The Hunter's Guide to Monsters

Of course Krow chose to claim it.

He was still peeved over that bloodstone. If he didn't claim the bloodline it gave him, and the benefits of that bloodline, he'd find a way to kick himself to death for being an idiot.

The spirit gave a thin smile, waved his hand.

The top of the empty pedestal changed to the shape of a bowl. "A drop of blood into the confirmation bowl."

Krow pulled a knife out of its holster with his left hand, pressed it to his right thumb lightly and watched blood well up in a thin line. He held his right hand over the bowl, returning the knife to its place on his left thigh.

He paused.

His DEX stats and skills were showing. He hadn't been this ambidextrous before.

There was a certain disconnect with the avatar body, he came to the startling realization, when it did things like this. Things that were based on stats and not based on Eli Crewan.

A drop of blood splashed against the side of the bowl.

Krow lowered his hand, watch the drop of blood traverse the rough insides of the bowl, leaving bits of itself following in its wake, then only to gather as a bead of liquid in the center, a tiny vivid dot on the snow pale background.

Redlands had a high turnover, according to the news media, when he joined the game the last time. One billion players was impressive, but some popular augmented games had registrations for twice that number.

It was not unusual for top portable games to have four or five billion active players.

Why then would the top VRMMORPG have only one billion active players, especially when Redlands playhouses sponsored by RSI popped up worldwide and the average person could access a full gaming rig for the relatively affordable price of 200 ecru a month?

Because for all the one billion players that stayed, there were three billion who left the game.

That was unprecedented.

Was this the reason?

This disconnect between real-self and game-avatar, slowly merging?

Scary, to see yourself suddenly become someone you don't recognize.

This was the reason for the higher leveled players reportedly having greater than usual mental strength.

Krow could imagine it.

The human people were a race constantly in conflict – it was how they, as human beings, grew and transcended.

But this?

The longer the game went on, bit by bit a player changed in ways that would alarm people who didn't play Redlands.

More and more, their habits and mores would reflect the game, rather than the 'realworld'. Slowly, they would be outcast in their old friend circles, slowly their families would fail to understand the changes that a virtual war would have on the psyche.

There was no war on Earth.

Krow blinked, then scoffed at himself for the wording.

There was always war on Earth – in business, in privacy, in entertainment, in the clash between law and outlaw, in the material sphere, in the digital sphere, always.

But a war of bloodshed and political geography has, for the majority of people currently on Earth, only been academic. Armed conflict over land and political borders ended in the last century, with every nation and peoples settled not quite contentedly but peacefully. Oddly, that also settled most of the wars on religion.

Krow couldn't comment on history, but his generation was the first to have never seen border conflicts even in the news media.

The changes that the virtual battlefields of Redlands brought to a person were likely not as physically visible as in the wars of old, but the shock to the sensibilities of a child raised in peace would still be considerable.

And the distance these changes wrought between a Redlands gamer and the peaceful world of Earth?

The world's sentiment for Redlands, a year in the future, would slowly contain traces of alarm. Researchers would be curious, social scientists would turn more of their attention to it.

Virtual reality was 'too real'.

Krow, in his last life in the game, had never experienced these changes, low level as he was.

He wondered though…

If the quake hadn't happened, would he be one of those who steeled themselves, held a core of Self within even as their bodies evolved, strode forward into a new world and transcended their physical bodies?

Or would he be one of those who quit, afraid of the greatness within?

"Hear!" the ghost intoned.

Krow jerked out his musing.

"Oh Ancestors, great and wise, upon this day, Ilas Krow has confirmed his kinship to the House of Osmiorni, the skaldevin of Kandradka!"

A scroll appeared above the pedestal, as long as his arm and thick as two fists together.

It had ornate knobs, and gold and silver designs on the parchment.

"Hear!" continued the spirit. "Oh kin of my kin, descended from the First of us, upon this day, Ilas Krow has confirmed his headship of the Clan Yulsukh!"

Another scroll appeared, plainer but no less bulky.

Krow was stunned.

Why was the draculkar registration so much more exaggerated than the human one? Did he choose the most dramatic race in Zushkenar??

No one told him this!

No no, Krow backtracked; that would always be the sirens. But second most dramatic wasn't any better!

"Hear, upon this day!"

The walls glowed.

It wasn't over yet?

"I present Ilas Krow of House Osmiorni! I present Ilas Krow of Clan Yulsukh! Hear, oh you who lie within these stones!"

Faces appeared on the walls, bubbling and shifting to other faces, thousands upon thousands. Too fast to recognize.

Weeping graves.

Krow wanted to know, when did this turn into a horror movie?

It was over as soon as it began.

The tiny tiles of the walls moved, swirling into pinpricks of colors, until there were two large squares in the center of the wall past the pedestal.

The presentation to the mayor of the town, his last life, was definitely not like this.

The ghost bowed, a slight incline of his body.

Krow bowed back until the spirit faded away.

He straightened, walked confidently past the pedestal to the wall. His bow had been useful, as he'd detected no traps on the floor.

In the two squares, were two circular designs.

The one on the right was the Clan Yulsukh emblem. The one on the left would then be the sigil of House Osmiorni?

His brows shot up.

It was an octopus.

A purple octopus on a black background, the colors of falling night. Or rising dawn, really.

A draculkar noble house with a sea animal as their crest?

Krow snickered, studied the eight arms coiling in eight directions.

At least it wasn't a dragon.

He reached with both hands, touched the two sigils.

With simultaneous clicks, they opened.