Morgan awoke, on his back, looking up at a clear blue sky through a gap in the forest canopy. Groggily, he blinked a few times, but the view didn't change. He had a distinct feeling of deja-vu, before springing to his feet and patting himself down to check he was uninjured. A message appeared in his vision.
[Angie: Thanks for the save. I've left your gear and reward with Jeremy. I can't hang around, I'm sure you understand. I'm heading to Brogue to hand in a quest. I'll be heading to Dilanar after, and hopefully see you there. I owe you one.]
As he blinked this message away, another popped up.
[You have died. -1% total accumulated XP.]
At his pitiful level, this wasn't much of a penalty. He reviewed the notifications for the fight with the wasps and noted he'd reached the new heights of level 4, with 12 stat points to spend. Thinking about how many times he'd been badly hurt, and now he'd died, he focused on the STR attribute and deposited them all there.
He also noted the lack of any gear apart from his fresh homespun clothes. All his stuff, including the astral crystal must be with Jeremy. He had to call home in a few hours by the look of it, as the sun hard started to sink to the west. If he made good time he could make it to an inn in the city in time, he reckoned. With a shake of his head at as his predicament, he followed the same path as before through the forest and emerged back into the village. the farmers were absent this time, as he headed into the centre of the village. A few farmers greeted him as he strode through, and a player sitting on the bench gave Morgan a knowing look at his fresh homespun and lack of satchel. He continued on until finally reaching the shack with the red door and headed inside.
Jeremy, slightly less depressed looking, greeted him as he came in. "Good to see you, Morgan. Please, take this." He handed back the satchel, vambrace and sickle. "I've taken the liberty of adding your two gold to the satchel. Thank you for your help with the wasp problem. I didn't want to say it before," He looked a bit sheepish, "but almost a score of outworlders have abandoned me since they first saw the swarm. A couple died trying and didn't try again. I couldn't blame them. I thought I was going to have to abandon the orchard. I'm just sorry I can't give you more."
Morgan thanked him, "I appreciate that. Sorry about burning through your cider. I couldn't think of any other way to do it."
Jeremy almost smiled. "That's quite alright. I've been fishing wasps out of the barrels and I think some of it is salvageable, at least for my own consumption. And at least now," he gestured to the orchard, "I can make some more."
The two talked about the fight with the wasps for a few minutes then traded more thanks before Morgan took his leave and headed back into the world. Freshly re-equipped, and his bag two gold heavier, he headed south through the village towards the city on the coast.
As he travelled the road, the landscape grew more arid, changing from the lush rolling hills to a drier, rockier ground, covered in low shrubs and weeds. The occasional tree broke the ground, with small clusters of colourful flowers growing in their shade. He'd passed only a single player going the other way, but overtook a caravan of characters who rode on four slow moving wagons. The horse mounted guards looked him over as he passed around the convoy, but made no move to interrupt. He waved at them as he caught their eyes, but they didn't respond and just continued to track his progress with their impassionate gazes.
The sun was low in the western sky when Morgan finally made it to a hill that overlooked the city. On the coast, two small forts connected by a ‘U’ shaped wall enclosed the city, which, to Morgan’s estimation, was more of a large town. He could see a patchwork of tiled roofs, interspersed with small flat-roofed towers, spreading out to the docks where an impressive masted ship currently resided at anchor. He saw the gatehouse on the north side of the city, an impressive construction of sandy coloured rock, and headed towards it.
As he headed towards the gate, he saw a small group of players coming towards him. They were armed and armoured, and with good quality equipment too by the look of it. Two of the players had what had to be full steel armour, the rest of them clad in a tasteful mix of iron and chainmail. The group noticed Morgan as they got closer. One of the steel-clad players, more boy than man, with an open-faced helmet hailed him in an appropriately childish voice.
“Ho there, peasant. Do step off the road as your betters go past. Now.” His companions cheered and whooped at his statement, bar one. Morgan stood stock still, unsure of how to react. A woman’s voice, sounding older than his, came out of the other steel suit, her face obscured by her visor, “Sinclair, don’t be such a menace.”
The boy, Sinclair, replied to her with a sneer as he drew closer. “I can do whatever I want, this is a game. It’s been so boring in this dump. It’s about time I actually used this heavy thing.” He drew out a beautiful long sword, etched with complex runes. Morgan still stood, silent and shocked, finally identifying the man.
[Identify - Sinclair- Level : Unknown]
[Race - Human]
[Affiliations – Gold Tower Guild.]
He could run, and perhaps he should, though he was sure that these higher-level kids would just run him down like a dog. He stood his ground, watching the oncoming Sinclair as the other players egged him on.
“I’ve not yet slain a little scrub like you. Funny that. We’ve killed orcs and bears and everything in between, but I’ve not yet killed a stupid peasant. Scrub like you don’t belong in this world. In either world.” Sinclair grinned savagely; the look ugly on his youthful face. Morgan started backing away from the child psycho who was stalking towards him.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Let's see how much XP you’re made of, eh?” With this, he leapt forward and swung his sword down, directly onto the unarmed Morgan. Horrified, he bought his arms up in a futile attempt to block the blade. The blow never connected, and instead a blinding flash of light came from the projected point of impact and arched like lighting into Sinclair, who promptly disappeared, his armour and sword clattering to the floor.
[Player Sinclair Weswold : Level 33 – has been punished for unjustified PVP in a starting zone.]
Morgan stood there, shaking. The assault had been sudden and completely unprompted. The notice that popped up had the right of it, it was unjustified. Morgan wondered where the boy had gone. Likely back to the forest, or his version of it. He was bought back to the scene by the raucous laughter that broke the stunned silence. Sinclair’s friends, if that was what to call them, howled in glee at the boy's self-inflicted misfortune. The steel-clad woman approached lifting her visor to show the face of someone in their mid 20s.
She greeted him; a regretful look on her pretty face. Her voice was low so the others couldn’t hear. “Sorry about that, the boy is an absolute prick. I’m supposed to be looking after this rich rabble, but they won’t listen to a word I say. I even warned him, again, about the PVP rules yesterday. Spoiled brat always knows best. I’d watch out in the future if I was you, he’s going to be pissed at you for this, though we all know you had absolutely nothing to do with it. God, I hate this job, his parents are pricks too, loads of money from shipping or something. I’ll try my best to side-track him until he forgets. Capricious child.”
She rolled her eyes at Morgan and started to gather Sinclair’s armour and weapon. “Daddy bought him all this, and every real fight he sits at the back, shouting nonsense commands. Good to see he’s brave enough to attack an unarmed civilian alone, though.” She shrugged. Morgan, for the first time since seeing the armoured group, finally spoke. “That was unpleasant. Thanks for being upfront about it, I was seriously wondering what I’d done wrong. Just wrong time, wrong place, wrong kid by the look of it. You seem pretty reasonable; how did you end up in this game with this lot?”
The girl sighed deeply before replying. “My parents are employees of his father. They set me up a contract to basically babysit these idiots. I was quite excited at first, being a game and all. Now I spend all of my days either dying of embarrassment or performing damage control. Speaking of which, I’d better take my little clown patrol away from you and get back to his lordship. If we’re lucky he won’t come back for a while.” She turned away, back to the remaining kids, before looking at him and quietly adding. “If you see Sinclair, don’t let him see you or he’ll be reminded and start gunning for you. Good luck, and again, sorry.” She turned and headed back to her charges, rounding then up and herding them down the road as they all jostled for a last glance at Morgan.
He stood for a while and watched them continue up the road. His feelings towards the game grew more confused. While Oneiroi was doubtless a feat of incredible scale and detail, as witnessed by the landscape and characters he’d seen. But there seemed to be something rotten at the core, as evidenced by almost being randomly executed by a rich brat, and the representatives he’d met. He knew that Eleos had started this project with the best intentions; it was writ large in all the news. A place for anyone to come and play, where your success was only limited by your skill and dedication. They had spent years finding ways to try to bring the price of their technology down to affordable levels for all. Something had changed in the last couple of years, their mission statement disappearing from their corporate reports and the advertising becoming more commercial, swapping the focus from its remedial and charitable works to the more standard flashy advertising fishing for big money. He remembered Angie in the lab, talking about rumours of the CEO and lead game architect’s disappearance. Perhaps there was something to that. At any rate, there was nothing Morgan could do about it now. He had things to do and places to be. He started back on his route to the gatehouse.
A bored looking pair of guards at the gate waved him forward out of the darkening wasteland that surrounded the city wall. One of them addressed Morgan.
“It’s 20 silvers for a week's pass. No negotiation.” Morgan frowned at the pair, before reluctantly pulling the coins from his satchel and handing them over. The guard returned him a blue token with a small X inscribed on it, and a series of dots. Puzzling over the token’s markings for a moment, he slipped it in a pocket and continued in.
He headed down the main thoroughfare, looking at the mismatched buildings for an indication of an inn. Though the hour grew late, the settlement was far from sleeping. Orbs of light floated above large poles, like magical streetlamps, making the main street seem almost as bright as if it were day. Players and characters wandered the streets, hawkers and tradesmen were busily taking last orders or closing up for the night. He spotted what he was looking for quickly; exploring could wait, he had a call to make and he was already late. A sign, bearing a picture of a severed green limb, hung above the legend ‘The goblins arms’.
He headed in to the ugly square building, pushing open the iron-studded wooden door. The inside was free of patrons; dimly lit by sputtering lamps, the timber framing of the building casting long shadows through the room. At the bar was a Dwarf, a grizzled looking veteran with a scarred face, slumped on the counter snoozing. Morgan slowly approached, before knocking quietly on the bar. The dwarf sputtered to life. “Ach... Waddya want.” He glared, growling at Morgan, before accidentally disarming his tone by following it up with a large yawn.
Morgan replied, politely. “Hi, I'm Morgan. I was wondering if you have any rooms available for the night?”
The dwarf looked at him impassively before responding. “I don’t care who ye be. 25 silvers a night for the room, cheapest in the city.” Morgan boggled a little at the price, he was expecting it to be cheaper than the inn in the village, but paid up before the Dwarf tossed him a key with a number painted on it. Looking around, he saw a staircase and headed up to his room.
It was a dingy affair, just about big enough for a single bed and a chest of drawers. He sat on the hard mattress, and pulled the glowing crystal from his inventory. Holding it in both hands and chanting the activation words, he connected the call.
“Morgan! Thank god, we’ve been so worried. We even called the lab to check on you” His Mums voice came through the crystal. Claire chipped in, “Where the hell you been!”
Morgan paused for a moment, confused. “Hi guys, sorry I’m late but it can only be an hour or so. Are you guys alright? Did you hear anything?”
A silence came through the crystal for a moment before Claire broke it. “An hour or so? You’re a day late!”
His eyes opened wide in shock. Now he was thinking about it, it made sense. He must have been out for a whole day when he died and was sent back to the forest. Angie hadn’t wanted to wait for him to respawn, and even Jeremy had time to fish the wasps out of his cider, but he didn’t really think anything of it at the time. His time to get the gold and report to the outpost was shorter now than he’d realised. A hint of panic set in.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I died. In game of course. Nasty business, a big wasp from a quest.” The glow from the crystal in his hands started changing to a red colour. “The crystal is changing colour. Perhaps I said something I shouldn’t have. One sec.” He sat quiet for a moment, and the colour started to fade back to white. “That’s sure some censorship. But long story short, I’m OK.”
He chatted with his family for a while, giving him the neighbourhood news while he reassured them that he was fine, really. Once the call ended, he moved to lay on the hard mattress, wide awake. This whole thing was starting to feel like a trap. He didn’t have enough to piece together what was going on yet, but assumed that things would become much clearer once he reached the outpost the goons had ordered him to. He idly considered other options but, with his contract and thus his life in the balance, he realistically had no option but to take himself deeper into the trap. When he finally managed to sleep, he had nightmares of an orchard, and a wasp.