2

The virt wasn’t big on warnings, and I found myself standing in a dark, dank place. I blinked, smiling as I remembered the incredible eyelashes I now had, and quickly adjusted to the lack of light. Behind me, there was a huge, ornate archway of white and silver metal, with fist sized gemstones embedded in the metalwork. The gems seemed to wink at me, the lights inside them pulsing. The arch touched the wall, and looked to lead absolutely nowhere. I stepped closer, and noticed writing on the metal. Most of it was indecipherable, but a section of flowing letters translated. Elvish, presumably, and it told me that this was a worldgate, a means of traveling between the different virtual worlds. I was pretty sure you could only move from one fantasy world to another, seeing as I really wouldn’t fit in a historical or scifi virt. For me, the way was blocked. After an hour of trying to walk through, press any hidden buttons or trigger anything, I gave up, and went the other way. I was in some sort of cave, a man-made excavation rather, and the air was very dry. Before taking more than a few steps, I tried to leave my bow on the ground and call it to me. It worked perfectly.

It was a short walk, and I soon reach an oval of brilliance. I stepped outside, and blinked in the brightness of the light. I looked behind me, and started in surprise. There was nothing there, and it was solid stone to the touch, a boulder in a hillside. Information about the location of worldgates was bound to be a high price commodity, and I wasn’t getting this bonus, that much was clear.

The view from that elevation, near the top of the hill, was impressive. The dipping hills were either stark or green, and I could see specks in the sky, birds or monstrous flying creatures. I’d have to look up every now and then, if I wanted to keep my head. To my right, mountains rose to challenge the clouds, their peaks gleaming with ice, excepting only one, whose peak seemed to glow reddish. Some sort of volcano? To my left, the hills grew smaller, but hid whatever lay beyond. Ahead, the hills were more tree-clad, stretching into the horizon. Picking a direction was a simple matter. There were more people to be found in terrain that was not as harsh, even if elves of my sort, or most sorts, lived in forests. Left it was.

I had a few spells that would speed travel up considerably, but chose to walk. I wasn’t sure that the teeming masses of a city, or even a small town, were safe for me. There was, after all, the matter of a large bounty on my head. Best meet individuals or small parties, at first. I picked a direction, and started walking. I’d only taken a dozen steps, when they walked out from behind a scraggly tree.

Or rather, one of them walked. The other, a tiny winged woman, the height of the length of my joined hands, perfectly beautiful in an inhuman way, flew. A pair of glittering butterfly wings stuck out from her back, the same blazing violet hue of her hair, and her skin was lavender. Her eyes were molten gold, her ears pointed like mine, her doll’s clothing consisting of an extremely brief skirt and halter of loud purple. She held a teeny-tiny length of some dark wood in her left hand. Her companion was not quite as strange. A head or more shorter than myself, he was broad and squat, human-seeming, chunky and powerful looking. Thickly bearded and luxuriantly haired, a coiled mass of bright red, he was heavily armored in scuffed metal breastplate, greaves, pauldrons, and lots of other metal. He carried a shield embossed with the image of an upright, winged hammer, and a heavy, nasty looking battleaxe. The dwarf, if that was what he was, carried marks of scores of battles on his armor and battered shield.

I had Velunthil drawn and ready, an arrow in place, before I even thought about it.

“Woohoo!” The dwarf’s deep voice rumbled, “An elf babe. I’ve got all the luck. Hello there, sweet cheeks!”

The fairy, or sprite, or whatever she was, flitted around him in a blur and piped, in a cutesy, syrupy sweet voice, “Well met, lady fair! I’m Melisande, a pixie sorceress, and the lech is Baldin the not yet balding. He’s a priest of the dwarven god of war. We’re here to help!”

“Help?” I stared, astonished.

“Ye’re a fugitive, elfgirl, right? Well, you see, a bunch of us figured, a long time ago, that throwing newbies out to the sharks just wasn’t right or proper. Wasn’t properly smart, either. Especially gorgeous, mouthwatering pieces like you, sweetie,” Baldin announced unhelpfully.

“You see,” Melisande explained, “one of the sysops, a big softie, left a hint. The quests the fugitives get are very significant. They’re part of the bigger picture, and they’re very, very rewarding. Much more than just carting you off in chains or bringing your head in would be. So just as there are lots of drooling morons who’re looking for easy money, we’re gathered in a guild dedicated to helping fugitives. Our wizards and seers developed specific divination rituals designed to locate emergences. Many hunters tried the same, but the gods blocked them. They’ve been trying to steal ours, or follow us to the target, for the last thousand or so years. Not very successfully,” she crowed.

“Could you explain what ‘guild’ means, exactly?”

“They’re an association of players and natives, sometimes local, sometimes bigger, dedicated to a purpose. You can belong to many guilds, as long as their aims don’t conflict. The association is not just social. You have dues and obligations, but you receive help, bonuses, special things. The social part is very important, though. You’re an elven archer?” Melisande looked me over. “Oh, a priestess. You’re automatically registered with a guild, your temple. You know, you’re radiating a very powerful aura of magic. Just what did they give you?” she looked avidly curious, flitting closer.

“Natives? And why should I trust you, on your word alone? And you’re radiating quite a bit yourself,” I commented with a raised brow.

“Natives are the nonhostile, nonplayer critters, those who don’t automatically want to put you to roast on a slow fire and filet that delightful flesh away, my lovely,” Baldin replied, “and you don’t got no choice. Actually, you do. Cast a truth spell, silly. Ain’t you a priestess?”

I opened my mouth, and closed it sheepishly. Lowering my readied bow and putting the arrow away, I kept a close watch on them and cast a truth spell. It wouldn’t make for perfect assurance, as there were magics to mislead or get around it, but it was better than nothing.

“Everything we told you was true,” they said in unison. Truth.

“Can you tell me more about the world, and how things are done here? From the briefing I received, I have a confused impression of rampant chaos.”

“Well, it ain’t quite as bad as that,” Baldin humphed, “But confused is a good way to put it. Things change very quickly, as heroes come and go, dark overlords gain power and are overthrown. Just reading the histories would take you a decade. I know little more than you, on that subject. Signed on again today for three, and it’s been half a year now.”

“Pooh!” Melisande pulled at his beard and flitted away, avoiding his swat with practiced ease. “It’s true that kingdoms, baronies and duchies come and go, but the general shape of things rarely changes. Five hundred years ago, a great landwyrm erupted from the black pit at Lavanthross, and changed the lay of the land until the golden angel killed it. Three hundred years ago…”

“The golden angel?” I interrupted.

“There aren’t quite as many powerful folk as you might imagine, pretty,” Baldin rumbled with laughter, “boldness and smarts and luck will only carry anyone so far. There are perhaps fifty or a hundred of the great ones, no more than two hundred. Worldwalkers, they’re called, beings so powerful that they’ve found means to transcend mortality, powerful enough to face elder dragons and live to talk about it. He’s one of them, a favorite hero. If he ever makes it to demigod status, he’ll have quite a few worshippers. Not that he’s more than a wart on the arse of the axe twins, whose footsteps shake mountains, whose axes can cleave…”

“Oh please!” Melisande wailed, “Not that, anything but that! Don’t get him started on paeans of praise to the paragons of dwarvenkind, to whom he’d gladly kneel and part buttocks,” she bent in half, laughing hysterically and flying erratically around us.

Baldin’s browned skin flushed red, hand clenching white on the haft of his axe, but to my surprise, he took no action. Melisande was the deadlier of the pair, I quickly surmised, however childish she chose to act. But then again, I smiled crookedly, she wouldn’t have picked pixie if she hadn’t enjoyed that sort of thing.

“Is she inclined to practical jokes?” I asked the dwarf.

“Oh, is she ever,” he sighed, his entire posture radiating despair. “Fortunately, she prefers to practice on foes, and there are mostly enough of them to keep her occupied. Mostly,” he grimaced. “Still, for a pixie, she’s very reliable. Generally, they’re not.”

“If it’s not rude to ask, how powerful a priest are you?” I could see from his aura that he was a bit stronger than myself, but I wanted to see what he was willing to disclose.

“Actually, that is pretty rude, but anything for you, sweetcheeks. I’m one of the best. Not quite up to opening a gate, magic wise, but I can scorch a mountainside with a firestorm, and heal just about anything. I can also take most anyone with Yorktar, here,” he patted his axe. “You’ll find that most advanced players can cast some sort of spells, and have at least a couple of battle skills at a min. Bow and spell for you, right?”

“Naturally,” I nodded. “So what else can you tell me?”

Melisande, recovered by now, began to spout information, so much that I was hard pressed to absorb the datastream.

“So this portion of the Helverstone hills is claimed by the duke of Helver, the Gritaur mining consortium, the League of Marrak adventurer’s guild, the dwarves of clan Fennart, and the archwizard Malator? And it’s home to giants, orcs, trolls, crossbred creatures that escaped the Halls of Riven Flesh when a silver dragon attacked those wizards and artificers, fomori, and… who knows what?” I tested my understanding.

“That’s about right,” Melisande replied after a moment’s thought. “Oh, you should know that most players who survive long enough have a patron among the great ones. Mine is the silver sorceress. An elf, she looks like you. Well,” she looked me over carefully, “she has silver hair, and silver wings, and lots of sparkly magic. Otherwise, you could be sisters.”

“Really? How odd.”

“Really. Here, I’ll show you,” Melisande gestured and chanted briefly, and she was suddenly there. My mouth sagged open. I resembled that? She was perfect of form and feature, elfin beauty arrayed in sparkling silver cloth with floating gems circling her, her skin glowing white, hair and eyes glittering a lambent silver. Her wings were solid feathered silver, and their edges looked wicked sharp. Talisman upon fetish, many small pieces of jewelry and strange materials hung all about her person, enough items of magic to outfit a company. I could not absorb them all before the vision faded. I noticed of a sudden that I had remarkably few illusions within my repertoire of spells.

“Now, commerce takes place in the markets and taverns,” the dwarf interjected. “The selection is appropriate to the size of the place – you won’t find much in a hamlet, and the selection at Helverton town is limited. Elf girls are a rare treat around here, you could make a lot of money in a few days. I can tell, you’re a tight one,” he leered at me.

I just stared at him, eyes open wide, dumbstruck. I was so astonished at such open talk, I didn’t even blush.

“Transportation, now that’s a crazy one. There are networks of teleporters and gates, mirror portals and runic markers, all created by guilds, kingdoms, and who knows what. The keys and passes to such things are worth a lot, but many are trapped or malfunctioning. Some people tame a wyvern, a drake, a pegasus or a young dragon, and fly about. You can actually buy such things. There are even flying machines, rafts and ships. The city in the storm, about a thousand leagues thataway,” he pointed casually, “has some big beasty they tamed and breed to carry things up to them. There are a few flying castles and towers around, and some people and things live on solid clouds. Most folk use shank’s mare, horses, wagons and such. Oh, there are weird steeds aplenty, of course. I’ll never forget the sight of that crazy sorcerer, riding a giant slug into Haptown,” Baldin shook his head in wonder. “’Course, we great priests have our own means of transport. And Melly can teleport us around, too.”

“Now, lady, we’ve been very polite, and you haven’t even shared your name,” Melisande scolded me, shaking a tiny finger at my nose, before moving where I could see her without having to cross my eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed by… everything. I’m Kylie.”

“No grand nickname, toots? Kylie, the luscious tightassed archer? Kylie, the…” his words tapered off when my bow appeared in my hand, and I had an arrow pointed at him so fast even I didn’t see an intermediate stage. He blinked, and gently moved the arrow point aside. I opened my mouth to speak, closed it, pursed my lips, and took a step back. What could I say? If these were my allies, I had a burning desire to avoid meeting any enemies.

Melisande laughed, a clear crystalline sound, and flew in to pull his beard, once again dodging his half hearted swat.

“Anyway, what now?”

“There’s a lot more you need to know,” Melisande’s laughter cut off, and she started to lecture. She was concise, precise, and built an excellent picture of how things worked in Janavra. The casual attitudes towards violence, sex and slavery were really disturbing. In reality, I was pretty sure that Melisande was a teacher of some sort. My heart did sink somewhat further. This world was utterly enormous, easily as big as the real thing. And they were constantly adding areas, too, not to mention possible changes of topography and geography. Like the glass desert where two wizard-ruled empires had collided three centuries past. That is to say, about thirty hours ago, real time.

“What about children?” I asked.

“Well, some things catch elfmaids to breed,” Baldin smirked, “I hear it’s awfully painful. Mostly, it’s not a factor. The tiny tots are background, though there’s this really excellent place in Trimor, with a fine selection of human girls. The little ones are awfully tight, and they really know how to squeal,” he actually had the temerity to wink at me.

“You’ll have to be careful of that prudishness, Kylie,” Melisande’s voice was cold. “People here generally have the power to do what they want, and bugging them about lifestyle choices is a good way to get killed. The only rules are those that can be enforced. There are crusading types around, but they rarely last longer than a century, even when they band together.” Obviously, I’d not managed to guard my expression.

“Now,” she continued as if nothing had happened, “you need to know more about the various powers of anyone and everyone. We’ll begin with…”

There followed a comprehensive review of a variety of abilities, spells and specific things I should watch for, from a purely practical viewpoint. She specifically warned me to watch out for people who’d gone up the pain skill tree. They weren’t many other beings who could make wounds hurt almost as much they really should. She also reminded me that players could choose to be evil nasties, so the orc chief or maiden devouring dragon might well be a character of some sick, evil-minded person.

“Now, you may think you’re something special, and for a newbie, you probably are. But the fellow you sit next to in the tavern might just be able to squeeze the pulp out of you with a couple of fingers. So be polite,” Melisande made a show of breathing loudly, clutching her teeny-tiny breasts. “Whoo. So much for orientation lesson.”

“How do starting characters survive?”

“Well, they’re not like fugitives, or the other people who come through on introductory offers. They’re not dropped right into the deep zone. They have a proper introduction and time study, and there are areas that are tacitly understood to belong to starters. Few invade that turf, because it’s not wise to offend the gods. Lightning bolts really can strike you down, out of nowhere. And we all go back there when lose a character, though the old timers all know tricks to getting out of there quickly.”

“How do successions work? Like, dukes?”

“Well, there are different arrangements. Some rulers use the buy out option, enabling returning players to buy their domain for a lot of money – oh, money is the gold standard – which the virt automatically translates to equivalent value when they return. No inflation. Others appoint successors, heirs or stewards, some guys like to plant the ‘hero will return’ legend, or villain, as may be the case. In longer lived races, like elves,” she pointed at me, “when you play daily, the ruler simply takes a vacation. Going away for twenty years, leaving a cousin to take care of things, is not a problem. It makes for interesting comebacks, though,” she giggled. “Sometimes, natives take over. And remember, natives are rarely pushovers.”

“Is it different in other worlds?”

“Yep. It’s all different, variety is the point. I mean, you can conceivably get tired of porking elf babes. They introduce new stuff all the time, keeping it scattered. Eventually, shit spread. Like that artificer on Woondrod who thought up that neat little…”

“How does he,” I pointed at Baldin, looking at Melisande, “survive?”

She giggled and twirled around me, “Well, we make allowances for foibles. Or I wouldn’t be around, either. We all have our little idiosyncrasies and quirks, and getting into lots of fights affects a fellow’s reputation. Of course, we’ve both lost lots of characters to people with rotten tempers and little dicks. Some people have no sense of humour,” she giggled again. “Of course, Baldin’s something of an extreme example, but he’s mostly talk.”

“Talk, bah!” he actually spat on the ground. “See if I let you hump my fingers again, tiny.”

I just shook my head aggrievedly, wondering if I’d ever get my hands on the neck of whoever chose these two to ‘come to my aid’, and looked up, seeking divine providence. The feathered snake-like creature diving at us ate five arrows before it started free falling.

“Whoo, you are good!” Melisande crowed, clapping her tiny hands so quickly, it almost made me dizzy. “Say, is that bow one of the great weapons?”

“Melly, don’t be silly. It’s not glowing like mad, is it? Probably a unique, but not artifact or bigger.”

I actually understood what he was trying to say, which both amazed and depressed me. It was depressing, because I was getting sucked into this damnable world, swallowing the terminology and the ‘shoot first, don’t bother with questions’ philosophy. Much like skills and spells, magical items had something of a hierarchy, from ordinary useful alchemical item and talismans that could be used just once before being spent, to mountain cleaving blades and ultimate protection amulets, with a bewildering variety of cognomen. Like ‘Velunthil’ or ‘Starstrike’.

“My bow is Velunthil, commonly known as Starstrike. A legendary item, supposedly,” I decided I might as well trust them. I did know more now, but I really needed guides. Even if these pair of mavericks weren’t exactly ideal.

“A legendary item! Goodness, but someone must really like you, and not just because you’ve got one hellacious bod,” Baldin looked impressed. “Those are some of the better ones. I only ever got my hands on one of them, before a dragon stomped me flat. Unfortunately, it was a sorcerer’s wand, and I was playing a ninja guy, so it wasn’t much use to me.”

“Hmmm,” Melisande hummed and moved closer to the dwarf, “I don’t suppose you know where to find it now? Was it Temmerar’s Reed?”

“Nope, Tiluthia’s Ashen Switch. It was a few centuries past, in another world, so nope, sorry. That dragon’s probably history by now.”

“There are also,” Melisande turned back to look at me, “other worlds, beyond the nine or so fantasy worlds that I know of. Worlds entirely dominated by orcs, giants, dragons, mad wizards and necromancers and other awful things. Those are frequently the source of monster incursions. Otherwise, we’d run out of things to kill, eventually. Only the great ones go exploring there regularly. There are also the worlds of the hells, full of demons and totally gross stuff, and the heavens, the elemental poles, the corridor of worlds, the shadow rift and probably lots of stuff I don’t know about. When we summon things, they theoretically come from other worlds. Your god, for example, actually has a physical place on some other world where he and his servants live.”

“I guess it’s time to tell you about my quest?”

They went quiet and looked at me expectantly.

“I’m supposed to destroy the Abode of Yarthan, the citadel seat of a guild of assassins, or find the alabaster dragon Zophikla. No idea, otherwise.”

“Well, that’s not simple,” Baldin, master of understatement that he was, said. “D’you have any idea how difficult it is to find a dragon that doesn’t want to be found? Especially an older one, which this one just about has to be. Assassin guild houses are almost as difficult to locate, and destroying them is, once again, only slightly easier than killing an old dragon. Fortresses and imperial palaces are easy, by comparison.”

“Yeah, that’s a real bad one,” Melisande frowned, “though at least you have two options. That’s unusual.”

“Where do we start?” I asked.

“Information, so we go to the libraries, sages, wizard and adventurer guilds. We can’t tell anyone we’re looking for an assassins guild, so we’ll have to do that research ourselves, but everyone’s always looking for dragons, so that’s not unusual. For the assassins, we’ll need to hire a spy, which is going to cost something fierce. The sages and libraries also cost, at least as much. So we’ll need to make a great deal of money, as soon as possible. Our guild’s treasury isn’t going to cover this, its specific purpose is resurrection costs and recovery, if someone is captured,” Melisande sounded very practical. I felt bad about putting things in other peoples’ hands, but I just didn’t have the expertise. Any expertise, really, and I had a firm respect for expertise.

“Right. Where do we go first? And why not concentrate on just one of the quests?”

“The market,” Baldin leered at me again. “We need to get you some basic supplies. We try both, because you never know when things might turn up. It’s a crazy world. Loads of fun.”

“Right. You’ll have started with some gold, and you’re going to need some things you don’t have. First is a magic map, which will show you where you are and where you can go. Vital equipment. You’re good for water and food?” Melisande asked.

I thought about it, and recalled that “I have a decent supply of elven journeybread. But no water.”

“Water’s no problem for a priest, conjuring that is real simple. I can give you a hot bath whenever you want to, sugarbuns,” Baldin was still leering. “We can also conjure food, but that’s usually a waste of magic. Your bread’s adequate, and it’ll help you keep that figure of yours smooth and tight.”

“You need a ‘go home’ token, it breaks through most teleport shields and takes you away, a real life saver, if expensive. And you need a grave marker.”

“Grave marker?” I gaped at her. “Wha…”

“Silly,” Melisande tweaked my nose, a sharp if not really painful sensation, and was quickly out of arm’s reach, “It signals the resurrection guild. It’s one of the wealthiest guilds around. They keep several squads of heavy hitters on retainer, and when your token beeps, they come and get you, and raise you form the dead. The token doesn’t cost much, but the resurrection is quite expensive, in line with how much trouble they have getting you out. Quite a few of the resurrectees spend a year on retainer, paying for rescue ops. Good steady income, and some interesting and rewarding action.”

“Which market?”

Melisande delicate features twisted in thought. “Nowhere too public. Fugitives are posted in all guild halls and bounty posts. Let’s try… Merriksport?” she looked at Baldin.

“Never heard of it,” he shrugged heavily. “I’ll remind you that dwarves generally aren’t too fond of the sea, however free the ale flows in ports. The whores are always busy with sailors, too. I hate fish smells, too. I mean, oysters smell like an orc’s crack. Totally disgusting.”

The pixie nodded, a mischievous expression on her face. She blurred into motion, settling down on Baldin’s helmet, and began to cast her spell.

The dwarf stepped closer to me, touching the side of my arm. Then I felt it. The bastard had moved his hand down, and thick, stubby fingers were feeling my ass. Before I could react, a finger stabbed between my buttocks, invading my asshole. He was so strong, my sphincter had no chance of resisting, and knuckle after knuckle was swallowed inside me. My cheeks puffed with outrage, and I was forced to stand on the tips of my toes. But… it didn’t hurt. It felt… good. Great, in fact. A wonderful, filling, fulfilling sensation, as a finger played inside my ass. Before I had a chance to think, the world tilted, and we were elsewhere.