The Bathrobe Knight (6 page)

                    "Yeah," he said as he looked up from reading an unusual post from someone complaining about being killed after having a soup spoon thrown into their eye. "Ever since I put in the new AI, it really isn't necessary for me to be at the office till all hours, but I somehow manage to find something that seems to take forever to fix anyway. Looks like you  had a late night as well, huh?" he said, noticing the slightly dark circles under his daughter's eyes.

                    "Haha, yeah, I guess so," she laughed in reply, knowing she was being called out. "I was up most of the night trying to kill this group of minotaurs in the game. You've seriously got to change the aggro range on those things, Dad. They want to chase you forever."

                    Robert just shrugged in reply as he took another sip of his coffee. "They're minotaurs.  They're supposed to chase you forever; otherwise, it would be too easy. You can't just expect to walk up to an angry, two-legged bull with a giant battle axe and expect to milk it, can you?"

                    "Milk a bull, Dad? Eww . . ." Kass laughed back in response.

                    "Hey, have you noticed anything in-game worth reporting lately? The feedback at this point is so good it's almost too much to believe. I can't believe how well the AI paired up with the pre-existing architecture. There's almost nothing noteworthy bug-wise at this point."

                    "Not really. Everything's been running super smooth lately. I was in-game all night and I didn't even lag once. I'm so glad. I don't think I could handle getting the spins again. It was almost as bad as a night out drinking. I remember this one time when I came back from the bar with this guy--"

                    "Seriously, kiddo?" Robert interjected. “Telling your old man about nights out on the town when you were in college?" He just shook his head to cut her off.

                    "Alright alright. I guess you don't need to know the details, but you get the point."

                    "Yeah, and some things a father should never have to hear. Even if his daughter is grown up now with a college degree. Shouldn't you be spending a little more time looking for a job instead of playing in a virtual world, anyway? And how did I manage to pay a hundred thousand dollars for a college education and them never teach you how to do dishes?"

                    "You didn't pay anything for my tuition, Dad" she shot back. "I was on a full ride, and you know it. And I did very well, thankyouverymuch," she said matter of factly.

                    "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'm gonna try to get a little sleep before heading back in," Robert sighed as he stood up closing his laptop and rubbing his eyes again.

                    "Okay, Dad. Sleep well. By the way, when did you guys decide to put bathrobes into the game instead of starting armor for warriors? That was pretty funny."

                    Robert looked up over the hand that was rubbing his eyes.  "Bathrobes . . . ?"

                    "Yeah.  I came across this guy last night wearing a bathrobe. It said he was only Level 5 and didn't even have armor. But he still managed to kill those minotaurs I was telling you about like it was nothing. It must have had a +5 Bull's Eye stat because he sure made it look easy."

                    "Bathrobe?" he repeated, still not quite understanding.

                    "Yeah. Bathrobe. Like the one I'm wearing," she said waving her hand down towards her fluffy pink robe.

                    "Bathrobe."

                    "Yes, Dad. A bathrobe. And I think he was carrying a spoon with him as a weapon.  You guys at the office really do have a sense of humor, huh?"

                    "Bathrobe. And a spoon." Robert blinked twice and stared, his mind foggy with lack of sleep and not quite able to grasp the concept. "Can't tell if trolling . . . ?"

                    "Nope. Seriously cool idea, Dad. I laughed so hard."

                    "Bathrobe. Spoon." Robert sighed as he turned and grabbed his keys off the hook and, instead of heading up to his room for some much needed sleep, began walking back towards the front door and the office again.

Chapter 2: Town Trip!

Maddock:

There was no warning before the attack came. The Scouts had grown complacent in their job. Overconfidence and the belief in the safety of numbers had lulled them into only occasionally bothering to do the one and only task assigned to them--making sure that no one was around who wasn't supposed to be. Securing the safety of everyone and providing an early warning of any impending attack that would threaten their efforts was, arguably, the most important task assigned to any of them that day. Unless, of course, one considered that it was also their primary defense for protecting their hard-won loot--what precious little of it there was to go around.

Most members of the group were far too low in level to justify even attempting the camp alone; but, they had begun their day with high hopes and in good spirits, eager to gain some desperately needed experience and advance themselves in the world. The Midwinter Festival had just passed and many members of the party still sported brightly colored hats of various odd shapes and sizes they had received as gifts during the holiday. Jovial spirits and all, the band had collected themselves and set out at first light hoping to make a day of it adventuring. The day had started clear and bright, and making progress into the mountains had been fast and easy. Snows during this time of the season were expected to restrict most from traveling too far into the north, but the weather so far had been unreasonably amiable. Paths farther into the mountains were often narrow and treacherous, covered with debris and fallen trees, but the one the group followed upward was well-worn and often used by other travelers.

The small band had been struggling for hours to dispatch the large brutish Ogres that inhabited a small frozen cavern on the outskirts of the northern reaches. It was slow tedious work with few rewards. Because of their nature, the brutes carried very little gold upon their person, and the only real rewards were the large Mauls they carried as weapons. Although they were far too large and heavy to be of any real use to anyone present, the crude weapons would fetch a decent price when they were hauled back to town and sold for coin to the merchants there. The metal and wood weapons were barely worth more than the scrap and petrified lumbar they were used for, but the materials could be salvaged and repurposed for other tasks. Fence posts and nails perhaps. It seemed ironic when one could imagine that's probably where many of them had been taken from prior to being fashioned into the rough weapons they were being used as now. Regardless, they would fetch a decent price, and the group desperately needed the resources to justify the time and effort they had invested into farming the camp.

          The beasts were slow, but they had a massive reach and hit like a truck. Typically, if lucky, newer players such as themselves would be able to party up with some stronger adventurers and hope to leech a few levels before attempting the feat on their own. The party as it was, however, was struggling under the task. They had all approached the large caverns just west of where they were now and had unanimously been turned away finding a much higher-leveled group from their town already there farming. Everyone was desperate for resources. The campaign against the White-Horns and Black-Wings had been going badly and everyone was pressed to contribute as many resources as possible. The men there had promised to include them later on if the opportunity became available, but the smaller band had no desire to wait and were itching to make some progress.

          As a result, they now found themselves frantically scrambling to avoid the sluggish swipes of the Ogre’s Maul.  Even though the attacks were slow, their massive reach made it impossible to completely avoid being hit. And it hurt. A lot. The brutes may have been strong, but they were also equally as stupid. They trickled out of the camp one by one allowing the party to pull them out of position and prevent the other Ogres from drawing aggro. The lead tank, in a battered suit of Studded Leather Armor that had surely seen better days, labored under the blows struggling to deflect them while the other members worked on attacking the beast from behind. Unable to manage any of the fancier and better-crafted weapons available at the local merchants in town, the process took time. Their dull blades and short Swords barely seemed to knick the thick hide of the monster as they hacked away at its flanks. The mage, who had long since given up even trying to cast his inefficient spells, simply stood off to the side of the clearing staring blankly, sometimes throwing a random fireball upwards into the air to watch it fizzle and disappear.

The Ogre before them fell to the ground with a great 'harumpf,' finally giving up the fight and rewarding them with the chance to loot the meager items from its corpse.

"Are you kidding me? We've been out here for hours and these things are taking forever to kill," the mage sighed.

"It's hard to kill something when all you can be bothered to do is attack the clouds," the rogue cut in, clearly not ready to hear it.

"Yeah, man, seriously," the tank replied, wiping the sweat from his brow, "I can't believe the drop rate on these things. You'd think by now we would have at least seen a few rare item drops or something. But there's never anything here but a few silver pieces and another crummy Maul to sell back in town."

"Well, at least we should be able to make some profit once we sell those. Every little bit counts when you're starting out, right?" The mage sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, and when you're trying to wage a war at the same time," the rogue snidely remarked.

"I can't believe how much gold the King decided to sink into NPC fighters during that last battle. I heard it was over two thousand pieces. It could have been used to build up the town but instead he just threw it away," the tank lamented, flopping to the ground in a great huff.

"Awh, man, where'd you hear that? Have you been listening to gossip down in town from those bar Whores again? They'll say anything to get you to open up your own purse."

"Nah, man. Those girls know what they're talking about. They hear gossip from everyone. I've heard that even some of the Lords on the Council go there. Sneaking around in veiled Carriages late at night so that their wives don't find out. If there's anything going on those girls are the first to know"

"Yeah, okay, if you say so," the rogue replied with a snort showing how obviously he believed none of it. "How much longer do you guys want to stay out here?  We should probably head back and bank soon. I haven't heard anything from the scoooo--" the rogue stopped mid-sentence, an Arrow protruding from his neck and blood beginning to froth out around the wound. His hands feebly grasped at the shaft unable to do anything, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, surprise, and horror. The rogue collapsed to the ground still clutching at the Arrow shaft unable to stay his fate or stop the bleeding.

"What was that?" the tank looked up from where he sat in time to see a figure erupt from the line of trees ahead of him. He only had enough time to begin struggling to his feet and take note of the black suit of Mail before the warrior's massive Axe came crushing down upon his skull splitting it in two. The warrior only stopped long enough to shove his massive black Boot into the fallen fighters face and wrench his Axe free before turning after the mage.

The mage, who had witnessed the callous slaughter of two members of his party take place in mere seconds, was now running towards the location of the other group at the nearby camp, screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Scrambling through the loose snow and low scrub brush, his feet couldn't seem to move fast enough. His flimsy Robes seemed to catch on every bush and twig he ran past jerking him violently from side to side. The violent sounds of the warrior crashing over obstacles he desperately sought to avoid spurred him on. He could swear he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Almost there. I can see the clearing. The other group will be there, and I'll be safe
was all he could think. The mage burst from the trees, making a beeline towards the other side of the camp where the group had been camped out earlier killing mobs.  

• You have taken 92 Damage. You are now suffering a movement penalty.
  

A sharp pain suddenly ripped through his right calf, and he collapsed to the ground in a wind-milling heap, arms flailing around his head, and face-planted in the snow.  All he could do was curl up into a fetal ball, clutch the Arrow that now protruded from his leg, and wait.   

He could hear the light sound of footsteps approaching on the snow. He twisted his head up and looked around behind him to see a tall figure approaching him slowly, clearly taking his time. He was dressed from head to toe in a pitch black Hunter's Garb. Even the bow he carried with an Arrow nocked was an inky black color.

"Thought you'd get away? Not likely, kid." He could tell the voice was smiling, laughing behind the hood of his Cowl.

          The mage could only look up and stare, eyes wide with fright, gasping for breath. Behind the dark figure that now stood towering over him he could see the warrior that had pursued him through the woods emerge from the tree line purposefully striding towards them. He was in no hurry, but every step he took belied the strength and confidence of a hunter without fear. He knew his prey was caught.