Shadow Sun Progression: Shadow Sun Book Four Page 2

  Selby broke in at that moment. “That’s actually why I’m here. There have been several requests for invitations from various factions. I have compiled a list of those, as well as others we feel should be included. Based on our combined analysis of your current supporters, potential future supporters, and-”

  She paused when Allistor raised a hand. “Thank you, Selby. I don’t need to hear the gory details just now. I trust that your list, and the reasons behind your selections, are entirely correct. I’m still recovering from the fear that I’d accidentally offended Enalion again.” He used a cocktail napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow. “How… many are we talking about?”

  Selby tilted her head to one side as she looked at him. Gralen had told him before her interview that Selby was nearly a hundred years old. But the little gnome looked, and often acted, like a twenty-something human would. Allistor found her care-free attitude refreshing.

  “How many… factions? Or people?”

  “Let’s start with factions. I’m guessing each faction will send more than one representative.”

  “You guess correctly. The current list includes nineteen factions. That is not counting Harmon, or Gralen, who will represent their peoples.”

  Allistor began considering a leap off the edge of the tower’s roof.

  “As I’m new to this whole Prince thing…”

  “Emperor thing.” Selby corrected him.

  Exasperated, Allistor leaned back. “Okay yeah let’s settle this once and for all. I’m both an emperor, and a prince. The title Emperor Prince sounds silly to me. Like I can’t make up my mind. What do I call myself?”

  L’olwyn actually smiled at him. “It is not common for one being to have held the same combination of titles for two different worlds in the past. We actually did a little checking. It seems that while on Earth, it is most proper to address you as Prince. And while on Orion, Emperor is proper. Anywhere else, including aboard ship in open space, the higher title of Emperor is appropriate.”

  Selby added, “You may also refer to yourself as Imperial Prince. Though that is somewhat misleading, as it implies that you’re the son or heir of an Emperor.”

  Allistor continued to sweat. Visions of formal occasions from old books and movies flashed through his mind. Hours of rehearsed speeches and studied customs to be observed while wearing uncomfortable clothes. With the threat of oblivion, should he make a mistake, hanging over his head.

  “I’m not ready for this.” He mumbled.

  Both the elf and the gnome, having excellent hearing, gave him sympathetic looks. Selby was first to speak. “Take a deep breath, Allistor. L’olwyn here is a noble, trained from birth in proper etiquette. He can help you and Lady Amanda learn what you need to know.”

  “Though, it may take some time.” L’olwyn’s dry tone made Allistor snort.

  “Can’t be easy to teach the hairless apes how to behave properly.” Allistor quipped.

  “Exactly so, Allistor.” This time the slight grin on the elf’s face was clearly visible. “I suggest setting the wedding date at least three months hence, to both relieve some of the pressure you feel, and to allow for sufficient preparation.”

  Allistor nodded. “I’ll speak to Amanda about it. I know she’s excited about the wedding, but making a mistake because we move too quickly might cause a disaster.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He thought Amanda would understand, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  Selby nodded her head at the same time L’olwyn shook his. When Allistor motioned for her to proceed, she reached into her storage ring and pulled out a pad. “It has come to my attention that you, and your humans, have not been training as you leveled up.”

  “Training? I mean, most of us have leveled up our spells and melee abilities at least a little bit. I’ve been raising my Barrier skill by having William try to kill me nearly every day this week.”

  Selby giggled. “Yes, he has told me. He’s quite determined to, as he puts it, give you a beat-down.” She watched Allistor roll his eyes. “But I was speaking about class training. For example: You selected the Battlemage class. At that time, you learned the basic starting class abilities, is that correct?”

  “Yeah…” Allistor saw where she was going, and was feeling foolish. His eyes unfocused as he pulled up his Battlemage tab. “You’re going to say I should have been getting more spells or abilities as I leveled. But I don’t see them here on my interface.”

  Selby shook her head. “The initial abilities are awarded by the System when you choose your class. Those abilities can be leveled up as you use them, modified as you achieve higher levels, combined with other abilities, and so forth. You can, as you know, learn spells from scrolls you purchase or loot. But any additional class spells or abilities must be obtained from a Battlemage of a higher level.”

  Allistor nodded, not all that surprised. “So class trainers are a real thing. Gotcha. But how do I go about finding one? Or finding trainers for the rest of my people, for that matter. Is there a class quest or something?”

  “You are in somewhat of an unusual situation here, Allistor. Normally when a new world is colonized, only a small portion of the indigenous population have reached a level where they can choose a class. And indeed, even here on Earth, the average level today is likely to be between ten and twenty. You and your people are an exception to the rule, as I’m sure you’ve been told.” She paused until he nodded his understanding.

  “Normally, the factions that colonize a planet will import a cadre of class trainers shortly after they settle. They either bring their own, or contract with outside trainers. There is even a guild of class trainers. New planets like Earth, where the system determines the locals need culling – no offense - offer rare opportunities for leveling in the early days after stabilization. There are abundant menagerie spawns to hunt, and experience to be gained. Especially when the creatures have killed so many of the local population, and achieved higher levels themselves. The trainers teach those factions’ members who take advantage of the windfall. As the locals, in this case, humans, reach the proper levels, the factions can sell them training at exorbitant prices.”

  Seeing that Allistor’s face was darkening, she quickly continued. “You and your people, with your access to the Library, and your willingness to copy and share the spells from any looted scrolls, have fared much better than a local population in Stabilization normally would. You have been able to remain alive, advance to higher levels, and capture vast territory. Other humans here on Earth will have been much less successful, and will need to pay dearly for training when they eventually reach the required levels.”

  Allistor’s fear from a few moments before was turning to anger. Anger at the reminder of the genocide forced upon his world. Anger at the way the System encouraged other races to take advantage of his people. “That’s not happening here.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke, his voice quiet and flat. “Nigel, do you have a list of everyone’s chosen class? And how many people do we have that haven’t chosen yet?”

  “I do have a list, Sire. And there are four hundred thirty citizens, mostly children or elder citizens, who have reached level ten, but not selected a class as of now. There are thirty one, all small children, who have not yet reached level ten.”

  “Alright… let’s fix this right now. Nigel, loudspeaker please, everywhere.”

  “Go ahead, sire.”

  “Good morning, everyone. Allistor here. It has just come to my attention that all of us who have chosen classes need a class trainer in order to receive additional spells and abilities above the ones we were given at level ten. I will be recruiting class trainers from off-world immediately. Any of you who are level ten or higher, who have not yet chosen a class, I need you to do so by the end of the week, so I know which trainers to hire. If you have questions, let Nigel know, and someone will get with you to provide answers. Don’t choose without thinking it over. Once you choose
a class, you’re stuck with it. And I want each of you to have a class that feels right to you. I’ll update you all as to timing as soon as possible. Thank you, and have a great day.”

  Looking both his advisors in the eye one at a time, he gave orders. “I want you to contact this trainer’s guild, or whomever else you need to, and hire us some trainers. One for every class chosen by Invictus citizens, including yourselves, if that’s possible. Get back to me with costs and timing. I authorize you to offer citizenship and land in lieu of gold where you think it’s appropriate. Land can be here on Earth, or on Orion.”

  Both advisors nodded their heads. “Anything else we need to discuss?” Both shook their heads no. “Great! Now I feel the need to let off some steam. I think I’ll see if anyone’s headed out on a raid. Thank you both. And please, don’t hesitate to come to me anytime something like this pops up.”

  Elf and gnome got to their feet and bowed their heads before leaving. Allistor sat for a while, feeling foolish. He thought he’d learned his lesson about learning the System’s details when he discovered he could give quests. In the year since he’d reached level ten and chosen his class, it hadn’t once occurred to him that he should be learning new class spells or abilities as he leveled. Worse, he knew that was how it was in nearly every VR game he’d ever played. But he wasn’t the only gamer still living, and none of the others had brought it up, either. At least, not to him. That in itself seemed… suspiciously odd. Had the system been manipulating their minds somehow? He closed his eyes and opened up his character sheet, taking a few minutes to look at it. He had reached level forty nine after clearing and claiming Orion, but hadn’t taken the time to assign his attribute points. Rather than do it right then, he decided to wait until he hit level fifty, and had spoken to a Battlemage trainer. For all he knew, he was mismanaging his stats up to this point. Level 50 was typically a significant level as far as character development. So he’d just wait and see.

  Chapter 2

  Allistor found Fuzzy in the sculpture garden located between the Invictus tower and Harmon’s building. He was playing with several young children, serving as a dungeon boss for them to battle. The bear cub that had been so small and cute just a year ago now stood almost four feet tall at the shoulders, and weighed at least four hundred pounds. As a yearling, he still had the ‘cute teddy bear’ face with the rounded ears and fuzzy fur. Normally at his age he’d be about half this size. But in this new world, each time he leveled up he seemed to get a bit larger. Having been by Allistor’s side for most of his battles, the cute bear cub had leveled up to forty five.

  Now Allistor watched as the ferocious beast romped around with children one tenth his size, taking a fake ‘fatal’ blow from a stick held by Cody, and promptly falling onto his side, playing dead with his tongue hanging out one side of his massive jaws. The children squealed and shouted with glee, grabbing handfuls of fur and climbing atop the oversized beast for a victory pose.

  Allistor smiled as he watched, his earlier itch to go kill something fading away. A little girl roughly Chloe’s age, whose name he didn’t know, spotted him standing there, and shouted, “Prince Allistor! We killed Fuzzymonster! But I didn’t level up.” She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms, pouting.

  “Oh, well let’s see what we can do about that!” He called back, grinning widely. Everybody but Fuzzy, come over here. I have a super-secret quest for you.”

  The kids leapt fearlessly off the bear’s corpse, shouting enthusiastically as they ran toward Allistor. By this time, several parents and passersby had taken interest, and they too gathered ‘round, leaning over top of the children and Allistor as he squatted down to whisper to them.

  “Okay, are you ready? Here’s the quest. You have to defeat Fuzzymonster by getting him on his back, then tickling him until he farts!” He awarded them all an actual quest called “Take Down Fuzzymonster” with enough xp to give most of them a level.

  He smiled like a twelve-year old planning some shenanigans as the kids responded with “Eww!” and “Yess!” and various other exclamations before turning and racing back toward a suddenly suspicious Fuzzy.

  “Good luck, buddy!” Allistor waved to his bear companion as the adults around him laughed. They all watched as the bear was mobbed by seven tiny warriors. He put up a mock resistance, growling at the children and swatting them gently with paws larger than their heads. One mother gasped in panic as Fuzzy latched onto her child’s head with his jaws and gently lifted him off the ground. A moment later he dropped the boy, who fell on his butt and began wiping slobber from his face.

  “Ugh! That’s nasty, Fuzzy!” the kid used the front of his shirt to clean himself off, then stuck his tongue out and shuddered. Then he was back on his feet and tackling the grizzly’s flank, trying to push him over. Fuzzy obliged, falling onto his side after checking to make sure he wouldn’t squish anyone. When the children continued to push, he rolled over onto his back and languidly swatted at them as they climbed onto his belly.

  Fuzzy was just laying his head back on the ground and preparing to play dead when the children began to jump up and down on his belly, shouting, “Fart! Fart! Fart!” Not one to worry about social convention or etiquette, Fuzzy let loose.

  Approximately two seconds later, the children were covering their noses and falling off the bear’s belly, scrambling to put distance between themselves and the chemical attack even as a golden glow surrounded them. The completed quest had leveled each and every child.

  The parents and bystanders applauded as Allistor called out his congratulations to the tiny raiders, who were throwing him looks filled with betrayal and disgust. He pulled a big chunk of dragon jerky from his ring and tossed it to Fuzzy. “Thanks for your help, Fuzzymonster!” Fuzzy’s little nub of a tail wagged as he gnawed on the jerky held between his paws.

  Taking his leave, Allistor continued across the street to the building Harmon had claimed for his shop. Stepping through the door, he was immediately greeted by an imp that bowed low, waving one hand in a flourish. The grey-skinned creature was maybe two feet tall, with painfully thin arms and legs, a pear-shaped body, and a large round head. “Welcome, mighty human Prince. How may we serve you today?” It spoke in a smooth, cultured voice.

  “I was… hoping to speak with Harmon, if he’s available? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “This one is called Scrit, great Prince. And master Harmon left instructions that he is always available for you. Please, be comfortable, and this one will let the master know you have arrived.” The imp led him through the shop and motioned toward the seating area outside Harmon’s office. As Allistor took a seat, the imp sprinted toward Harmon’s door. Allistor jumped slightly when the imp pounded on the door hard enough to make it shake, and shouted “Hey boss! The human boss wants ta see ya!” sounding more like a Jersey dock worker than the butler persona he’d had a moment earlier.

  Harmon emerged from his office and strode toward Allistor, who was back on his feet and staring at the imp. Catching the direction of his gaze, the orcanin merchant chuckled. “Yes, Scrit is quite the character. I never know who he’s going to be from one minute to the next. He’s completely insane, but generally harmless.”

  Behind him the imp gave a friendly wave, then stuck out his tongue and made a hand gesture that was pretty universally rude, before dashing off across the shop.

  Harmon motioned toward his office door. “Please, come in. Always a pleasure to see you, my friend.” Allistor preceded the orcanin into the office, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Rather than move behind his desk, Harmon chose to take the other chair next to Allistor’s. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, first… I just this morning found out about class trainers. I’ve instructed the analysts to recruit a small army of them for my people right away. So if you have any recommendations, please let me know.”

  Harmon nodded, looking thoughtful. “That’s odd. It never occurred to me that you weren’t aware of
class trainers. Even though I clearly haven’t seen any here on Earth since I arrived. Or heard you discuss them.”

  Allistor decided to change the subject. He wasn’t ready to consider the possibility that the System was messing with all of their minds. Especially regarding something so vitally important. So he asked the other question he’d been meaning to bring up with Harmon.

  “My smithing is still improving, but I’m a long way from being able to make a blade worthy of a prince. So I was thinking of purchasing or commissioning a weapon. I have some materials that might interest a master craftsman, and I can certainly pay them well for their time. I was hoping you might recommend someone?”

  “What kind of materials do you have?” Harmon began tapping on his wrist, calling up a holo-display.

  “Well, off the top of my head, there’s the purple Ancient Shellback Heart. A couple of drake hearts, claws, and fangs as well. I have a forearm blade and heart from a giant mantis, and an Occulant Sentry Elite power core. There may be more that have slipped my mind.”

  Harmon had stopped typing almost as soon as Allistor mentioned the shellback heart. “What is your chosen class?”

  “I chose Battlemage. I like the idea of being able to deal ranged damage as well as get in close for melee attacks. And the Barrier spell has come in handy more times than I can count.”

  Harmon dropped both hands to his lap, his wrist holo winking out. “Do you remember the day we met, I showed you this?” He pulled the master-crafted wooden blade from his boot sheath and held it up for Allistor.

  “Sure. Made by the elf who took you in. I remember. I don’t expect a weapon nearly that valuable or pedigreed. Just something I wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear at my wedding, for example. Which apparently about twenty different factions will be attending.”

  Harmon didn’t seem to hear that last bit. He was tapping one of his tusks with a fingernail, lost in thought. Allistor took a moment to admire the dagger again, until Harmon spoke. “Master Daigath is the elf that created this blade. I make no promises, but I will reach out to him on your behalf. You will have to be willing to surrender the shellback heart.”