NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9: City of Newbies
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Mau_dev: We tried to leave out the blood sacrifices, but the setting just didn't work without pyramids, so. . .have fun, kids!
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Saturday, November 9th, 2091, about 3:00 pm MST, Ghostlands, Kingdoms Server, Wuataar City
Gordon watched as Ghostlands booted up.
The title art faded in with muted music, revealing an ancient forest bathed in blue moonlight. Towering trees loomed like giants, their gnarled limbs tangled above a mist-silvered forest floor. Shafts of light pierced the canopy, soft and sacred, catching on the moss and shadow. In the center, a colossal tree—part guardian, part monument—rose from a web of roots thick as river serpents.
And there, nestled in the quiet magic of it all, floated the game's name: Ghostlands, hanging in the air in curling script like drifting smoke.
Snazzy logo.
The inevitable game hint pulsed beneath.
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[Wuataar City - Commons]
[Good luck!]
Wuataar. City of Newbies. City of sky pyramids, flying Quetzalcoatls, and double-wide streets dripping with wealth—wealth spent mostly on stone and copper weapons, as though that were useful.
It felt like such a waste of potential. Why not start us in the boonies? Small communities with limited resources, where stone axes would actually make sense? Instead, they'd built this sprawling fortress, a monument to extravagance at the edge of a world teetering on the brink of collapse.
The black tide rebounded, silently answering his critique. Its endless horde stretched beyond the horizon, clawing at the star-profiled city walls as if they'd been promised something inside. If not for the flying mounts, no one would leave Wuataar without being eaten.
For a zombie apocalypse ancient Mayan fantasy city, it wasn't that bad.
Gordon turned away from the dizzying heights of his fourth-level pyramid balcony, stepping back into the cool interior, his duster swishing around his buckskins. Once, this tier had been affordable to any mid-level player with ambition. Now, only the wealthiest of the lower ranks lived here, and even they were being priced out. But Gordon? He'd rented this place a lifetime ago, back when prices were reasonable, and now he paid a fraction of what others did—one of the perks of being triple digits.
A shadow passed over his floor as a feathered Quetzalcoatl flitted by, its tiny rider clinging on for dear life. Gordon glanced at the time. Almost three. The Delve would begin soon, and he could only hope they were ready for it. He ran his fingers over his reloaders, by habit: he could have put an ammo counter on his HUD, but why would he?
The first of the party members to arrive logged in with the usual Ghostlands lack of fanfare. His gaze skimmed across space, and between one instant and the next, she was there: Karen.
For some reason, characters always logged in fully equipped, weapons drawn. It was one of those little design quirks—a perk if you appeared in the middle of a combat situation, an embarrassment if you didn't. Karen sheathed her swords in a single fluid motion, not even bothering to trigger the animation. Of course, she wouldn't. Her character in Ghostlands was shorter than she was in real life—a matter of scale, not proportion—but still long-legged and happy about it. She struck a pose as she saw him watching, raising an eyebrow boldly.
"Brooding again, Gordon?" she asked.
"Sort of," he admitted. "We're ready. I just really want to do this in one shot. Is that unreasonable of me? I'm worried I'm putting too much pressure on Harry for him to enjoy the delve. I just don't want to be a bad friend."
Karen smiled warmly. Her avatar was just her real body, scanned in without embellishments or adornments, shrunk by four inches in height. Her features were striking enough to make a statement on their own.
"I'll tell you what I'd tell him," she said, "and you can do what you want with it. But here's what I think: he'll be really happy if he gets to his legendary item before anyone else. I didn't. You didn't. And we're fine for it. There's no real rush. I mean, we're still some of the top players in the game." She tilted her head. "But if you get it on your first run, you don't have to compete for your own reward. And honestly, I don't think Harry's up for that competition. Do you?"
Gordon didn't reply. He didn't need to. They both knew she was right.
Karen leaned on the railing. "This is nice," she said. "We don't spend a lot of time just enjoying the view."
They had wandered back to the balcony without realizing it. For Gordon, the rest of the apartment didn't matter much. He had no use for the elaborate bedchamber Claire had purchased, or the dining hall, or the bathroom with its odd bathing-fountain, or anything else. Without adult content turned on, it was more of a meeting place and a storage room than anything else. Not that you needed a storage room—everything could go in the bank. And plenty of people just met at the bank. Sleep could happen anywhere, as long as you had a tent.
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But the view? That was something else.
Karen's hair was shorter in Ghostlands than in real life, but still shone like spun gold as it danced in the warm spring breeze. He stepped forward and looked over her shoulder out the carven stone block window.
"It is a nice view," he admitted.
The pyramidal building fell for a hundred feet before meeting the courtyard. Stele lined the streets where players milled far below in the open-air market, tiered gardens rising beyond, leading to the houses of the landed nobility. Smoke hung in the air.
"All those level one's," Karen mused. "Looking up at us like we're royalty, up here in our bare stone floor palace overlook. I'd rather have a cozy cottage."
"Can't do this from a cottage," Gordon grinned. Snowball. His arms and legs cooled noticeably, the power for the spell coming from his character's body since he had no power source for it, a ball of non-magical snow being placed in his hand as the spell completed. He wound up dramatically.
"Oh, stop, that's mean," Karen said. Her heart wasn't in it.
He threw smoothly, then, as Karen stepped forward to watch, ducked out of sight. She'd be the only one visible when the snowball touched down.
A faint sound of protest rose from the plaza. Karen walked over to his crouched form and thumped him on the shoulder. "Meanie. I'm going to get a reputation."
He felt a subtle shift in his perception, almost like a ripple in the air. None of the others had mana sense, of course. Nobody else in the party even had spells—other than the new arrival.
"It's so nice," Gordon said, his voice deliberately subtle, sotto voce, a complete change of tone and pace. "To have quiet, productive conversations without Claire."
Karen caught the joke immediately. Karen was, in fact, quick enough on her feet for most things. She grinned. "Funny you should mention her," she said. "I was at Claire's house the other night. We were supposed to be doing mani-pedis, so I brought my whole collection—gel polish, clear coat, all of it. She actually put it on. And then Harry called."
Gordon tilted his head. "And?"
"And she got the cutest little expression, just like a baby bunny." Karen mimed Claire brushing her fingers through her hair. "She went all, 'Oh, hi, Harry'."
There was a sudden sound behind them—a sharp gasp, almost a squeak. Feminine.
Karen barely paused. "So I said, 'Oh my gosh, no! You're ruining your nails! You're getting it in your hair' And Harry said—"
"'Don't worry, I'm already ruined for all other women'," came a strangled voice behind them, part-laugh, part-groan.
Karen turned, smirking. "Oh, good, Claire. You're here."
Claire crossed her arms, cheeks flushed. "I think that's enough gossip about me, thanks. And yes, I know you knew I was there."
Claire in-game was a stunning contrast to Claire the HR manager. Gone were the sleek suits and severe ponytail. Instead, she stood like a volcano priestess—bare-legged in a bronze-accented loincloth, her chest wrapped in bronzed leather, tribal tattoos curling in thick bands over her visible skin. Her hair fell loose and wild beneath a spiked bronze headdress. He'd procured that particular item. He was a little proud of that.
Karen shrugged, unbothered. "Her hair has purple streaks of nail polish in it now, if you look really closely. She couldn't get it all out."
"Karen."
Gordon coughed into his hand, barely stifling a laugh. "HR chic."
Claire scowled, but didn't allow herself to be distracted for long. She stalked forward, her charms and bracelets clinking with the motion.
"We have five minutes," Claire said, pulling herself together. "And I think we should make the best use of them. I've been asking around, using outside channels—don't look at me like that, Gordon—and ice fae challenges at level 200 are usually focused on interpersonal dynamics, a show of heroism, and not falling off of cliffs. Besides, I've done similar before."
"I'm one for three," Gordon said dryly. "Someone else will have to manage cliff stuff and talking. I volunteer Claire."
Claire gave him a flat look. "I really want Harry to have his moment in the spotlight. I know you're focused on the goal, getting the win, but Harry already knows we've been carrying him some. A lot of this comes down to letting him take risks. You know he's got a solid head on his shoulders, and he knows his limits."
"He's a clown," Karen offered helpfully. "But, you know, not a stupid one."
"He's our clown," Claire shot back, rolling her eyes. "As long as we remember the rules of the trial and give him the space he needs, I really think he'll get the best possible result out of this. You know they tailor the artifact to how hard you try, and Harry—" her voice softened slightly "—he's worked harder than any of us for this."
"Claire," Gordon said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "I would never mess this up for Harry."
Claire's gaze flicked to him, and she visibly stopped herself from scowling. Then she nodded. "I know. I just don't want him to feel carried. More than we can help."
She turned away, but paused. "Thanks."
And turned to Karen, her best friend. "Don't screw this up for Harry, or I'll kill you."
Karen shook her head. "I'm hearing a lot of talk about how 'we've' been carrying him, Claire. He carries you. We carry him. And we do it because every team needs a lovable mascot."
"I heard that," Harry's voice cut in from behind them.
The three turned to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his grin wide. He took up most of the doorway, and his shield could have passed for a door.
"Oh, good," Karen said. She nudged Claire's chin with a finger, raising stark features to look in her direction. "Now he can hear me say it right to that pretty face: He's a clown. But his fiancée is the mascot."
Ice blue eyes narrowed. Karen shot Harry a quick glance, then looked away again, fiddling with her scarf, unapologetic.
"And we're lucky to have her," Harry quipped, adjusting the strap on his gear. "Now, are we doing this, or are we just going to stand here complimenting me all day?"
"I actually do have one important thing I want to talk to you about in particular," Gordon said, his tone unusually direct.
"I love you too," Harry replied, grinning. "But I'm in a happy, monogamous relationship."
"Are you?" Gordon said, rolling his eyes. "No, what I was actually going to say is that this is your day, and I don't want you to feel pressured just because we're all standing by watching. We've got your back, but we want to follow your lead."
Claire nodded her agreement.
The bulky hedge knight struck a pose.
"Harry Preston - Vanguard," he said cheerfully. "What could go wrong?"