by Tim Johnson
“Now put this on,” Sulfur said. “I don’t want you to die immediately today.” He threw a sack at Christian.
Holding the sack, a small line of text floated above it. The description listed out all the parts: Chest Plate, Pauldrons, Greaves, Gloves and Shin Guards. The level requirement for everything was Level 2, and it gave Christian +24 Armor Points.
Christian thought ‘equip’ and the suit of armor was immediately on him.
“Also, you left this at the inn,” Sulfur said. He casually tossed Christian the iron dagger his uncle had given him. Christian caught the handle mid-air.
Christian stared up at Sulfur cautiously, the dagger in his palm.
“Yes,” Sulfur said. “I gave you a dagger. You’ll need it.”
Christian tested moving his arm in the armor. The armor was plain and dull, potted with marks, cuts and scratches. The exception was the image of a red fist on a black circle that was freshly on each shoulder. But it didn’t squeak as he moved. In fact, it fitted him perfectly.
Because I am in a game world.
“You look almost useful,” Sulfur said. “Now, follow me.”
Armed? With no cuffs? No blindfold?
Sulfur stopped and turned around, raising a finger. “You’re thinking about trying to escape, aren’t you?”
“Obviously.”
Sulfur gripped Christian by the chest plate and pulled him forward roughly. “By all means, try it. I’ve got the measure of you, Christian. I’ll skin you like the weasel you are. Try and escape and just you see what we’ve got in store for you. We will use you for target practice for every Blight Mage in a hundred miles.”
Christian held Sulfur’s gaze.
Sulfur looked down at him. “I own you, Christian. Sark owns you. Remember that.”
Christian was escorted out the cell by Sulfur’s soldiers. They strode through corridor after corridor and Christian sucked in every detail.
The Kingdom of the Red Fist was sprawling. They passed a great dining hall. The tables were made of rough long dark slabs of wood, and the cavernous ceiling stained black with smoke. Hundreds of war banners marked with the Red Fist hung from the rafters.
They passed soldiers, servants and workers, all of which froze with fear and bowed their heads as Sulfur passed. The sense of fear seemed to bleed like a fresh stab wound through the whole fortress.
The interior was guarded by thick, war-scarred battlements, their curved walls marked with defensive platforms upon which were mounted massive swiveling harpoon guns. Their great bolts were pointed to the sky. He looked up into the clouds and wondered what beasts they were defending against.
The entire fortress was under construction. Beyond, Christian could see thousands of workers building. Sark was spending considerable energy enlarging his fortress.
Why? Who is he defending this from? My uncle?
They walked along a rampart and Christian saw several great stone bowls hundreds of feet across.
“Dragon pits,” Sulfur said. “Sark is very close to a union with the Dragoneers. Valeria’s legendary dragon riders will give him mastery of sky and land both. There is nowhere you will be safe, wanderer. Not even if you fled up into the far reaches of the sky.” Sulfur smiled at a private joke.
They traversed the ramparts until they reached a series of switch-back steps cut into stone, which led down to a central keep. They walked past the stables, in which three giant black horses were kept separate from the rest. The horses were huge, and their eyes were blood red. Their mouths were filled with sharp overlapping, like a wolf.
“Sark’s Road Breakers,” Sulfur said. “The fastest horses in the world. Careful, he doesn’t catch you looking at them like that. He’d likely feed you to them. I’ve seen it happen.”
Beyond were several regular horses, saddled and ready to go. On an older, smaller horse was Alexia. She had been given back her old set of black light-leather armor with a quiver of arrows and a bow. She met Christian’s eyes for a second before looking away.
“What’s happened here then?” Sulfur said. “Yesterday it was all ‘Alexia, I’m going to save youuu’,” Sulfur imitated Christian’s American accent and threw up his arms theatrically. The soldiers around him began laughing. “Kari, you did secure their rooms, didn’t you? We have no time for a lover’s tiff.”
Christian fought the swell of anger inside him.
Kari smirked. “That I did sir.” Then she shoved Christian. It was like getting pushed by a linebacker. “You, mount your horse.”
Christian eyed his small, geriatric mare. She was nearly blind, with her eyes turning milky. Too small for him by far.
I’m sorry old girl, he thought as he pulled himself up.
Sulfur climbed on his thoroughbred stallion. “You are both officially soldiers in the Knight Lord Sark’s army now. Congratulations! Not even death will allow you to escape. For should you die within the borders of his realm, you’ll be reborn back at this fortress. If you die on an official quest, you’ll be reborn on his spawning plinth. No more running around in the dungeons. Valeria is our world now. Your power has become your curse. Sark owns you. You are his. Understand this, accept this, and move on.
“Now, before we can get to killing people, capturing wanderers and razing towns, we’ve got to level you up or just a strong gust of wind will blow you back to the re-birthing dungeons. The team and I are taking you to gear up and discover your weapon affinities back in the charming town of Beaverton. Alexia, you may remember losing your head there. Then we are taking you for your first raid, minded by us. At Knight Lord’s Sark’s behest, you are to increase your power in haste. However, I’m frankly expecting you to fail and die in a hopefully painful way. That is what you wanderers do best.”
Christian looked around them. In their party was Sulfur, Kari, Kit the Samurai and the last of the group was the tall, silent black Archer, Ardios.
Alexia was a level 6 and then it was Christian, who was a meager level 2 and, frustratingly, just a few XP away from level three.
Together they turned their horses and the portcullis gate was cranked up, revealing the misty damp day beyond.
As his old horse clopped along, Christian weighed up his new options. He was still trapped. Sulfur did indeed have the measure of him. While he didn’t understand the difference between all the levels, he knew the gap between 2 and 30 was enough that he didn’t stand a chance. He also couldn’t escape anywhere quick on this old pathetic mare.
They travelled along the path towards Beaverton.
Christian rode behind Alexia. He watched her bounce from side to side. She had ridden before too. She had impressed him in the fight with the witch. She had shown bravery beyond what he had expected of a civilian. There is a lot more to this woman than meets the eye.
He pushed his horse ahead to ride next to her.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” she said.
“Alexia, I have something I need to tell you.”
“You two – shut it! Get back in line,” Kari said from behind.
Christian tried to smile at Alexia, his scar pulling at his lip. “We need to talk.”
Kari was on to them. “I said, shut up.” Kari pulled her horse forward. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
Christian fell back and continued in silence.
After some time, the path turned to cobbles, and the walls of Beaverton emerged from the mist and spread out before them. Compared to Sark’s fortress it was tiny. But as the gates drew back and they entered the town, Christian immediately felt the difference; there was a hubbub and a sense of joviality in the town.
The people here might have hard lives, but they are free.
Hooves clacked against the cobbles of the square. Builders were making repairs to the roof of the Hobgoblin Inn.
“I have some good memories up there,” Sulfur said. “Not just with you two either.”
They stopped further along in the square in front of the blacksm
ith’s and dismounted. Sulfur shoved Christian and Alexia towards the blacksmith’s shop. The rest of their party stayed outside, with Kari taking off to run her own errands.
Inside, the heat of the kiln warmed Christian’s face. It reminded him being inside a tank, with the heat of machinery, the smell of grease and the stink of men. Weapons and armor adorned the walls, all polished to a shine. Beyond the wood counter, to the back of the shop was a huge forge. A stout, broad man was stoking the furnace with an iron rod, and in stark contrast next to him, a tall, thin, pale man was bent double, furiously polishing a shin-greave. It was Leon Podsworth.
Of course, Christian thought. For a moment he was happy to see the man, when suddenly he realized what could happen.
If he recognizes me, he could be in trouble for aiding a wanderer.
Sulfur pounded a fist on the counter. “Master blacksmith.”
The blacksmith turned around, he was burly and broad with a thick dark beard, his skin burnt black up to the elbows.
“My lord,” he said with no fondness, his dark eyes nearly hidden under his bushy eyebrows.
Leon Podsworth turned and almost jumped back into the fire when he saw Christian.
Christian tried to shake his head imperceptibly, mentally begging the man to keep his demeanor calm.
Podsworth’s reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Sulfur. His blue eyes slid from Podsworth to Christian. But he didn’t comment on it. Instead, in his bored drawl, he spoke to the blacksmith. “I wish you’d reconsider the Knight Lord’s kind offer to you.” Sulfur looked around distastefully. “Relocate to the Red Fist Kingdom. I do hate coming to this town.”
The master blacksmith held his head up high. “It was a great honor to be invited my lord, but Beaverton is my home.”
Sulfur wrinkled his nose. “For now. I’d like you to test these wanderers for their Weapon-Path and then give them something that matches their current experience.”
Weapon-Path? What does that mean?
The blacksmith folded his arms. “You know the law as well as I. No master blacksmith can show a wanderer their weapon. It’s too dangerous.”
Sulfur leaned over the counter. “Oh, I certainly sympathize with your ethical high standing. But, the days of the Emperor are over. Sark has broken worse than this. And these are his orders. So – do it.”
The blacksmith unfolded his arms with a sigh. “I’ll do it, but I fear it’s not wise.” He motioned Alexia forward. “Hold out your hands.”
She did so and the blacksmith placed his slab-like hands underneath hers. The air above Alexia’s hands began to move. Tiny glowing particles, the color of rust spun until they had arranged themselves into the shape of a bow. Layer upon layer of detail was added. It was a longbow, the handle made from bubbled material, which looked to Christian like burnt flesh. He could see round gems sparkle in the upper limb and the bow string shone like it was made from a piece of stretched tendon.
“You are a Longbow Archer,” the blacksmith said. “This is a Blighted Bow.”
Sulfur huffed. “A bow I have never seen before. Though the design makes me feel ill, I’d not forget it. Next.”
Sulfur grabbed Christian by the shoulder and shoved him against the counter. “This one is a Swordsman.”
Christian laid his hands on the blacksmith’s. He watched the blacksmith’s dark eyes sparkle against the glowing blue particles which rose from their hands, spinning like ice flakes into the shape of a one-handed sword. The sword was long, with two long spikes that rose from the hand guards. At the base of the blade was a circular dark gem. The blade was thicker in the center, inlaid with three more equal sized circular gems. The whole thing seemed to sing with a deep, forbidden icy power.
It was the most beautiful thing Christian had ever seen.
“Indeed, a Swordsman,” the blacksmith said. “I can feel the blade’s power from here. You would do well not to let this wanderer come into its possession. This is a Blade of Ice. I believe this wanderer was shaped by the ice.”
“Was he indeed,” Sulfur said.
Christian watched as the image of the icy sword slowly spun in the air in front of him.
Beyond were Sulfur’s cold blue eyes staring into his.
“Interesting,” Sulfur said.
Sulfur flicked his gaze towards Leon Podsworth and poor Leon couldn’t control his trembling fear.
Sulfur leant back. “Now, give these wanderers some weapons suitable for their current experience and we will be on our way.” A purse appeared in his hand and he slammed it on the counter. “Within budget.”
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow and looked at Sulfur. “Very well, my lord.”
Sulfur seemed distracted. He turned to Christian and Alexia. “Meet me back outside.”
Christian was suddenly alone with Alexia. The blacksmith and Leon were eyeing them warily.
“Don’t worry,” Christian said. “We aren’t going to run and get you in trouble.”
“That would be appreciated,” the blacksmith said. “My assistant will help you choose a suitable weapon.”
Leon went under the counter, bending his long frame double, before poking along the rack of weapons like a stork in reeds. The blacksmith turned away from them and attended his forge.
Leon was doing his best to ignore them, while his spindly fingers danced along the bows.
“Hey,” Christian said to Leon.
“I think it’s best I pretend that I don’t know you,” Leon said under his breath.
“That’s fine,” Christian said softly. “We are just two guys talking about swords and weaponry. Don’t worry. Be cool.”
Leon’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath.
“Can you make a pair of Golden Shears?” Christian asked.
“What?” Leon squeaked. “What would you need those for?”
“Christian, what are Golden Shears?” Alexia said.
Leon answered her. “They can cut through anything, any rope, wire or chain, even if it’s imbued with a spell.”
Alexia looked at Christian confused, then her eyes widened in horror as she put it together.
Christian took her gently by the shoulder and pulled her away to the other side of the shop.
“What the hell are you thinking?” she hissed.
“Alexia, I’ve been trying to tell you, the witch spoke to me. She wants us to break her free.”
“Well of course she does.” Alexia swallowed uneasily, no doubt recalling the horror of their affinity tests. “After what she did to us, you want to try and free her? She’s a witch. An extremely dangerous witch.”
“She knew my uncle. You didn’t know her, from before?”
“No,” Alexia said. “Christian, she’s probably lying.”
“She was telling the truth,” Christian said. “She hates Sulfur, and an enemy of my enemy is my friend. She could be a powerful ally for us to escape.”
“I have the Quest now,” Alexia said, her eyes scanning in mid-air. “And the Quest language finishes with, or a dreadful foe. And, given what she did to both of us, I think it’s more likely she’s the latter.”
“She’s a prisoner – just like us.”
“She’s a monster.”
Leon coughed awkwardly. Alexia put her hand on Leon’s shoulder and in her other hand appeared the egg shape of the conjoined portal stones. They were blackened, clearly broken. The glowing blue hue gone.
Leon almost jumped back in fear when he saw them. “Portal stones?” he stammered.
“Exactly,” Alexia said. “Can you fix them?”
“No,” he whispered. “It would require a great magic to re-imbue them. You need a sorcerer, not a blacksmith for that.”
Alexia and Christian exchanged a glance. The witch could fix them.
“But can you make the shears?” Christian asked again.
“I can’t,” Leon said. “But he can,” Leon gestured towards the broad back of the blacksmith, noisily working with his forge.
�
�But the things you need, oh it would be nearly impossible,” Leon babbled. “A Golden Ingot, a Celestial Diamond, and a loaded Soul Crystal with a soul trapped inside.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Christian said.
Alexia took a deep sigh and nodded her assent. “Finding those items will be tough, Celestial Diamonds are used to magnify magical power, I’ve only seen one before.”
“It’s what the game wants us to do,” Christian said with a smile.
Alexia locked her dark eyes with his own. “It’s not that kind of game, Christian.”
Leon coughed. “I need to give you your weapons before you get me in trouble.” He gave Alexia a bow and a quiver of arrows. “This will do you well.”
As Christian looked at the bow the details appeared above.
Longbow
Level requirement: 4
Damage: 20 – 25
Alexia seemed to like it, stretching the bow cord and giving a small smile and a brief thank you to Leon.
“And for you,” Leon continued to Christian. “I’m afraid the options are much more limited. You’ll have to come back when you have more battles under your belt. But I think this will do well for now.”
He passed Christian a simple sword.
Steel Sword
One-handed
Level requirement: 2
Damage: 24
Christian held the blade out in front on him. It felt well balanced in his hand and the edge seemed razor sharp.
If only I was level three, Christian thought. Just 25 XP away.
“Thank you,” Christian said to Leon. “We will be back to make those Golden Shears with the master blacksmith.”
Leon gulped but nodded in reply. “Good luck, Christian. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me.”
Outside, Sulfur’s men had bought more gear. Kari fixed a netted bag to her horse’s saddlebag with what looked like large orange Christmas baubles inside. Except they were glowing, and Christian had a feeling they were likely bombs.
Sulfur was tearing meat off a leg of lamb.
They mounted their horses and rode out from the town. Christian felt for his poor horse, but the old girl was stubborn and despite her panting and huffing, she managed to keep up with the rest of them.