So, with regret, Rolley gave up on the idea of getting into the tower. It was destined to be a piece of Soulboxe history that he couldn’t be part of.

  “What are you looking at, buddy?” he said when he joined Barnard at another corkboard.

  This board was much like the one where NPCs listed jobs, except only players could leave messages on it. This was the party request board. Players left requests for others to join them in questing, leveling up, or to have someone to explore with.

  Rolley always played with his best buddy so he never needed to post a request, but it was something about the game that he liked. It was a place for lonely people to hang out, to find friends. Soulboxe felt so real that when you were with someone here, it was as real as seeing them on the street.

  “Getting bored of me?” asked Rolley, slapping his friend on the back.

  Barnard jabbed one of the paper requests. “See this?”

  Rolley read it. “Looking for loot? For secrets? For mystery? An orc and a minotaur seek two fellow players to explore with. Must have rogue or thief and mage skills.”

  “Thought this might interest you, Rolls.”

  “Secrets and mystery. Sounds worryingly vague.”

  “It’s well known that these boards aren’t what they seem. I read about it. There are secret guilds in Soulboxe, ones that don’t recruit publicly. They leave cryptic messages on boards like this, and they wait for people to figure them out.”

  “This one seems pretty straight forward. An orc and a minotaur are looking to form a party.”

  Barnard nodded. “But they don’t say why, and they purposefully don’t say where they’re going. And what would be the only reason to be so vague? If you didn’t want people to know.”

  “Then why leave a message here?”

  “Because whoever posted this has some kind of special quest. Or maybe they’ve found a dungeon that nobody else knows about, and they don’t want it flooded with other players. They don’t want a guild to swoop in and take the best loot.”

  That had never occurred to Rolley. Deep down, he was an honest guy. Too honest, actually. It meant he struggled a little to read between the lines. He took most things people said at face value. He didn't realize that what people said, and what they meant, were two different things. That was why he was glad to have Barnard with him. His buddy might be cynical sometimes, but cynicism had its uses.

  “You think we should see what they want?” asked Barnard. “Secret places often have special loot.”

  “Which means more gold. And more spell scrolls for you.”

  “We could afford to go to the mage college, like you said.”

  “Okay. For you, then, let’s check this out. Wait – they haven’t left their player names. How are we supposed to contact them?”

  Barnard looked the common room, before tapping Rolley on the shoulder.

  Rolley turned to see, way across the hall, an orc and a minotaur sitting at a table with two jugs of beer in front of them.

  “They might not be too hard to find,” said Barnard.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tripp and Etta sipped their beers – thank the Soulboxe devs for making it taste so realistic! – and watched the rogue and the mage standing by the request board. The mage was a strange guy, with his bushy, curly hair and yellow gown, and that weird chicken head on the tip of his staff.

  The rogue was dressed a little too fancy, from what Tripp knew about rogues. A set of leathers with gold trimmings and glittering jewels didn’t speak of stealth. That was what had made him unsure whether these were the right guys.

  After he expressed this to Etta, she made him see sense.

  “Rogues earn the sneak skill,” she told him. “And it's powered by manus, just like my paladin spells and your artificery. He could be wearing a clown costume, but as long as he activates sneak, people won’t see him. If they’re perceptive they might see a kind of glimmer. A warping of light, kinda hazy like the horizon when it’s really hot. But most critters aren’t that perceptive.”

  The rogue and mage had approached them. The rogue strutted over confidently, while the mage seemed a little awkward. They both flashed wide smiles and introduced themselves, and Tripp felt at ease. There was just something likable about the pair.

  So, after chatting for a while, after asking them questions and getting a feel for them, he gave Etta a look. She nodded at him.

  After Rolley got a whiskey on the rocks and Barnard bought a jug of milk, Tripp explained everything.

  “Here’s the deal,” he said, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed voice. There was no need, since the common room was so loud that it was just one big orchestra of noise, but he wanted to be careful. “We’ve found a way into the tower.”

  “You cracked the riddle?” said Rolley.

  “We think so. The latest one, anyway,” said Etta.

  Rolley’s eyes widened now, and he gave a toothy smile. Tripp couldn’t help but notice that Etta was strangely fascinated by him. He knew what that look meant, but it was a shame. She seemed to have forgotten that here in Soulboxe, she was a giant minotaur. Unless Rolley had a thing for bulls, she was out of luck.

  “What is it?” asked Barnard. “What do you need to get in? A secret word? Is there a hidden lever? A puzzle?”

  “We need blood,” said Tripp.

  Now it was Barnard’s turn to widen his eyes. “Blood?”

  “Let me explain.”

  Tripp told them about the library, the ruins, and how they’d figured out what the basins inside the alcove were for. Barnard watched him as he spoke, and Tripp could tell that he was a little dubious. That was good; he sensed that Barnard was more of a critical thinker than his friend, and they’d need that in the tower.

  Rolley drank the last of his whiskey. His stubbled cheeks flushed a little. “Let me get this straight. We each cut ourselves and dribble our blood into the basins.”

  Etta nodded. “The ones with our symbols above them.”

  “And then the doors will open?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” said Tripp.

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Terms and conditions,” said Tripp.

  “Huh?”

  Barnard looked at his friend. “They don’t quite trust us yet.”

  “What’s to trust? We party up before we go in. It’s not like we can hurt each other.”

  Tripp nodded. “There’s the matter of loot.”

  “Ah.”

  “We need to work out how to divide it.”

  This was the thing. Loot was the beating pulse of Soulboxe. It was why a lot of players trained their skills, joined guilds, and sought out the deadliest dungeons. Every player wanted to get their hands on the best, rarest loot, but not all loot fell equally.

  The developers experimented with many ways to divide loot, settling on the loot point system.

  This worked by having players earn loot points each time they leveled up. Then, when a party of players defeated a monster, they entered into a kind of loot auction. Here, each player decided on how many loot points to allocate.

  The person who gambled the most points got the best of the loot. It meant that it was a little like poker. Since points were finite, you didn’t want to use them all up on one post-battle auction. You had to try and read the other players, guess how many points they had, and how many you could risk allocating.

  “I get it,” said Rolley. “You brought us into this, so you want the best loot for yourself.”

  Tripp shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Then what?”

  “The only condition I have is that anything crafting related goes to me. You, Barnard, and Etta can keep your rare swords, crazy amulets, or whatever. But any items that directly relate to armorer or artificery skills go to me. No questions asked.”

  Barnard narrowed his eyes now. “There are swords in Soulboxe that are worth a fortune. Hundreds of real dollars. You’re telling me that if we find something like that, you don’t want it?”

  “I’m here to make my own weapons. You can keep the other stuff, but I need the crafting supplies. The three of you can sort the loot auction between you as long as you agree to that.”

  Rolley nodded, spat on his hand, and stuck it out. “Done.”

  “What’s with everyone around here sealing a deal this way?” said Tripp, before shaking hands with Rolley.

  The mage was slower in agreeing, staring at Tripp as if he wanted to delve into his mind and see his thoughts. Finally, he nodded. “I agree.”

  Rolley gave a beaming smile and stood up so suddenly that he rocked the table, spilling Etta’s beer. “Let’s go enter the cock tower!” he said.

  “See? I told you it was phallic!” is Etta.

  A few heads turned their way now. “Quiet about cocks and towers,” said Tripp. “We better hurry, but I have something I need to do first. I suggest we all go get ready. Buy whatever you need in town, and we’ll meet in front of the tower in thirty minutes.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Tripp – Rolley – Etta – Barnard

  Tripp watched the three of them head off toward the alleyways that led deeper into the city. Windborne was divided into six sections. Four of them intersected in the heart of the city, and that was where most players spent their time.

  It was there that they would find quests, guilds, merchants, and pubs. It meant that people rarely visited the outer reaches, the places darker than the others even in daylight, on account of being close to the storm walls.

  His business took him not to the city enter, but away from the adventurers’ guild and west. It took only a few minutes’ walk to reach the mines.

  Here was a series of openings dug into the ground and re-enforced by iron and timber supports. Some were vertical drops barely a football-width wide. Miners at the top turned cranks and made pulleys work, hefting up materials mined in the depths below.

  There were three dozen miners, some with pickaxes and giant hammers. Others pushed and pulled minecarts in and out of the mines. They all wore full-body suits that made them look like astronauts.

  Tripp hadn’t been into the mines yet, but there was supposed to be a dungeon down there. Players needed similar protection to counter the noxious gasses and toxins.

  Way above them was a roof intended to protect the miners from storms. This was much thicker than the roofs used on the normal Windborne shops and house. If you looked closely you would see a current of light running over it in zigzags, the sure mark or artificery.

  It made Tripp think of the possibilities of his artificery skill. Could someone become an artificer architect, maybe? Players in Soulboxe could make their owns houses, shops, and guilds if they wanted. Why not combine bricks and mortar with magic and mana?

  It made sense that the mine roof was more storm-resistant than anything else in Windborne. It was what kept the city standing. It was under the streets and rocks of the city where precious stones and minerals sat. Ones that had properties to make them studier and storm-resistant, and were a key part of the storm walls. Since the walls constantly needed to be rebuilt and heightened, mining never stopped.

  He wasn’t about to go into the mines today. He crossed the mine surface and reached the ill-maintained buildings on the outskirts. This was where the miners took their breaks and where some of them slept if they were on a night shift.

  Tripp entered the first on the left, where he found a mole waiting for him.

  This mole was the height of a ten-year-old child, but with long whiskers touched by grey. He’d styled the tips into curls using wax. He wore glasses with thick lenses, and a miniature pipe was hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Every so often he took a breath, and the pipe glowed red. He breathed the smoke out of his nose in two big plumes, like a dragon.

  He smiled when he saw Tripp.

  “And here he is, just to round off a god-awful day! This morning I tripped over a rock and cracked my good glasses. I forgot my tobacco at home and had to buy some in the city, where they know how to tease the gold outta my purse. We’ve had to stop mining one shaft because the supports were weak. We gotta rebuild, and my best miner, Pretty Boy Bill, hit a gas cocoon. Poor bugger got blown halfway across the gods' damned shaft. So, I decided to take five minutes. Pull myself together, smoke some of my ridiculously-expensive-yet-awful tobacco. Close my eyes and find my happy place and stay there a few minutes. I even told my guys not to disturb me. And what d’ya know? My favorite orc strolls in. Here to try and barter my prices down so low I’m practically paying him to buy my damned things from me.”

  Tripp laughed. Jobst always had a mean spirited monologued ready every time he saw him. After hearing a few of them in the past and failing to interrupt , Tripp knew that he had to let Jobst talk himself out.

  “I don’t have long, Jobst,” said Tripp. “And since you’ve had a bad day, I won’t try and barter your prices. I just want to buy some things.”

  “Praise the lords, my fortune is turning. You want to buy my materials at their set prices? Lucky me!”

  Tripp gave a quick look around to make sure nobody was outside the door, listening. “You know, for a guy committing an offense that could get him executed, you’re pretty bold.”

  Jobst let out two furious plumes of smoke from his nose. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? You sell me some of the surplus stuff they find in the mines. Only, the mines in Windborne are council-controlled. And they don’t consider anything as surplus, do they? In fact…I would guess that the surplus you sell me, isn’t recorded on the books.”

  “You know,” said Jobst, “Me and you could be friends if you weren’t such an ass. Do the trade and then get your big green orc behind outta here, before you ruin my happy place for good.”

  And so Tripp traded with Jobst until he’d spent most of his coins. It worried him a little having little in-game currency left, but it would be worth it. If they were going into the Tower of Windborne, then it made sense to give it everything. No half measures, no hedging bets.

  Did he have everything he needed? No way. But that was impossible, since he wouldn’t know in advance what sort of things he’d need to craft in the tower. At least it was a start. He’d bought materials that would give him a little crating flexibility in the challenges to come.

  He checked them now, feeling a little better as he read the list.

  Items received:

  Steel pieces x12

  Iron pieces x12

  Copper pieces x12

  “Why’d you need so much metal?” asked Jobst. “Are you smithing for the army, or something?”

  “Not quite. Truth is I don’t know why I need it yet. Just that I’ll need it.”

  “Many a time I’ve woken up and thought hey, I might need a minecart full of metal today. No idea why, but I sure as hells need it.”

  “I’m going somewhere, that’s all.”

  “Ah. Somewhere secret,” said Jobst. “A lot of people want to go somewhere secret these days. Somewhere secret, taller, and rather phallic. Why do you want to go into a place like that, Tripp?”

  Why did he want to go to a place like that? Great question. Especially after seeing the monks carrying out the corpses. Who in their right mind would want to enter a tower like that?

  “You know,” said Jobst. “They’re saying the tower is a punishment.”

  “They?”

  “The storm callers. The crazy bastards who worship the storms around here. The ones who meet in cellars and strip to their nutsacks and paint their bodies in runes and stuff. They beg the gods to send more storms.”

  “There are people in Windborne who actually want the storms to come? But every part of the city is designed to stop the storm causing damage. Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Crazy don’t need sense. Which brings me onto you.”

  “I’ve never stripped naked and begged for a storm if that’s what you’re hinting,” said Tripp.

  Jobst shook his head. “Way I see it, there are two types of people who might go into the tower. One, are those unfortunates who’re looking for the end and want the tower to do it for them. Because nobody gets out alive.”

  “I plan on being the first.”

  “Then you’re the second type of fella. You can’t stand being beaten, can you? I heard about you, Tripp. I heard about the orc who got his arse handed to him in some kind of dungeon over in Godden’s Reach. Although, no idea what you were doing over there. Way I see it, there are two types of men who go to a place like Godden’s Reach…”

  Tripp sensed a dialogue loop, which even the smartest NPCs fell into sometimes. He hitched his bag around his shoulder and he left the mines, thinking about what Jobst said.

  Was he looking for the end? No. The opposite. He came to Soulboxe because it was a place where people could feel alive.

  But the tower…mysterious, unconquerable. He’d seen plenty of players find their way in, then get carried out by the monks.

  All he could imagine was the glory of reaching the top. The rush of adrenaline.

  After all the stuff back in Godden’s Reach, he’d become a minor internet celebrity. Course, people didn’t get 15 minutes of fame anymore. They got 15 seconds.

  For a while, Tripp browsed the Soulboxe forums and saw people discussing him. Well, about his orc persona. Maybe he wanted that feeling back. Maybe it made him feel like he mattered.

  Or perhaps he just wanted to kick the tower’s ass.

  Whatever the reason, the means of doing it were the same. He had his crafting metals, and now he needed to use what little gold he had left to get more artificery supplies.

  After leaving Jobst and the mines, he skirted by the refuse area. This was where the miners left any materials that weren’t worth selling, and he picked up five handfuls of stone. This was something he’d learned as an artificer; if you found materials lying around, you took them. It wasn’t as if he was anywhere close to filling his inventory yet.

  He headed back to the center of the city, seeking out the merchant district. The shops were covered by storm-resistant roofs, and players ducked in and out of doorways, selling their loot and taking quests.