Ascension

by B F Rockriver

  After the first altercations with the Wolffen, the once vibrant city fell on hard times. As rumors of the blight and inevitable conflict between the two races spread, even fewer humans settled the island frontiers. Many chose to live in a war-zone, rather than risking a fight against unknown foes or surviving in a cursed wasteland; at least they would know what to expect. Others settled with the Mist Elves and Turta, on the smaller islands in the Catspaw Archipelago.

  With fewer people to farm fields and a growing reliance on an ever-dwindling supply of military funding, Dawnport crumbled. Crime spread like wildfire, military officials seized control over commerce, and the gap between the wealthy and poor became an impassable ravine. Eventually, the strain on supplies led to resentment towards anyone considered non-human, especially the Wolffen, who showed up on their doorstep as exiles from Daggerfang Keep.

  Lost in thought, Eli glanced towards the waking village, wondering when it had gotten so bad, and how he failed to notice. Foul odors and the murmurings of a waking populace assaulted his keen senses, causing an uneasiness in his stomach that he couldn’t ignore. Did I just ignore all of this, or did I not see it happen because I never left my cabin? He asked himself while avoiding a large bush of wild blackberries. He rarely visited the slums and never stepped foot in the southern quarters. No one did unless they had to. His business was done in the merchant district, or with Wayland directly. Often, he would pay extra to have a trusted courier deliver goods to a drop sight in the Wildwood, as he wanted little to do with Dawnport and its troubles. This became more normal after the Wolffen began migrating there. As he walked, the cries of mothers who had woken to sick, dying children twisted his stomach. When did it get this bad?

  “Try to remember that this was all created a month ago. Your memories aren’t real. This history that you remember is a story to give the world depth and realism. This place, this city, is exactly how it was designed to be—a hotbed of slavery, crime, and inequality. The creators of this world designed it this way to make you feel sorry for these people. Dawnport is the perfect starting location for players who want to dabble in something criminal, fix a broken system, or explore a dangerous wilderness.” Aida said, her voice an unwelcome reminder that his memories and personal history were a false narrative.

  A moment later, the group closed in on the southern portion of the slums. The worst neighborhoods in Dawnport were known as the southern quarter. Those who were evicted from or could not afford passage into the city found themselves sandwiched into a two-mile-wide corridor. They built their homes between the southernmost curtain of the city’s walls and a half-formed barrier of fences surrounding them. There were no legal businesses, and no one lived there by choice—other than criminals, and the mad.

  Once lived in farmhouses, and the remains of a formerly budding village had been left to rot. After funding dried up and settlers stopped migrating, finishing a second protective structure seemed like a pointless waste of capital. At least to those who paid taxes and lived behind the much larger walls. So, a smaller unfinished barrier acted as a pen for the downtrodden and impoverished, preventing their filth from spilling too far into long-abandoned fields.

  To many, it was the abandoned land itself that acted as a barrier against the expansion of the quickly growing shantytown, not the crumbling defense. Wealthy absentee landholders ensured that trespassing upon their property was punishable by fines and imprisonment. The rich might need it again someday. Those who owned the land often equipped and fed residents of the slums to protect their holding. When given the option of starving to death or protecting the land that they were barred from living on, most took up arms against their own people. Several Dwarves and Wolffen found themselves beaten and jailed for the simple act of sleeping in the fields. After a few hangings, their point was made, and their fields went untouched. So, people got creative.

  As poverty grew, space became limited, and overcrowding forced those who lived in the southern quarter to stack atop one another. Soon, flimsy ladder-like structures made from repurposed lumber became the norm. Even though they offered little protection from the elements, people would rather have the illusion of protection. Access to basic sanitation was nonexistent, and people dumped refuse into the street. With each dawn, came the rancid stench of emptied bedpans and the low rumble sorrowful moaning.

  “It’s just over here. There’s a break in the fencing.” Don spoke for the first time in hours, pointing towards what looked like a dilapidated cattle pen. “It’s on the other side of that patch of burweed. Not many people go through there.”

  Luckily, the small band of travelers could sneak through the fields and into the slums unseen. Most of the guards, who were unlucky enough to patrol this part of the city, seemed to be busy enforcing labor duties. It took more than an hour to make their way through the hovels, tents, and other derelict structures. By the time they had made their way back north, towards Alyssa’s tent, the sun was nearly overhead, and the beggars had clung to William like barnacles on a yacht, asking for spare coppers.

  Eli grimaced at the small discarded children, out of disgust for their situation and their behavior. His feral looking face acting as a deterrent to the quickly growing swarm of orphaned children and panhandlers. While dodging stray dogs and cats, he saw Kelly swiping at the children playfully. It was a vain attempt to keep the pick-pockets away from his father. The sight brought a sharp pain to Eli’s stomach. Or was it the blight coursing through his veins?

  The disease had made its way further up his neck and down his chest. Small tentacles of blackish-green were peeking above his collar, having long since taken hold on his hands. The thought of the infection spreading so quickly was discomforting, but the pain was unignorable. At some point in the night, the disease had started to burn as it advanced like it was molten lava seeping through his veins, melting its way through his body. At first, it was a dull warmth, then an ache. Soon after, every movement became pained, as a strange tingling sensation radiated from his toes and fingers. He felt as if the disease was stealing portions of his body, killing it, and removing the connection to the uninfected tissue. He said nothing, not wanting to cause a panic, but he could sense that Don was undergoing a similarly delightful experience. The Turta’s face had been shifting from a sulking frown to a narrow-eyed wince for at least three hours, and the obsidian marks had covered almost every visible part of his body.

  Somehow, knowing that he was not alone in his misfortune made Eli feel slightly better. He was worried about his friend, but it sounded like he could start over in a new body. Eli could not. At least, not that he knew of. Fear led him to a question that he had been putting off since he received the debuff.

  If this disease kills me and I become Blighted, can I create a new character? Like I did after I died?

  After a short pause, Aida’s voice came through with a hint of worry. “I’m not entirely sure. Unlike Don, you don’t have a physical mind or body outside of the Universal Information Network, at least not that I am aware of.” After a short pause, allowing the information to sink in, she continued, “If this disease is what I think it is, and you are stuck with this one character, there may be serious consequences. If you die after the disease takes hold, you should come back like normal, but your code might be converted to that of a Blighted player. If this happens, you may lose control over your avatar.”

  What do you mean you lose control over my avatar? Do you mean my body? Eli asked.

  “Essentially, yes. Blighted creatures seem to be controlled by the system itself rather than their corresponding AI or an administrator. The original AI remains intact but appears to be stripped of free will. My assumption is that it is the system's way to replicate a hive mind. These creatures aren’t simple undead; they are more akin to a colony of mutant zombie ants being controlled by a mutant zombie ant queen. Or, in this case, an omniscient AI, with the processing power of nearly every computer on earth. While each ant knows that they are an ant and can process inp
ut at an individual level, they are also aware that they are being controlled. And there isn’t much they can do about it. They may have some control over the body itself, but their actions and motives are all directed by the hive mind.”

  Well shit, Eli sighed mentally. Nothing that you just said sounds good. What am I supposed to do?

  “Don’t panic just yet. You’re not a normal AI or NPC; you’re different. Your code is locked, for whatever reason. It’s apparent that your consciousness is more like that of a player than any standard NPC. It may not affect you like everyone else. I can’t be certain what exactly will happen, but I would not panic just yet. The debuff may just expire. Then you might wake up as if nothing happened, or with modified stats and a new designation. As far as I know, the system could generate a duplicate of your avatar and seed it into the world as a mob or boss.”

  So, I may or may not become a mind-controlled mutant zombie. Great, love the enthusiasm. Eli said, his mood changing. Even though his future was unsure, and everything inside of him was screaming in fear, Aida seemed to soothe his worried mind. How is this even possible? Didn’t you say that the blight shouldn’t be affecting people this way and that it shouldn’t even be active yet?

  “Well, that’s the thing. It shouldn’t be. The Blight shouldn’t be able to affect players like this; nothing should. Re-writing the code of a Player should be impossible. This disease has serious effects on the long-term playability of the game and may have harmful effects on a player's mind. The system should try to purge this disease rather than control it. You should warn Don to use his emergency log out as soon as possible if the disease ever completely takes hold. I can’t be certain that his brain will be completely unaffected. For now, Williams’ plan should work. While the disease is the system rewriting your code, it still has to follow game logic. You should find a more permanent solution at some point. There is a way to reverse the blight or find a healer strong enough to cure you. Trust the quest chain, and if there’s a way to get rid of it, it will guide you to it. One of the few rules that cannot be broken is that the system cannot generate a quest that cannot be completed.”

  Their group was near to Alyssa’s tent, and Eli saw a few familiar faces. The old wolffen woman, who had been given the berries and food, was making a communal breakfast of old vegetable stew and stale bread. As they passed, she waved and flashed a toothless grin. The vendor who sold Don Eli’s new gear waved as he opened his stall for the day. Their friendliness was an obvious response to his improved standing with the Shadowstalker Pack. While their acknowledgments brought a smile to his face, they did nothing to ease his worry.

  What’s going to happen to Don if this fails? Eli asked Aida, his concern for his friend weighing heavily on him. You said something about the disease affecting his mind.

  “Don will have to exit the system immediately, delete his avatar, then start a new character. It’s impossible to be sure of what would happen if he allowed the blight to take hold. He has access to an emergency log out, even though he is in a self-sustaining pod, he should use it.”

  Emergency log out? Eli asked after hearing the term for the second time. Why can’t I do that?

  “As I said earlier, you have nothing to log out into. When a player logs out, their consciousness is transferred back into their bodies. Each player is connected to a device that allows them to access this world. It can be a pod, suit, or helmet. For safety reasons, all players have access to this feature. Well, except for you.”

  Aida's voice trailed off in the back of Eli’s mind as they entered the makeshift medical facility. At the sight of empty beds, Eli’s mood lightened. The more empty beds there were, the better. The momentary sense of peace dulled at the prospect of dying a gruesome death, either by leeches or the Blight. It was not one that he welcomed. Knowing that Don would most likely survive was the only bright light at the end of his tunnel. When the Wolffen healer saw Eli and Don enter, she smiled, then grew confused at the sight of William and Kelly, who was still playfully fighting off a group of urchins.

  “Who?” Alyssa started, staring at the finely robed man.

  Without a word, the wizard smirked in excitement before reaching into his pocket to fetch the jar of terrifying looking annelids. The sight made Eli chuckle as he thought about Don's nickname for the strange creatures, danger worms. Without looking towards the healer, William answered.

  “You must be Alyssa,” William said, his grin widening as his focus lingered on the jar of squirming leeches in his hand. “These two have told me all about you. My name is William Stormcaller, researcher of all things arcane and mystical. I am here to help your friends.”

  “Oh, okay.” Alyssa said, still confused, “But who’s he?” She asked, pointing to the Gladekin, who had just finished leading the street youths out of the tent.

  Before William could respond, Eli cut him off, skipping the pleasantries. “We have little time, Alyssa. That’s William. The little guy is Kelly, his adopted son. If Don and I are going to survive, we need to hurry. We need two beds, some healing potions, mana potions, and as much privacy as we can get.”

  The healer’s face darkened as she scanned the room. “I don’t exactly have a state-of-the-art hospital here. As you know, space is limited, and there’s not much privacy.” She said, leading them towards the stockroom. “This will have to do. There should be enough room for two bedrolls and some room to move.” Pointing at the empty floor with disappointment in her eyes, she continued, “As for the potions, I don’t have em. I can make some minor health potions from those berries you dropped off, but it will take some time, and I’ll only be able to make a few.”

  To Eli’s surprise, Don pulled another few handfuls of berries from his inventory and placed them on an empty shelf. “I was planning on using these to grind my medical and alchemy skills, but I think this is a little more important.”

  “Don’t worry about the mana potions. I should have enough on hand.” William said, placing the jar of leeches next to Don’s berries.

  A moment later, the magical researcher began retrieving nearly twenty mana potions from his strange box, placing them on a shelf opposite the other items. After he finished with the potions, odd-looking medical devices started appearing in his hands. One seemed to be a mirror with a crystalline handle. The other was a rubbery two-foot-long tube. At one end of the surgical looking object was a metal coupling that he attached to the mirror, the other ended in a small metal concave disc roughly three inches in diameter.

  “I think it’s time to get started. Alyssa, would you be a dear and get to work on those potions? We also need bandages, a scalpel, and a few large containers.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers, “There’s going to be a lot of blood.”

  Chapter 17

  Screams shook the thin, unstable walls of the small storeroom, the sounds of excruciating pain, causing everyone who passed by to grimace. The two adventurers had completely drowned out the moans of the sick and wounded in the nearby medical tent. William had attached only two leeches to each player. He would need to use several more. Unfortunately, for Eli and Don, these magical parasites had no qualms with injuring their food. Whoever they attached themselves to would feel every pulse of blood leave their body, as the leeches drained them of every drop of essence. In the corner of the room, William paused and slapped his forehead.

  “Did I forget to tell them about the pain?” He mumbled. “Oh, well.”

  With a wave of his hand, the once ear-shattering waves of sound stopped. Wile Eli and Don were still screaming, no noise escaped. In pain, the two clutched at pieces of tightly rolled cloth as the foul looking worms drained them of health and mana. Letting loose a silent sigh of relief, William got back to work as the room fell silent.

  “No one needs to hear this,” he said to no one in particular.

  As he turned to look at his two patients, his face scrunched into a grimace. The leeches were doing their jobs, and the two wormlike monsters were enjoying their fill of blood. The
ir bodies rippled in unison with each new draw of the vital fluid. Out the end, not attached to flesh, a black puss-like ooze poured out of them, spilling into large glass containers. Kelly, who had uncovered his sensitive ears, was staring at the process in a mixture of wonder and disgust.

  “What is this stuff,” the diminutive man asked. “It looks like tar or something.”

  “Well, my boy, that is the Blight,” William said, nudging his adopted son a few inches away from the jars. “And I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you. Unless you want me to put some of these on you.”

  A moment later, the two adventurers had another set of the dreadful arcleeches attached to their arms. Forcing himself to watch, Eli saw his health and mana plummet as his blood left his body. He was on the verge of panic. The only thing keeping him and his friend alive was the regenerative effects of the health and mana potions that had been force-fed to them. With each new pulse from the magical worms, several notifications flashed into his vision.

  Arcleech attacks you for 29 damage.

  Effect/s: Mana drain - You lose 25 mana.

  Arcleech attacks you for 30 damage.

  Effect/s: Mana drain - You lose 25 mana.

  Minor Health Potion heals you for 50 health.

  Minor Mana Potion restores 40 mana.

  Eli would have put an end to the procedure after the first leech, but when he saw the inky blackness receding, he knew he had to let it happen. The excruciating pain forced his body to spasm and contract. His veins were on fire as if the blight was flowing in reverse, increasing the pain tenfold. With each draw of essence, he felt more tired. As if each pulse of the worm’s body was sucking his soul from his body. The only reminder that he was still alive was the constant agony.