EFate: An MMO Story

Tom wasn't present at the smithy when Eric arrived, but his son, Tarn was. Greeting Tarn, Eric made small talk with the boy for a few minutes before asking for directions to Lark's house. Bidding Tarn goodbye, Eric set off once more, headed for a house just north of the town centre, only a few minutes from Flen's hall.

Arriving at the location that Tarn had described, Eric paused to observe the house. It was a short, squat house, like many of the houses in Tonbura. The roof was thatched, and bore signs of obvious disrepair, with small holes visible in the straw where sunlight was streaming through. The wooden planks that made up the house itself were also in bad shape, bleached from many years in the sun, and rotting in some places. Carefully placing a foot on the front porch, an ominous creak resounded from the planks below.

Alistair's prodigious spear user lives here? Eric wondered incredulously, half wondering if Tarn had given him the wrong address. While he had been to some dilapidated buildings in the past, and many of the houses in Tonbura were in need of some manner of repairs, this house was in even worse shape than many of the others he'd seen.

Well, no point judging a book by its cover, Eric thought, striding forward and pressing a small rune to the right of the door. As he did so, a melodious sound rang out, akin to wind chimes blowing in a stiff fall breeze.

As the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching the door, Eric idly wondered about the mechanics behind the magical doorbell. The rune that was visible was an Alarm rune. Had they rigged it to trigger only when pressed? Reducing the standard radius of the alarm spell from several metres in diameter to a mere inch? Resolving to ask Lucy about it later, Eric stored the question away for later, standing straight as the footsteps approached the door, accompanied by a noise Eric didn't quite recognize.

*Creak*

With the creak of rusty metal, the door swung open to reveal a short, aged woman with a head of short, snow white hair. A cane in her left hand provided the source of the mystery sound.

"Hello," Eric greeted her politely, extending his hand. "My name is Ser Erick Kystfyr, Knight of Crowsea. Is this where Lark lives?"

Breaking out into a smile, the old woman grasped his hand strongly. "I know who you are. You're the whippersnapper that helped ole' Alistair with his battle in the woods. I'm Ava, Lark's grandmother. May I inquire as to why you're here?"

"Alistair sent me," Eric replied. As he did so, the smile left Ava's face, replaced by a grim line.

"Oh, he did, did he? And what for?"

"Militia business."

"That's what I thought," Ava sighed. "Due to your status as a knight, I can't prevent you from meeting her. But you'll find no ally in me, Sir Kystfyr."

With that, Ava turned around. "Lark!" she hollered, with a voice far stronger than one would have expected from such a frail old lady.

The first thing that Eric noticed about Lark was her height. Standing just a few inches short of Eric's own height, Lark was tall for a woman. Her short cropped brown hair fell just above her ears, and her tanned forearms bespoke of months of hard work outside in the blazing summer sun. The muscles bulging from beneath the sleeves of her tunic bespoke of the results. Various scars could be seen on her hands, most likely as a result of farm work, or perhaps spear practice, Eric surmised, observing her as she made her way over towards where her grandmother stood.

Spying Eric, Lark's eyes went wide.

"You're! You! You-" she began excitedly.

"Lark, this is-" her grandmother began, but Lark cut her off.

"Ser Erick Kystfyr! Hero of the Battle of Lichfrost, who slew a hobgoblin Lord in single combat and then lead the counterattack! The first knight of Crowsea and the only otherworlder trusted by Mage Lucy Morningstar," she said excitedly, wringing her hands as she bounced in place.

"Ummmm, hi," Eric replied with a bemused look. Whatever response he'd expected, this hadn't been it.

"Hi, " Lark replied, settling down enough to shake Eric's hand. Turning to her grandmother, she shot her a questioning look.

"He's here for you," Ava stated bluntly.

Eric nodded. "Alistair sent me. I'm here to see if you're strong enough to join an elite squad that I'm forming."

"Alistair sent you? For real?" Lark breathed.

Eric nodded once more. "Yes. He said you were pretty good with a spear. I'm here to test that. If you can prove yourself to me, I'm willing to offer you a spot in my squad."

"Yes!" Lark shouted happily, before catching herself. "I mean, I would be glad to prove myself to you, Ser Kystfyr," she corrected herself, giving Eric a clumsy curtsy as she did so.

"You can just call me Eric, or Kyp, No need to call me Ser," Eric told her quickly, his face caught in a strange expression as the level of his new status started to dawn on him.

"That wouldn't be right, you must always treat a knight with the deference they are due, as thanks for the sacrifices they make for Novanalba," Lark told him, an expression of reverence appearing on her face as she talked about knights.

"As you wish. Are you free now?" Eric asked, turning the conversation back towards his reason for being here.

Turning to look at her grandmother, Lark shot her a questioning look, which Ava returned with a begrudging nod. "I don't expect I can prevent you from doing this. But I don't think your father would be happy if he knew you were risking your life like this."

"My father gave his life for Novanalba. If it turns out that my fate is the same, then I shall go to it gladly knowing that I've done my part to make our land a better place," Lark replied stiffly, before turning back to Eric. "I'll go grab my spear. You can test me at the militia barracks training grounds."

With that, she was off, bounding back upstairs and leaving Eric alone with Ava once more. With a sigh, Ava stared after her granddaughter. "She's always been a willful one. She worsh.i.p.s knights and soldiers. It doesn't help that Alistair has been filling her mind with stories of her father's heroics for years now. I know that I can't ask you to turn down his request, but as a grandmother, I ask that you keep her safe."

"I'm back!" Lark announced, vaulting the last few steps with a long spear held in her hand. The spear was nothing special, simply an iron spearhead attached to a wooden shaft roughly six feet long. But in Lark's hands it seemed natural, as if the spear was always a part of her and she'd been incomplete before retrieving it.

Bidding farewell to Ava who gave him one last stern look before kissing her granddaughter goodbye, Eric and Lark set off for the militia barracks. Along the way, Lark drilled him with questions, asking all sorts of things about the militia, the missions Eric had undertaken so far, what the Battle of Lichfrost had been like, and more. Doing his best to answer the curious youngster's questions, Eric didn't even notice that they'd already arrived at the militia barracks, now visibly emptier than it had been only half an hour before.

Letting themselves into the yard, Lark led Eric towards the training ground, a small, dusty section of dirt where a few sad looking scarecrows acted as target dummies for the Tonbura militia to practice on. Well worn divots in the dirt showed which dummies saw the most use, and a rack of practice weapons stood alone against the barracks wall.

"We can use these," Lark said, striding over to the rack and grabbing a quarterstaff. "You'll probably want one of the swords over here. But I don't think we have any similar to that one you're carrying now."

"No worries," Eric replied, grabbing a dull metal sabre from the rack that was roughly the same shape as his falchion. "I'm more comfortable with this type of blade anyways."

Nodding, Lark returned to center of the practice ground. "So, what are the rules? Is it first touch wins? Lethal blows only? Or would you prefer I show you my skills against a dummy?" Now that they were holding weapons, Lark's entire demeanour had changed. Gone was the excited young woman who was meeting her hero for the first time. In her place was a calm, cool, and collected soldier, ready to do whatever her superior required of her.

"We'll do a standard sparring match. Break apart after any major touch, keep fighting if the touch is minor. Ease up if you're aiming for the head. We'll go until I'm satisfied with what I've seen. Do you use magic?"

Lark made a face. "No. Alistair told me that magic is a powerful tool on the battlefield. But that it's also a crutch for poor fighters. I want to become the best I can with the spear, so I don't use it," seeing Eric's expression upon hearing this, Lark panicked, momentarily reverting to her earlier personality. "Not that I have anything against mages! I know that you use magic yourself. It's just not- I mean, I don't-"

"It's okay," Eric said, cutting her off smoothly. "For the purpose of this duel, I won't be using magic," holding up his hand, he forestalled Lark's protests. "This isn't me looking down on you. I just want to see how you do against normal fighters."

Nodding slightly, Lark took up a combat stance, the tip of her staff pointed unflinchingly towards Eric's throat. "In that case, I'm ready when you are, Ser Kystfyr."

"Come then, prove that you're worthy to join my squad," Eric replied, settling into a ready stance of his own.

For a moment, neither one moved as they stared at their opponent, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Gone was the deference and worship in Lark's eyes, what replaced it was a hawk-like gaze, piercing through Eric and identifying all the flaws in his stance.

At last, Lark moved, rocketing forward like a lightning bolt with her staff at the ready. Shuffling his feet, Eric met her charge with a charge of his own, using Dashing Cut to slice towards the oncoming spearwoman.

With a swaying movement, Lark avoided the slash, her staff parrying the weapon aside as she moved back a step, keeping just out of Eric's range as her staff lashed out with three quick stabs. Put off-balance from Lark's parry, Eric was forced to dodge, tumbling awkwardly across the ground as he rolled to the side, just barely dodging the staff as it hissed through the air beside him. Regaining his feet, Eric swung his sword once more, this time aiming for Lark's legs in order to throw her off balance.

Unfortunately, Lark saw through this attempt, simply opting to take a step backwards to avoid the strike as she brought her staff down in a two-handed overhand strike. Borrowing the momentum from his earlier attack, Eric spun, his sword parrying the strike as he stepped inwards, launching a kick towards Lark's exposed c.h.e.s.t as he did.

Taking another step back, Lark's staff sang as it pierced through the air, each strike forcing Eric more and more on the defensive. Although his martial arts and ability to dodge gave Lark pause, it was not enough to overcome the range advantage that her staff held over Eric's sabre. Pressing her advantage, Lark cornered Eric, the sound of wood on wood ringing out repeatedly as Eric was forced to block her blows rather than avoid them. At last, with a thud of hard wood on flesh, Lark's staff slammed into Eric's sternum, sending him tumbling to the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

Pausing, Lark withdrew her staff, looking unsure of whether or not to continue. As she hesitated, Eric finally stirred. "Nice one," he said, sitting up and touching his c.h.e.s.t gingerly. "Oof, you really didn't hold back with that one."

"Sorry," Lark replied hastily, "You were just dodging everything, and I felt if I didn't go all out I wouldn't hit you, and-"

Stepping back, Lark gave Eric a moment to recover before helping him back to his feet.

"Ready for round two?" he asked, receiving a nod from the girl.

Round two went much the same way as round one had. No matter how Eric tried, he couldn't overcome the range advantage that Lark's spear gave her. Forget winning the fight, he was having trouble even landing glancing blows on her arms or legs. Everytime he did, Lark would pause, looking to him for confirmation that the fight was over, and everytime he would shake his head and signal for her to continue. As the day wore on, Eric increasingly found himself lamenting his choice of weapon. Time and time again he found himself in situations where magic would have allowed him to turn the tables on Lark, forcing her back, or even allowing Eric to go for the 'kill'.

Unfortunately, Eric had promised not to use magic in this fight, which meant that again and again, he found himself lying on the ground, struggling to breathe as Lark looked nervously overtop of him. At last, Eric called an end to the sparring session, finally admitting to himself that he wasn't Lark's match when it came to martial skill.

"Good fights," Eric said with a smile, doing his best to remain chipper. While his healthbar was still full, his pride was now at rock bottom. It would appear that Alistair had been correct, his sword skills were not enough to contend with Lark. Staring at the girl, Eric fell into deep contemplation. While it was true that Lark was strong, the fact that she was a Novanalban was something he couldn't just ignore.

However, her power puts her above even Hydrus if we're just talking about pure skill at arms. Disregarding everything else that makes him strong, I doubt even he would be able to win without using skills when confronted with Lark's spear, Eric mused.

True, the disadvantages of accepting Lark into his party were great. But the advantages were pretty amazing in their own right. Lark was young, and yet her skills were already at this level without any real combat experience. How much stronger would she become if she was able to grow alongside him? Fate rewarded actual combat experience and usage of skills in terse situations far more heavily than it did standard practice. If Lark honed her spear skills in life or death situations, how far would she go? Eric found himself wondering, staring sidelong at the girl beside him. Her spear was now etched deep inside his mind, forcefully imprinted upon him after far too many losses to its wielder. If that spear could become faster, stronger, sharper…

"Was I good enough?" Lark asked nervously, breaking Eric out of his reverie as they placed their practice weapons back on the rack.

"Mmmmh. Well, you did beat the shit out of your new squad captain, but I suppose I can forgive you for that."

"Yes, welcome to the squad, Lark," Eric said with a smile, extending his hand which Lark grasped eagerly.

"Thank you! I won't let you down, sir! I promise!" Lark swore, her nervousness disappearing as she bounced on the spot. "Does the squad have a name yet?"

"Not yet," Eric admitted. "I was planning to consult with Alistair on that topic. Anyways, feel free to return to your house. I'll contact you before we embark on our first mission."

Lark nodded seriously. "Of course. I'll return and rest up in preparation, si- I mean, Captain!"

"Good, in that case, you're dismissed."

Thanking him one last time, Lark left the training grounds in high spirits, leaving Eric alone to meet Alistair for the second time in as many hours. Now that the party had been assembled, it was time for him to see what advice the wise old militia captain had for a novice adventurer such as himself.