3.9 Pay To Skip

At first, Silven had no idea what the man was talking about. When he did, he began to laugh manically. It was quite possibly the most hilarious thing he had ever heard.

“It could be our only hope,” Grennel insisted. Brother Whateverborn looked from king to professor worriedly.

Silven finished with a truly impressive snort of derision. “And the craziest thing about it? You’re right. Although I wouldn’t mind being a toucan. There again, you can’t choose.”

Grennel was quick to reassure. “I’m not talking about giving up everything you’ve worked for. Just starting the storyline could make all the difference. Get just enough players interested to keep the game going.”

“Alright. Where is the Three Toes Tavern?” Silven had never dreamt of hearing that question from his lips.

“Just down the Old Cobble Road east of Thornyhedge.”

“I’ve been there before. Nothing,” muttered Silven.

Grennel leant forward and rapped sharply on the top of his head. “Hello? Have you forgotten my take-home message already? Now you know, it’s there. Trust me.”

“Oh yes.” Silven nodded absent-mindedly. “I’d forgotten to care about the ins and outs of the entire mechanism of our universe the moment I learned it was fake.”

Whateverborn leant forward. “I have envisioned another possibility. We could end it. The Cathedral of Dust has extensive maps showing areas of concern for our work. My brothers have sensed a high concentration of dark magic around that tavern of which you speak for years. It’s never grown, never moved, and likely lies dormant waiting for a trigger. That tavern consists of three rooms. The kitchen, the bar, and a large guest room with an unmovable door. That’s where the power is.”

Silven focused. He couldn’t believe he was actually thinking about this. But when the only three other ways ended in inevitable annihilation, anything else seemed legit.

Besides, he felt he was getting into another cheat.

“We sent out an investigation team once,” the brother was going on. “No way through that door, and believe me, we can get into anything. But there is another entry point. The corner of the wall by the bar.” He looked up into two blank faces and tutted. “Another, helpful part of the Glitch. They may look it, but those walls don’t join at the angle. With the right spell...”

“We could be in. And then what?” quizzed Grennel. It was the first time he had looked confused.

“Then we destroy that power before it awakes. It’s so strong, it has to be the final boss. Maybe it’s going to burst out when His Highness talks to his contact. Perhaps it just becomes sentient then and makes its way to its dark den of villainy in a dramatic and wholly impractical way. Whatever happens, I think it will be awoken when the quest begins. But with our knowledge, we could bypass the entire storyline and finish it all in one go.”

Grennel and Silven considered. The plan seemed sound, and yet there was something wrong. It took them a moment or two to place it. “But what then?” said Grennel. “Surely the end is the most boring thing of all?”

Whateverborn looked uneasy. “It may not be the end-end, just of this troubled story. It may bring back enough curious players to prolong our existence and gather enough external support to put an end to the Glitch. Or we might be cleared out of existence. It’s a risk, but at least we may gain a longer term advantage without edging our way towards a battle we might not win.”

An uncomfortable gloom filled the untidy office. Outside, dusk was settling over Desert Marsh. It all looked so peaceful. Silven was mildly alarmed at the thought.

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Whateverborn coughed. There was something else, and the creases on his broad face suggested he was almost too afraid to say it. “This only works one of two ways. Now, my lord, please, please, please tell me that when those critters bade you choose a path at the end of the prison, you chose mage.”

Silven fought through the wave of panic and shook his head. “You know I’m not.”

“Gah!” roared Whateverborn. He pounded the desk with a meaty fist. “I mean, come on! It’s the only sensible option. With such a free levelling system, you can always train sword and shield later. Any idiot choosing rogue or warrior’s just locking themselves out of an invaluable spell set. For life.”

It was the second time in ten minutes that Silven had been called an idiot. He decided he really didn’t like it.

“Well, seeing as we don’t have access to the level two Rush, we’re left with the hard way,” grumbled the hooded brother. “In some limited fashion, we brothers have the ability to peer beyond our plane where the Glitch cuts deep. We can see things that could be, but aren’t.” He counted down the five second requirement for cryptic explanations and continued. “There’s a merchant in a dreary back lane of Solmond City who can provide a charge stick. When applied to the bottom of the user, it creates enough pain to propel the idiot forward at great pace. Enough to part those walls and slay the evil within.”

Silven nodded seriously. The aforementioned bottom clenched seriously. “Great. Let’s get it.”

“The merchant takes only Gems as payment.”

“I’m sure we can rustle up some rubies. Diamonds, perhaps?”

Whateverborn sighed. “Gems with a capital G. It is the currency of the Gods, used to release new inventions to the realm. Or players, as we now know.”

“Oh,” said Silven.

“These Gems are gathered via another currency. Why remains a mystery. Perhaps it is so that the money makes thematic sense. Some cynics argue it’s in order to make purchases seem fun by masking the feeling of spending real money, thus trapping players into a seemingly harmless spiral of addiction and debt. We will never know for sure.”

“Thematic sense...” wondered Silven aloud. He hadn’t ever felt like part of a theme.

“There’s secret messages hidden within the fabric of the earth; since Grennel’s discoveries, I have attributed them to the backstage gossipings of the mice. Most of them I shall not repeat here – nine out of ten are unspeakable propositions towards the ladymice. But within what is left, I have found something which may aid us. There’s a player called DarkGurl4.”

“DarkGurl 5,” corrected Silven.

Whateverborn grimaced. “No, 4. There’s also a DarkGurl3, DarkGurl33, DarkGurl4eva, DarkGurl2012, DarkGurl7 and DarkGrrrrl. But I mean DarkGurl4.”

“Oh,” said Silven again.

“Anyway, it seems DarkGurl4 is a lazy girl. I’ve found one moan about her finding a source of money and daily whines about getting someone to do it for her. She shares her secret passwords with whoever’s stupid enough to help. Today, that’s us.”

Why don’ t you do it yourself, Silven was desperate to say, but he already knew why. There were many centrepieces, but only one fulcrum.

“Will you help us, Your Majesty?” asked Grennel tentatively.

They had it all worked out, all organised. But there wasn’t really an us, was there?

A horrible realisation kicked Silven in the stomach. He’d lost. He’d won many victories, it was true. It didn’t matter in the end.

At least it was only a game.

“Your Majesty?”

Silven stirred and rubbed life into his pale cheeks. “This is the only way to save the republic?” He looked out of the window again. All still there, for now.

“It’s the only way to save the world.”

Silven guffawed bitterly. “Or what I can of it. All this time, and now I’m walking into it anyway. Well, I hope they’re happy.”

Grennel braved a reply. “By this point, that’s exactly what we need.”

“Then let’s get to it!” yelled Silven, bursting up from his seat. “Enough drivel. Lead me to the slaughter!”

Grennel backed away. “Calm down, Your Majesty. The Gems first, remember?”

Silven smirked. “Sorry. Just getting into character.”