel, and very excited about his wrathful angels, spiky seraphs and cheeky cherubim, not to mention his stat-draining holy traps.
I am Dungeon Boss and Lord of Level Five, except Level Five hasn’t been dug out yet. That’s fine, we have other fish to fry before we get to that particular issue, though Thorvald, my boss miner, is also in the chamber, though standing. (I didn’t ask him to stand). Thorvald wants to get cracking on Level Five as soon as possible. Unlike Tye, Bernard and Fitheach, and I guess, myself, who are people, Thorvald is computer generated, albeit fiendishly cleverly generated with an intelligence that appears superior to many players, Tye for instance. Uchtred my sergeant at arms is also in the chamber, as well as Peter the Silent, my trapsmith, Geraint the Blacksmith, Asterix the blue-bearded dwarf agency staffer and Oliver Stone, architect. Jason the Brewer and Business Manager is outside the door, as we couldn’t fit any more in my chamber. Behind him is Simon the Vendor. They’re all AI guys.
Thorvald looks at me grimly. ‘So what’s the plan now, boss?’
That puts me on the spot and I scratch my head. The candles flicker in a warm breeze that’s coming from somewhere in the mine. Silence hangs as they wait for my wise reply and I hear the distant chinking and chipping of pickaxes. They’re all staring at me. I put up my hand and say, ‘Gimme a minute, guys. I’m thinking.’
Truth is I’ve already thought. I know what I need to do. I sit back, frown and say, ‘We’ve got to get to King Arthur.’
Uproar erupts. My decision has caused some discussion, furious looks, smiles, winks, nods and curses under the breath, depending on who thinks what. But I’m decided. We’re going to save King Arthur.
And then the alarm light blinks on in the vision of my Heads Up Display (HUD). Tye, Fitheach and Bernard get the alert too. ‘Someone’s coming in,’ Tye says, standing up and almost knocking over the leather tankard containing Jason’s best Silver Drift beer that Bernard had placed on the table in front of them. Bernard waves him down, reaching to sup his ale. ‘Don’t worry, kid. You’ve got plenty of time.’
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I check on the HUD and I see six red dots blinking on the screen. They’ve come in the dungeon’s front door and are cuatiously making their way down the passage towards the door on the right that opens up onto the Ruined Chapel room. There are a couple of mobs in there that will trigger as soon as they get close.
Tye pushes back his ginger hair. ‘It’s fine for you to say, Bernard, but I’m the first boss they’ll meet.’
‘Mini-boss,’ Bernard mutters into his beer.
Tye twists his mouth. ‘Yeah, but you’re only a mini-boss too.’
I hold up my hand. ‘Guys, please. We’ve got a party to meet and greet.’
Bernard stands and brushes down crumbs from his cassock. I don’t know where they’ve come from as he hasn’t eaten anything, but maybe it’s a graphic effect to accentuate his slightly-shabby character. He shrugs. ‘But I’m boss of Level Two, you’re only boss of Level One, Tye.’
‘Whatever. That doesn’t mean anything.’
Bernard turns to me. ‘What level are the adventurers?’
I check my screen. There are six of them. The lowest is a Level 6 Rogue, the highest is a Level 9 Barbarian. The Forgotten Chapel Dungeon has now levelled to Level 11, so they are going to be outmatched, especially if they try to go downstairs as each level of the dungeon gets one leverl harder.
The dungeon has a mechanism that allows us to spawn copies of loot and even clone good items that adventurers drop when they die, so we won’t be out of pocket if they do get some loot. I’m almost about to wish them well when Fitheach says, ‘Check their alignment. Are they evil? What guild do they belong to?’
We are sworn enemies of some of the evil guilds such as The Fangs of Koth, Dead Souls and Blood for Satanus. I’m a member of the Knights of the Round table, a good guild based now in Caer, since Camelot fell, so we were bound to clash. Not least since they burned Camelot to the ground and killed tons of my guildies. I check.
‘No, they’re not a guild group. There’s Grimdark, Level 9 Barbarian, Hamish Level 6 Rogue.’
I can’t see Hamish being up to to the Level 12 traps he’s going to face on this level. (Traps are always 1 level up from the level of the dungeon they’re set up on). I continue to read down my list.
‘Melanieoxoxo a Level 8 Cleric, Danven, a Level 8 Fighter, Tigorono, a Level 8 Wizard and finally, Treebeard781 a Level 7 druid.’
‘I love druids,’ Bernard says.
Fitheach screws up his face. ‘I don’t. Too woody and pagan.’
‘I’m going to get ready,’ Tye says, sweeping off in a swirl of blue robes. The NPCs move out the way to let him by. Thorvald nods at me. ‘So, at least we know the plan. Let me know what you want to do.’
Then they leave too.
I shrug and stand. Bernard has followed Tye out and I’m left with Saint Fitheach. He’s pulling at his white beard and seems agitated. ‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘A bit nervous.’
‘Nervous? How come? We’ve had hundreds of adventurers through this place.’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah, but I’ve never been in charge of my own level before.’
I lean over and pat him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll do fine. Don’t worry.’
‘But I do worry, Gorrow. When I was just helping out on other peoples’ levels, it was okay, but now, I’m kind of responsible…’
I try to mollify him. ‘Listen, these guys are not going to get to your Level. The biggest guy in their group is Level 9 and your level is going to be…’ I pause to calculate but he says, ‘Level 14 traps and mobs.’
I beam at him. ‘See, no danger they’ll even get close.’
He nods, suddenly comforted. ‘You’re right. Though I would have like them to see the Level, we’ve made it nice…’
I shake my head. He doesn’t want adventurers to get to his level and yet he does. That’s saints for you — ambivalent to a man. I set out the door. ‘Let’s go.’
I’m back in my armour. I’ve still got the Green Knight glamour on so people won’t recognise me as Sir Gorrow of the Bloody Field. Our presence deep in enemy territory is well-known to the enemy, though so far his minions haven’t found a way into our Silver Drift settlement. The only way they could do that is to come over the steep hills that ring the Secret Valley, and even then they’d have to seige our back door. They haven’t found a way over the hills, because there isn’t an easy one, not one that would allow seige engines and cavalry over anyway. But I know they’re searching.
Fitheach comes right up behind me and tries to shoo me out. ‘Come on, they’re waiting.’