After a few minutes, the road led them into another square, which Jeff reckoned to be the heart of Tantalus Town.
Drawing on their earlier conversation with Emwarr, Jeff had tried to sketch a mental map of the area; what he saw before them pretty much tallied with her description.
The roughly rectangular space before them was hemmed in on either side by an assortment of tents, shanties and lean-tos. These shabby abodes seemed to house the bulk of the Contestants in Tantalus.
Interspersed between the shacks, Jeff saw several merchants at their stalls, peddling a range of goods. Some enterprising sellers offered a selection of local snacks, including grilled rodents on sticks, large parboiled slugs in baps and other swamp-sourced ‘delicacies’.
Around the market stalls and the unappetizing snack-shacks loitered a gaggle of beggars, some standing, others sitting listlessly on the dusty floor. Among them, street performers attempted to earn a crust by playing musical instruments.
One such performer, a humanoid with feline features, his matted fur dulled by mange, juggled a kaleidoscopic array of colored balls above his head. With a flourish, he launched them skywards, where they spun around in a complex ballet amongst the dun clouds, before cascading back into his hands. A tell-tale nimbus haloed his head, a sure sign he was utilizing a Skill of some sort.
Dominating the town square stood what Jeff assumed to be the gruel fountain Emwarr had mentioned earlier. The large, ornamental fountain was made of a strange, crystalline material, its faceted surfaces catching the rays of the setting sun.
Grayish, unappetizing looking sludge oozed sluggishly out of a series of spigots into a shallow basin at the base of the fountain. Players clutching small wooden bowls waited patiently in line, under the watchful eyes of yet another detachment of Sharkey’s soldiers.
All of the Contestants that Jeff could see were still stuck in the J Grade, their stats considerably weaker than his or Fracta’s.
Through the gaps between the low-rise buildings and hovels that bordered the square on either side, Jeff caught glimpses of the swamplands. Every so often, gusts of hot, fetid air wafted over from the marshy expanses on either side, redolent of decay and rot.
At the far end of the square, another avenue stretched away into the distance, flanked on either side by the glimmering sheen of water. Leading to it, a labyrinthine rat’s maze of shanties and shacks sprawled out from the town center, their ramshackle forms butting against the more imposing buildings that lined the waterfront at the sea’s edge. These structures framed the wide boulevard, stretching out towards the seafront.
Jeff guessed this was the causeway Emwarr had spoken of, and rising up beyond it, he could just make out some sort of structure, obscured by a yellowish mist.
He squinted, trying to make out more details. The building was undoubtedly the Crystal Citadel, but obscured in some way, the layout of the distant turrets and towers impossible to focus on through the magical haze.
Jeff and Fracta threaded their way around the perimeter of the square, not tempted to stop and browse the meager wares on display at the merchant stalls.
Eventually, they came to a larger, more substantial building which bore the hallmarks of an inn or guesthouse. A hand-painted sign hanging outside displayed a stylized depiction of a decapitated alien and the words ‘The Autoch’s Head’.
On the ground floor, they observed patrons huddled around rustic tables, eating unappetizing looking slop, whilst others drank rancid-looking ale from flagons as they leaned against a long, worn bar.
As well as fumes from pipes and bongs hanging heavy in the air, Jeff noticed again that general atmosphere of defeat amongst the clientele, the lingering stench of hopelessness and despair.
He observed that the majority of the inhabitants of the inn and the people out in the square were bipedal, to a greater or lesser degree. Ranging from the squat bodied, possibly high gravity environment types to taller, thinner elfin features, they nearly all walked on two legs, with two arms.
Skin types and colors varied greatly, from scales to fur, and many sported horns or pointed ears. A couple were possessed of wings, and one misshapen individual even seemed to be a fungal-based being.
As they stepped further into the establishment and made their presence known, the general noise level and chatter abruptly subsided. Heads spun in their direction, and most of the customers stopped what they were doing to stare at them. Again, most of the scrutiny seemed to be directed at Fracta.
Fracta nudged him with a pedipalp and pointed to a far corner of the room where a group of dejected looking Contestants sat around a table, clutching their ale flagons. Amongst them was the tree-man Jeff had observed on the way up the mountain, flying past on the fast-track escalator.
All of the sad faced individuals had the same thing in common—On the Ent’s and everyone else’s forehead was a freshly applied brand mark, the control rune of Pain seared into the woody bark-like skin of his forehead.
Jeff scanned the crowded inn a while longer, hoping for a glimpse of Bernard and Wenwyn. To his disappointment, the giant Sasquatch and the chameleon-woman were nowhere to be seen.
What Jeff assumed to be the innkeeper hurried over to them. The shifty looking individual had distinctive reptilian characteristics—a pointed face like a lizard, with scaly skin and slitted eyes. A large, leathery frill fanned out around its neck, framing its features.
NAME: Tafaf Havakas
RACE: Quelck Lizardman, Grade J
HIT POINTS (HP): 80/80 +5
MANA POINTS (MP): 20/20
REWARD: 190 Coins
Total Attribute Points: 67
The innkeeper was still clutching a half polished glass in one hand, cloth in the other.
“Greetings, greetings, fellow Contestants,” Tafaf began, unease apparent in his sing-song like voice.
“For you, fine sir, a room I've got… but for your eight-legged friend, I’m afraid I have not…”
“I’m very sorry but unfortunately there’s no room at the inn for entities of your particular type,” he addressed Fracta, breaking momentarily out of rhyme.
The reptilian innkeeper squirmed with embarrassment, the frill around his neck puffing up as he spoke, signaling his distress.
“It's an edict, you see, of King Sharkey's throne. His spies abound in every home. In every corner of Tantalus, his word is law. No spiders welcome…What a bore.”
“Sharkey’s orders I’m afraid.” Tafaf continued prosaically.
He shuffled awkwardly on the spot, still unconsciously cleaning the glass in his hand.
“Oh, how it irks me, to turn away gold, to send a paying customer out in the cold.”
“It’s fine Jeff, you should take a room. I’ll sleep outside somewhere.” Fracta said, already moving to the door.
Before she could leave, Jeff reached out and held one of her appendages, halting her.
Turning to the embarrassed looking innkeep he addressed him in a low voice,
“Just a minute, surely there’s something we can do to work this out…”
Accessing his ring storage, he pulled out a fistful of gleaming coins and extended them towards the innkeeper.
The lizardman’s eyes lit up at the sight of all the coins, his rectangular pupils dilating into slits with greed. Licking his lips with a thin grey tongue, he glanced around the room furtively.
“Round the back, please do wait, see you in five, I won’t be late…” he whispered.
Jeff and Fracta retreated to the street outside, away from the prying eyes of the inn’s clientele. Walking down a side alley adjacent to the building, they entered a modest courtyard, partially hidden from view.
While they waited, Fracta requested that Jeff deal with the avaricious landlord.
“I’ll let you do the negotiating, I’m still not clear on this thing you call capitalism.”
Jeff nodded, recalling the strange conversation he’d had with Fracta while climbing the mountain. He had thrown her into a state of utter confusion when he tried to explain the plot of the movie ‘Wall Street’. The phrase ‘greed is good’ had been particularly confusing for Fracta, what with her coming from a communally minded society. Jeff on the other hand, was well versed in the dynamics of a market-driven society, and wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Eventually the innkeeper arrived, casting worried glances over his shoulder to ensure they were unobserved. He beckoned them towards a low-slung outhouse, set away from the main building. Unlocking the sturdy wooden door with a large iron key, Tafaf led them inside what was basically a storage room.
The space was filled with bales of straw, sacks of animal feed, and shelves holding various types of supplies for the inn. Despite the absence of real beds, for Jeff, after so many nights spent sleeping in the open, the room felt like a sanctuary.
Wasting no time, he negotiated a price for three nights, and exacted a promise that Tafaf would keep their presence at the inn a secret. He handed over the coins to the practically salivating reptile, and after taking possession of the key, he saw the capitalistic innkeep out and secured the door.
Collapsing onto a bale of hay, he divested himself of his cumbersome chainmail and breathed a sigh of relief. Jeff finally felt his muscles begin to relax. Remaining battle ready for an extended period had created some tension in his shoulders.
They split another of the nourishing Roc eggs between them, feeling rejuvenated as they ate its mana-infused contents.
You have eaten a mana-imbued food item. Your Vitality has risen by 1
Jeff noted with pleasure that the egg was still as hot as if it had been freshly plucked from a pool of incandescent mana. The storage ring it seemed, had the welcome side effect of acting like a stasis device, preserving food’s freshness and potency.
Fracta and Jeff chatted for a while about their next move, and decided that now was the time to grind—the dungeons seemed the logical next step before dealing with the Citadel and Sharkey’s gang.
Resisting the allure of the hay bales, Jeff pulled himself to his feet.
“It might be a good time to check out the Store again,” he said, yawning.
“Yes good idea,” Fracta responded. “but let’s enter one at a time. I’ll keep watch first.”
She peered nervously at the wooden door, obviously concerned about some kind of attack by Sharkey’s forces.
Wasting no time, Jeff clicked the icon in his console, summoning a doorway to the Tournament Store. Entering, he was greeted by the omnipresent metallic grey form of Boz, rigid behind the counter, peering at him impassively with its single huge eye.
You have entered the Tournament Store
The door to the library sprang open and Misty came bounding across the room, exuberantly flinging herself into his arms, once again.
“Hi Jeff, long time no see!”
“Hello Misty,” Jeff began, gently disengaging her arms from around his neck.
“I need to make a few purchases, and figure out a few things in the library. Can you assist?”
“Of course, Master Jeff!” Misty practically gushed with enthusiasm.
“I live to serve. Just tell me what you need.”
“Great,” Jeff responded.
Swiveling back to the counter, Jeff extracted the five weighty ingots of strange metal he and Fracta had looted from the cave rocs. He arranged the black and gold bars neatly on the countertop before directing his enquiry to Boz.
“Could you tell me the value of this metal?”
The robotic storekeeper abruptly jerked to life, a manipulator claw extending down to grasp one of the metal bars, lifting it so that it was level with its large optical sensor. A thin laser beam shot out of its eye orb, scanning the length of the ingot.
Boz whirred and clicked for a moment, then rasped out in its emotionless, uninflected tone, “Rivan Darksteel—Metal, yet not conventional metal. Exists as a Fermi Liquid.”
More clicks and buzzes. “Exotic matter—very rare.”
“Oh, sure. Whatever you say,” Jeff agreed, not wanting to get into a discussion on quantum mechanics with the storekeeper.
A new system dialog box appeared over one of the ingots, offering more information about the looted bars.
ITEM: [Ingot of Rivan Darksteel]
ITEM TYPE: Magical Material
ITEM CLASS: Peak, Grade F
REQUIREMENTS: Crafting Skill, Runic Knowledge
EXPANDABLE: (N/A)
DESCRIPTION: Rivan Darksteel is renowned across the System universe for its physical indestructibility. What’s more, armor fashioned from Darksteel can, if forged correctly using the Old Ways, render the wearer impervious to magical attacks.
Jeff read and digested this information.
“And the valuation?”
“Five hundred coins,” the robot paused for a moment, as if performing additional calculations, then added, “per ingot.”
Jeff’s eyes widened in astonishment at the value of the metal bars.
The total worth of the haul amounted to a whopping two thousand five hundred coins. When divided equally between himself and Fracta, this unexpected jackpot would allow them to invest in much needed equipment and Skills.
Still, Jeff hesitated for a moment, pondering the wisdom of selling all of the trove immediately.
“How easy is it to work this stuff?” He inquired, glancing over towards the forge door.
Misty quickly interjected before Boz could crank out a sentence.
“Rivan Darksteel is a coveted material used in the crafting of elite-level weaponry and armor, of at least Grade F or higher. However, working with it requires a degree of expertise. You may be capable of making use of this material correctly if you purchase a Crafting skill, and then spend some time researching the tomes in the library.”
Jeff made his mind up. After briefly conferring with Fracta via the RemoteTalk Bangle on his wrist, he gave Boz an affirmative nod and proceeded to sell four of the five precious bars.
You have sold Four Ingots of Rivan Darksteel - Gain: 2000 coins
After conferring with Misty about the workings of the console and the inventory system, he figured out how to transfer a sum of one thousand coins over to Fracta’s account. The single remaining bar of Darksteel went back into his ring storage for future use.
Jeff lingered at the store counter for a while longer. Although he was fully intending to spend much of his hard earned stash of coins on Skills, he was equally determined to purchase some items of a more mundane, utilitarian nature.
He had promised himself whilst climbing the mountain that he would not spend a single night more sleeping in the open, or shivering for lack of basic clothing and essential equipment.
“Just because its camping, no need to rough it…” he told himself.
He spent the next few minutes rapidly scanning the Store catalog, going through a shopping list with Boz, including ropes, cooking utensils, clothing, hunting and fishing gear, and various other items needed for spending extended periods outdoors.
He did not skimp, and due to the seemingly infinite storage capacity of the ring inventory system was able to get some rather bulky items.
Amongst the large array of purchases he made was a magical structure, something like a pop-up yurt, which when erected was almost the size of a small cottage.
Jeff couldn't resist outfitting the tent with a plush oversized bed, larger even than an Alaskan King—as well as feather pillows and soft furs, an extravagance he couldn’t resist.
He observed with some envy the other, much more lavish abodes further up the price scale. Palatial structures complete with moats and automated defenses; some of the top end accommodation even boasted the capability of flight.
The lavish promotional material accompanying a 50,000 Coin cloud fortress caught his eye. The airborne palace, with a cruising speed of over five hundred miles an hour came complete with five bedrooms, a workshop, landscaped gardens and even a menagerie.
In all, Jeff spent six hundred coins on essentials for the trail.
Feeling much better equipped, he pivoted to the library, ready to begin selecting some new Skills.
Misty trailed closely behind him, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention.
“Jeff, I don’t mean to induce panic, but there’s something you should know. The exit portal connecting Tantalus to the staging area for this sector’s Tournament Elimination Rounds is set to close in just over three days. Once it does, it won’t reopen for another year and a half.”
Jeff’s stride came to an abrupt, jarring halt. His feeling of euphoria from the sale of the Darksteel and his subsequent retail therapy was eclipsed by a now all to familiar feeling of tension.
Swiveling around to squarely face Misty, he declared in a demanding tone, “I think we need to talk about this Tournament. Right now.”
Gripping the AI firmly by the elbow, he dragged her into the wood paneled library. They settled into the plush, leather-bound armchairs before the eternally crackling open fire.
“I need some clarity on the Tournament’s structure—I want to know how many stages there are, and how long it will take for me to complete them,” Jeff spoke quietly, but with a tone of utmost seriousness in his voice.
“Jeff, I believe there’s been a misunderstanding,” Misty replied gently, using the opportunity to reach across the gap between their chairs and place a comforting hand on his knee.
“There is no end to the Tournament. It is eternal. Even the Emperor himself occasionally still participates, to hone his Skills,”
Misty continued, her voice again shifting into a didactic, lecturing timbre.
“The Community of Equals—comprising all member races across the System universe—has designated the Tournament as the basis of the hierarchical structure of our society. You must understand, competition is the essence of all existence. After the events of the Vogellian Ascendancy, it was collectively decided that the long era of interspecies conflict needed to cease. Rather than the endless cataclysmic, wars that preceded it, a new way of managing the System emerged. Think of the Tournament as a framework for resource-distribution, alliance-building and the settling of disputes.”
Jeff listened silently, skeptical of this rosy portrayal of what was obviously a brutal social order.
Recalling the threat of subjugation and liquidation, he interjected.
“So how long before the danger to Earth is lifted? How many stages do I need to complete?”
Misty nodded, her approving expression similar to that of a teacher congratulating a bright pupil in class.
“An excellent question, Jeff. Succeed in the regional playoffs and Earth will gain Candidate status. Qualify for entry to the Prime League and you will be granted a seat at the table, provisional membership of the Community of Equals.”
“And then Earth will be safe?” Jeff pressed, sensing there was a lot more complexity to the situation than Misty was letting on.
“In a manner of speaking, Yes…but also no,” Misty replied, ambiguously.
“No species is ever perpetually protected in the System universe… Why, it’s even theoretically possible that one day, the Vogels could be ousted from their apex position, and another race could Ascend.”
“OK. So what becomes of the species that don’t make it to the next stage of the Tournament from here?”
Jeff thought back to Emwarr and her sad, downtrodden friends.
“Failure to proceed to the Elimination Rounds eventually dooms the player’s people to a future of subservience. Their planetary assets are seized and they are relegated to the status of vassal species.”
To Jeff, the phrase ‘Elimination Round’ had a peculiarly ominous ring to it.
“Misty, exactly how many make it past the elimination rounds?” he probed.
Misty’s feline ears twitched and her long tail whipped back and forth nervously. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with Jeff as she spoke.
“Well, that depends on a number of factors and can vary from sector to sector…”
“How many?” Jeff demanded, his eyes narrowing as he sensed that the AI was prevaricating.
With a sigh, she sat back down in the chair opposite and answered.
“Well, on average, almost 5% of Contestants survive the Elimination Rounds and go on to qualify for the regional playoffs.” Misty admitted, then quickly added, “But I’m sure you’ll be fine Jeff. We’re all very impressed with your performance so far…”
On hearing the awful statistic, Jeff sank back into the overstuffed armchair, feeling a chill sweep over him despite the roaring fire.
Again his thoughts turned to his journey through space to Selis 2, recalling the other, countless blue beams of light, imagining the endless flow of reluctant Contestants, press-ganged into competing in the Tournament. A cosmic meat grinder designed to enslave and annihilate whole species. And this was just one regional Sector of the vast System universe, one sector amongst billions.
Interstellar genocide on an unimaginable scale…
This is insane. I should be in my apartment, stretched out on my couch, gaming, or downing a few beers with friends…
Jeff involuntarily clutched his head in his hands, once again feeling singled out, victimized and harassed by fate, whilst at the same time fraught with anxiety over Earth’s precarious future.
Emwarr and the other hopeless beggars’ attitudes now made even more sense.
The massive numbers of Contestants still lingering in Tantalus, not attempting to push through the portal to the Elimination rounds, were perhaps following the only logical course of action. Remain here, in the relative safety of Tantalus, eke out a fragile existence, and delay the inevitable—buy time for their species before the Vogels moved in.
A wave of shame washed over him as he remembered his earlier contempt for the beggars and the crowd of drunks in the inn.
He had been way too quick to judge. It was obvious now: if there had been any unified will to resist or push through, any true consensus among the Contestants, Sharkey would have never managed to keep them trapped on Tantalus.
Misty fussed around him, attempting to draw him out of his funk.
“There, there…” she cooed solicitously, attempting to cradle his head between her ample bosom.
Again, Jeff wondered about the reason for his selection. His training in martial arts, and his overall physical strength were possibilities, but Jeff knew that prior to his first class evolution he had in no way been an elite athlete or fighter.
Perhaps it was a combination of various factors? From his conversations with Misty, he was aware that the System’s Algorithm took into account a huge variety of different variables before making a choice.
Then another possibility suddenly occurred to him—his gaming knowledge and experience. The System universe and the Tournament operated on a framework that was strangely similar to the role-playing games he was so addicted to. Perhaps being an avid gamer for so many years had contributed towards his selection.
Well, Jeff thought grimly, standing up and moving over to the Skills Console.
Time to put that gaming experience to good use.