Epic (3 page)

It was raining
outside, turning the soil too muddy for the transfer of the delicate olive shoots from their clay pots to the fields. So Erik had been sent inside by Freya to start his new character in Epic. He was resentful at having to promise to go nowhere near Inry’aat, the Red Dragon, but when he clipped up he remembered with pleasure that he had defied convention. His new persona was a woman with no significant attributes other than beauty.

Erik harmonized with the equipment and a small music box chimed, unwinding its colorful sides and raising a platform on which stood his red-haired selection.

She waved cheerfully, making Erik smile.

Before he could enter the world as this woman, he still had several decisions to make. Lacking all attributes but beauty, she would not perform well in any of the major disciplines. Therefore he looked through the less common options: footpad, swashbuckler, chevalier, gambler, tumbler, drifter—the list went on into the hundreds. Patiently Erik read through the summaries of the disciplines that interested him, returning to the one that stood out by its unusual description.

Erik couldn’t imagine that this discipline would be particularly good, as in all his hours of playing Epic he had never come across another swashbuckler. But then again that could be because no one ever experimented as the game’s designers had intended. It was thought that centuries ago the game had been designed to amuse colonists traveling in a half-frozen state through the vast distances of space. It was not supposed to be about the slow accumulation of pennies, nor even for conflict resolution—although that made more sense to Erik. No, the designers had created the game for fun. And his newly discovered, lighthearted description of the swashbuckler discipline was further evidence that the designers had not created the world for the dour professionals of Central Allocations.

So, she was a swashbuckler, and Erik would find out shortly the wisdom of that decision. Now the final choice. Always a tricky one. What would his new name be? For once it could not be his own name, as was conventional. Perhaps Freya then, after his mum? No. Too many Freyas already. Something with
je ne sais quoi
, whatever that was. Cinderella. That was nearly right, but maybe he should not use an exact copy of the fairy-story name. Sinbad the sailor. There were a few of those around already and of course they were male. How about Cindella the sailor? Now that sounded right.

Erik confirmed his decisions. A moment of silence and darkness then a rushing sound that grew rapidly in volume to a shout, accompanied by an explosion of light.

 

He was back in the world of Epic.

Where was he? This felt like the day he was introduced to Epic. As you looked around for the first time, you just could not help being amazed by how stunningly detailed and lifelike were the sights and sounds.

An attic, cobwebs, simple furniture, a window—with a little broken pane. Outside a seagull, tucked up on the ledge. A bed, with someone? Beyond the room the wind gusted and rattled the loose window frame. Inside a heavy breathing, like a snore.

One step towards the window, then another. Cindella moved well; Erik could feel a nimble response to his slightest command. It would take some practice not to oversteer with her. Erik reached out a hand towards the window. It was amusing that instead of a big muscled fist from a fighting character, he had a slender woman’s finger. A breeze was blowing through the broken pane. He let it wash over his fingers and arms. Touching the glass, he left a slight mark in the grime. On the ledge outside the window, the seagull shifted. It turned a bright eye to look at him through wind-ruffled feathers. With a shriek of discontent, the seagull leapt into the air and, suddenly veering, was thrown out of view by the wind.

How long would his mark last on the window? If he went away for years would it still be there? Just how sophisticated was Epic?

The view from where he was standing allowed Erik to make sense of his location. The street outside was narrow and dark, but there was enough of a gap between the grimy buildings to see the masts of a tall ship in the distance. He was high up in an attic in the seedy dockside area of Newhaven, one of the great Epic towns. For a moment he felt slightly disappointed. Newhaven was very familiar to Erik, while the unknown was always thrilling. But on the positive side it meant he could meet up with his friends easily. Like the vast majority of newer players, they were to the north of the city, hunting kobolds, goblins, and wild animals.

Time to check his inventory.

Fairly disappointing. The money was not bad, but with no armor at all, he would be extremely vulnerable in a fight. He would have to buy a shield and that would take up most of the money.

Next Erik called up the skills menu.

Now that was excellent. The swashbuckler description had not let him down. No wonder they hadn’t listed all the skills. He’d never had this many for a new character; nearly all the start-up thief skills, and some great fighting skills. Plus there were two skills listed that Erik had never seen before: mock and dance. Dance was fairly self-evident, although who could say when it would ever be used? Mock, though, as a combat skill? Curious. He would have to ask Bjorn—or try it out and see what happened.

Looking again at the combat skills, it was clear that he should not buy a shield or even much armor. Dodge, parry, and riposte were all abilities whose effectiveness was reduced by too much weight. Instead he was going to have to rely on swiftness of movement.

Well, time to move on. Perhaps some shopping first, before going to the fighting grounds—the incredibly boring fighting grounds. There was a massive and complex world to explore, but he had promised his mum he was going to survive this time. And that meant hacking away at the same creatures, again and again, taking pennies from their purses or selling their skins if they were wild animals.

Partly to put off having to go to familiar territory, and partly out of genuine curiosity, Erik looked again around the room. Ah, of course, the sleeping person. Approaching the bed, Erik could see a white-bearded, elderly man, wrapped in his blanket, facing the wall. He could tell at once from the extraordinary detail in the man’s face that it was an NPC. One of the hundreds of thousands of people controlled by the computer that was at the heart of Epic. He reached out a slender hand and touched the man’s shoulder.

“Huh? What?” The harsh breathing stopped. His eyes opened.

“Oh, it’s you, Cindella.” The bearded man suddenly smiled back. “It is always a pleasure to look at you, my daughter. You are so beautiful.”

There was a pause.

“The pleasure is mine,” tried Erik.

No response. The old man remained paused, broad smile on his face.

“Daughter?” offered Erik. Usually the conversation of an NPC was extremely limited and tended to follow certain key words in the previous sentence.

“Ah, you have been like a daughter to me, ever since I found you and brought you up aboard the ship. You remember the
Black Falcon
?”

“I remember the
Black Falcon
.” Erik went along with the storyline.

The old man suddenly scowled. “A curse on Duke Raymond. When he betrayed us and sank the
Black Falcon
, he condemned us to this life of poverty. I am too old to begin the pirate life again, but you, you will go far. And you will avenge us all, myself and the crew.”

“I will avenge us all,” Erik replied dutifully.

The old man smiled with satisfaction. “I know you will. Sadly I have nothing I can give you apart from a note, a map, and some advice.”

“What advice?”

No response.

“What note?”

“This is a letter of introduction. Just give it to the captain of any ship and there is no doubt that you will be taken on as a member of the crew. It tells of your sailing skills and has my seal:
Captain Sharky of the
Black Falcon.”

A scroll with a red wax seal appeared in his hand, which he promptly reallocated to his pouch. This was fun, thought Erik. Much more interesting than his previous characters. None of them had a quest of their own from the beginning. Or perhaps they had, he suddenly realized, but he had never noticed because he hadn’t taken the time to talk to the nearby NPCs.

“What map?”

“Aha, young Cindella. I have guarded this map for years in the hope of gaining a ship once more, but now it is getting too late for me. This map shows the location of the treasure we buried after capturing the
Queen’s Messenger
.”

Another scroll appeared in Erik’s hand. He opened it. It was a nautical map of a group of islands—the Skull Islands. Two long lines were drawn that crossed at a point marked “!”.

“Where are the Skull Islands?”

“The Skull Islands are a long way to the west. You will have to sail to Cassinopia and get detailed information from there.”

“What treasure?”

“There are hundreds of gold pieces hidden there and much more besides.”

“What else is hidden there?”

No response.

“What was the
Queen’s Messenger
?”

The old man remained silent, staring up at Cindella.

Putting the map away in his pouch, Erik tried another question.

“What advice?”

This time, the old man grabbed Cindella’s hand and held it earnestly.

“Trust no one. There is no captain I know who would share the treasure with you. If they knew you had the map, they would steal it from you, or worse. To get the treasure, you will have to get your own ship. And it will need to be a well-protected ship. Many dangerous creatures reside in the Skull Islands.” He fell back with a sigh.

“What creatures? What protection?”

With a mental shrug, Erik prepared to leave.

“Good-bye, my daughter. Fare well on your voyages. And come to visit me from time to time.”

“I will visit you from time to time.”

“Thank you, Cindella. I will miss your beauty. But it is time for you to make your own way in the world.”

Captain Sharky gave a tired wave from his bed and turned over.

Erik almost skipped from the room. This really was enjoyable. This was a proper adventure. If you had plenty of time, you could gradually earn the money to make a voyage to Cassinopia, hire a ship, and get the treasure. The only problem was, Erik did not have a lot of time. The Epic graduation championships were to take place in less than two months.

Outside, the wind was still gusting, swirling leaves through the street. If he could feel the cold through his character, no doubt he would be suffering. Cindella moved quickly through the alleyways, until Erik brought her to the merchants’ stalls on the quays. Time for a bit of shopping.

Newhaven was a great cosmopolitan city, and here on the quays you could buy almost anything you wanted—except that you would hardly waste your money on anything inessential.

Elves from the great forests were here with their produce: baskets of strange fruits, fine wines, and delicately woven clothing. In the tall, gold-bordered tents of the somber Sidhe elves, it was possible to buy exquisite weaponry, including their famous rune-carved longbows and glittering silver chain mail. The cheapest item from the Sidhe elves, a throwing dagger, cost around fifty silver ducats. Out of curiosity, Erik had once asked them the price of their chain mail. Nine hundred bezants seemed very reasonable in terms of the economy of the game. But for an ordinary player that represented more wealth than they would be able to accumulate in a lifetime of standard play.

Friendly-looking dwarfs from the mountains had their stands a little nearer to the town walls. All the metal items that you could wish to buy were on display, from pots and pans to fish hooks and solid, practical pieces of armor. In contrast to the tents of the elves, the dwarven stalls were crowded with gray player characters asking prices and checking their savings of copper bits, to see if they could afford a new piece of armor.

Erik almost laughed aloud to see the players with their patchwork appearance: one armguard here, one greave there. Whatever Cindella did, she was not going to go down that road. Leather armor perhaps, but she was not going to look like that warrior ahead of her who was unarmed except for a solid helm. He looked like a child who had borrowed a pot for a helmet and was pretending to be a soldier. The warrior took off the helm, and Erik realized with a chuckle that it was Bjorn’s persona, inevitably called Bjorn.

 

It was with a great sense of accomplishment Bjorn hit the #agree command and the trade with the dwarf took place. Gone were his old greaves, gauntlets, and linen tunic, and in their place he had a shiny bronze helmet. Not only was this a significant boost to his overall armor score, but, vitally, it should allow him to tackle kobolds single-handed, and that would really accelerate his earnings just in time to acquire either an upgrade to his warhammer or some more armor before the tournament.