by J D Astra
“Bringing progress. Building roads. Cities. A kingdom. Civilizing the dark-natured Wodes, the swamp-dwelling Dokkalfar, and the Accipiter of the far-western deserts, enlightening them in the ways of the Ever-victorious Empire.”
Silhouetted by the setting sun, a grand white castle surrounded by innumerable hills littered with homes faded in as the forces on the battlefield collided. Sprays of blood and spurts of elemental magic sparkled at the impact points, and the cries of the combat filled my ears.
“But the natives of Eldgard are not so quick to give up the old ways—to heel for foreign masters. Though the rebellion is yet small, they fight on. Hour by hour, day by day...”
The ground dropped away, leaving the storm clouds above as I soared over a marshy swamp filled with gnarled deciduous trees and murky water. Another overlay, two dark-skinned Dokkalfar, appeared before me. They stood tall, the male clad in oiled leathers with a wicked bow at his side and fletched arrows at his back, the female in a crudely stitched robe with a short sword affixed to a belt at her side.
Light exploded from behind me, washing away the forest and Murk elves as a flock of Accipiters flew over me, curved right, and loosed nocked arrows from steel bows. The enemy below cowered in the rain of arrows and—
The vision rippled, faded out, and Germanic Wodes working away in a forge overtook the space before me. The furnace blazed, heating my face. I touched my cheek in surprise as the cutscene affected me. The sound of metal on metal rang as a blacksmith hammered down on a red-hot sword.
“But in the far-flung North,” the narrator’s voice boomed again, startling me, “another threat looms.” The working Wodes waved away into frigid mountain peaks topped with pure white snow.
“The reclusive, mountain-dwelling Svartalfar have unwittingly burrowed into the prison of a dusty and long-forgotten god. A monstrous being of true dark, eager to return to the land of mortals once more.”
The scene rushed forward, through the mountainside and deep into the smoldering caverns below. I passed through stout dwarf creatures as they mined away at precious metals and jewels, coming to a rest in front of a crack etched into a rocky mining surface. The wall trembled, and the crack widened, purple-blue light spilling through the opening. A piercing green eye peered through the gap, sending shocks of electricity through my limbs.
“The breach is small, but large enough for Serth-Rog, Daemon Prince of Morsheim, to call acolytes to his cause... Imperial. Rebel. Light. Dark. Living. Dead. Which side will you choose?”
There was a tugging in my gut, and the scene rushed away from me as if I were being flung from the mountain. I passed through the walls harmlessly and sailed backwards through the air away from the frosty peak. My stomach dropped as I soared over the chain of rocky spires, and I resisted the primal urge to close my eyes as I imagined splatting hard against the ground.
The mountain range gave way to smaller hills and green valleys, and my backwards death-flight slowed. My whipping hair changed to a soft flutter, and my feet touched down on solid ground. I fell to my knees, gasping for precious air after holding my breath.
What. A. Rush!
The emotions, the feelings, the sensations, everything was so spot-on to the real thing. I’d never flown backwards through the air over a mountain range at 100 miles per hour IRL, but I assumed it would’ve felt just like that.
I gained my feet, brushing gravel from my roughly sewn robes... those would have to go, soon. The garment was long sleeved, but baggy, brown, and the texture of a potato sack. I felt around and found a string at the waist, which I pulled tighter, and two pockets at the hips. Great.
The air was chilled, sun just reaching the tops of the peaks not far off from the valley I’d landed in, and the wind carried the scent of a campfire. I hummed and closed my eyes. I hadn’t been camping in years. Oh, it was glorious, the smell better than I remembered. But there was something else on the wind, too. The clashing of steel, children screaming, and a host of cackles sounding like the Witch of the West.
My eyes shot open, focusing on the town not far down the barren slope in front of me. Without a doubt, my NPC, non-player character, companion would be there. That entity was the key to success in the game. They would guard me, guide me, and help me with every request I had. Every player started with one, and if they used them right, could be on top of the game in no time.
I scanned the distance between me and the town. It looked as though there’d been a rockslide here not long before, and the base of the hill gave proof of that. A rushing stream carved between the hill I stood on, and the town was full of boulders. I glanced to the left and right, searching for a way off the hilltop. There didn’t seem to be an easy path, so I hiked up my ankle-length brown robes and started down the decline. My clumsy feet slipped, and my palms moistened with fear.
Fear of pain. I knew the Sensory Dev team had worked tirelessly on figuring out a way to lessen pain, or make it less traumatic, but in the end, everything they tried dampened all sensations. It wasn’t the optimal choice, but with time running out, Osmark had to allow the features to proceed as they were.
My right foot came out from under me, and I slid on my butt down to the next large rock, holding it with trembling fingers. I inhaled slowly through my nose and steadied myself. A deep grinding rumbled from my tailbone up to my shoulders, and I spread my hands out from the boulder, reaching for anything. There was nothing else to hold onto as the ground gave way.
Sand and grit kicked into my eyes as the huge stone rolled forward, pulling the dirt around me, and me, with it. My left arm came up to shield my face instinctively, and I tumbled forward. I rolled onto my back, trying to stay on top of the tiny stones coursing down the hillside like an avalanche.
Sharp agony stabbed into my mid-back from a buried rock that poked into me, and I was flung forward onto my knees, striking the slow tumbling boulder in front of me elbow first. I cursed as I pulled my throbbing arm into my chest, but thanked the instinct that saved my face from that hit.
The massive rock picked up speed, dragging me and everything else along faster as I did everything I could not to get pulled under it. I fell forward again and struggled to right myself. My skin burned as a thousand tiny rocks whipped against me, into my squinted eyes, and up my nose. I flipped upright for a brief second and gasped as I caught a glimpse of the rushing water below and the cliff face just ahead.
Crack-splash!
The first big stone dropped to the water, and I searched frantically for anything to grab onto. Nothing, not a damned tree branch, bush, or stable rock. I surrendered, trying instead to just stay on top of the moving earth.
Clunk, clunk, splash!
The boulder that started it all rolled off the edge. I kicked my heels into the quick-flowing dirt, but it was fruitless. My feet crossed the edge, and I screamed, arms pinwheeling as I dropped. I pulled myself into a ball, one arm wrapped over my head and the other around my knees.
The icy shock of dropping into the river tightened my muscles. I bumped into the large boulder and released my legs, kicking forward with all my might. I paddled hard and broke the top of the water, sucking in a quick breath. My arms felt like tight rubber bands were pulling them back as I reached out to pull myself from the splash zone.
A microwave-sized rock dropped in next to me, and I forced myself not to stop, not to look up. Just swim. I’d never been a swimmer, and the burlap sack of a robe wasn’t making it any easier.
Another large stone fell ahead of me, and I dove under. Breaching the water would slow the rocks down some, hopefully enough to not kill me. I kicked harder, but the stream was pulling me along sideways and turning me around. A muffled splash and sharp pain on the left side of my head let me know the worst had happened.
I was going to die four minutes into the game.
Risi Rumble
SEARING PAIN THROBBED from the left side of my skull to the right as I floated to the top of the water. My face breached the surface, and I gasped for
air as a notification popped up in the corner of my vision.
<<<>>>
Debuff Added:
Concussed: You have sustained a severe head injury! Confusion and disorientation; duration, 1 minute.
<<<>>>
Frigid mountain runoff flooded my mouth, and I sputtered. The splashes of boulders all around me were muted as a rushing that overpowered the sounds of flowing water filled my head. Warmth trickled down my ear and onto my neck, coloring the water around me red.
I reached my arms out clumsily as I tried to stay above water. It was hard to see with my eyes clouded and darkness closing in around my periphery. Each kick of my legs, paddle of my hands, and breath in my lungs drove me forward out of danger, and I clung to that hope. I needed to get ashore, I needed to find my NPC, I needed to collect that scroll and figure out what Osmark had planned for this world.
Though my legs were nearly numb, I kicked harder. As the Concussed debuff timer ticked down to zero, my vision returned to me. A watermill was treading not far down the river, exactly what I needed to get myself out of this mess. The rapids pulled me this way and that as I steered my frozen body toward salvation.
A dip in the river pulled me under, and the cut on my temple ached in anger. Just a few more feet! My arms and legs moved like a marionette’s, flailing about as if someone else were pulling the strings haphazardly. My tight fingers groped at the slippery wood of the watermill as it spun with the swiftly coursing river.
All of the edges were soft from water wear, and my hands were too weak to clamp down. I was drifting away from the only handhold possibly for miles. In a fit of desperation, I stuffed my arm into the rotating spokes of the waterwheel, and it caught. My legs drifted along downstream as I held fast to the wood, and it whined in protest at the added weight.
My muscles tensed and convulsed as I painstakingly maneuvered around the wheel and pushed up onto dry land. I rolled over, gazing up at the purple-pink clouds drifting calmly in a deepening blue sky. A new pop-up appeared.
<<<>>>
Debuff Added
Hypothermia: Your body temperature has dropped below 95 degrees Fahrenheit, and you are entering hypothermia. Stamina regeneration is reduced by 30%, movement speed is reduced by 50%, and you improve skills 20% slower. Duration, 10 minutes.
Note: Finding dry clothes or warming by a fire will reduce the duration of Hypothermia by 8 minutes.
<<<>>>
Dry clothes. Fire. I shivered, rolling to my side and crawling to my feet. There was a cobblestone path leading up the riverbank, and I followed it to the watermill cabin. I grabbed at the rusted metal handle and tugged, but the door was locked. I bashed my shoulder into it once, twice, and finally the frame cracked, gaining me entry.
I toppled to the dark floor, muscles vibrating in desperate attempts to warm themselves.
Someone cried out as I tried to gain my feet. “Rah!”
Pain whipped into my back, and I yelped, crumpling from my knees to my belly.
The voice of a child accompanied the next strike. “Get away!” He was a lot stronger than his voice let on.
“Please stop.” My lips quivered, and the words were quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He whacked me again, and I rolled to my side, catching the stick as it came down for a fourth strike.
He whined, “Let go, let go of me!”
I pulled myself up holding the end of the fishing harpoon and glared at the boy. He couldn’t have been more than eight.
“Dry clothes,” I growled.
He released the harpoon. Dirt streaked his face where tears once carved their way down, and he trembled as he backed away.
“I’m here to he-help.” I shook. “I’m freezing.”
He backed into the corner.
I didn’t have time for this, but I needed to get a weapon, get dry clothes, and find my NPC. A cackle, much like the high-pitched maniacal ones I’d heard on the hill, drifted through the open door and the boy cowered.
“What’s your name?” I crouched next to him, holding my hand out as my teeth chattered.
The boy sniffled. “Derik.” He wiped his nose on the back of his arm and stood. “If you promise to help my mom, I’ll get you the work clothes.”
<<<>>>
Quest Alert: A Son’s Love
Derik’s mother has been taken captive at the center of the village. Help a son get his mother free, and you’ll earn the favor of the townspeople of Havasil. Accepting the quest will earn you [Worker’s Clothes].
Quest Class: Unique, Personal
Quest Difficulty: Moderate
Success: Find and rescue Derik’s mother at the center of town.
Failure: Fail to save Derik’s mother, or allow Derik to be captured.
Reward: The People’s Favor; 1,500 XP.
<<<>>>
“I’ll help her.” I checked under the sack I was wearing to ensure I was still wearing that weird bikini from the character creation screen. Luckily, the devs hadn’t made things awkward.
Derik turned to rummage through a pile of nets, and I peeled the heavy robe from my vibrating body.
“Don’t t-turn around, just toss the clothes over your shoulder.” I covered myself with my arms, just in case. He did as I instructed and kept his eyes on the wall.
I opened my inventory screen and inspected the clothes. They weren’t really armor, but they were dry. The black [Twill Work Pants] had a +3 to Fishing skill and the dirt brown [Twill Work Shirt], likely not brown when it was first made, had +1 to Dexterity. Not a good start, but it would have to do. I put them on hastily, and the Hypothermia debuff dropped from 7 minutes to 0, then disappeared. I hugged myself for comfort as the heat returned to my limbs.
Another shrill laugh brought my attention back to the combat outside the cabin and the quest notification blinking away in the corner of my vision. I grabbed the harpoon and snapped off the spear end, discarding it. I’d researched the available classes before entering the game and knew I wanted to be a Sorceress. I couldn’t stray too far from my class restrictions or the trainer wouldn’t see me as a fit candidate for the role. Picking up a hammer, for example, or grabbing some heavy armor would do me in for sure... but some cloth armor and a makeshift staff should get me on the path to a Sorceress.
I turned to the door and poked my head out.
Derik grabbed at my sleeve and whispered, “Good luck, lady.”
“Stay hidden. Don’t leave this room. I’ll tell your mother where to find you.”
He nodded vigorously and pushed the door shut as I walked into the fading light.
The worn dirt path was hard to see in the twilight, but the presence of dancing firelight at the edge of the next building led the way. I held the broken staff firm in both hands, ready to whack anything that came near me, much like Derik had.
A shadow passed by the fire and a short, gangly creature sped through the alley. I froze, but the thing turned back, a manic smile on its long green face. It laughed, pulling a dagger from the belt at its side as it charged me.
I positioned myself for a heavy swing and turned the staff into the path of the [Heckling Goblin].
“Gruh!”
The staff landed solidly against the creature’s chest, and the goblin fell to the side.
<<<>>>
Skill: Two-handed Staves
Whether you’re swinging it around or using it to walk, a Two-handed Staff is a tool of many uses. Two-handed Staves do not have special combat bonuses, but give the wielder the benefit of melee at a distance, decreasing your chances of being struck.
Skill Type/Level: Passive, Level 1
Cost: None
Effect: Decreases the wielder’s chance of being struck in melee combat by .5%
<<<>>>
“Disable frivolous notifications!” I waved the pop-up away and focused on the filthy creature before me. It wheezed, likely from broken ribs, and came up to its knees. It gurgled and licked its lips. It pulled a dagger from the rough
loincloth at its waist, then lunged at me with surprising speed.
I parried the blade with my staff, then whacked its arm away and followed up with a swift kick to its face. If I wasn’t careful, I’d put myself on the path to a monk... Too much bo staff use or hand-to-hand combat would start building my skills toward that class kit. Of course, I could just choose to be a monk. No, Sorceress was way too cool to pass up.
The goblin stumbled back, and I swung hard with the staff, landing a hit squarely on its jaw. There was a snap, and the creature crumpled to the ground. I stared down at the dead thing, shocked. I’d actually killed it.
I shook off the thought and rolled the body over to inspect its inventory. The dagger was not of good quality, only worth a few copper pieces, but I was broke and my carry capacity was doing fine for now, so I grabbed it. Next, was a necklace of small... ears. Children’s ears.
“Help, Mommy!” The cry of a young girl snapped me back from disgust, and I left the body, heading toward the sound. There was a torch at the edge of the crude mud-and-straw building, and maybe fifty feet from there, the center of “town.” It was more like a collection of houses and a business or two, probably not even an inn. I peeked around the corner of the building, staying out of the light.
It was difficult to get a bead on the scene at the village center. A huge, forest green Risi man towered above all the rest, slashing low at the goblins as they jabbed at his calves and thighs. The Risi roared, his three-inch, tusk-like lower canines glinting with saliva. Ew.
Every player in V.G.O. was started with an NPC to make sure they didn’t get wrecked and could play most of the game solo if they wanted, and that ogre-thing was probably mine. Why, why did it have to be a freaking Risi?
“Come on!” the Risi yelled, stomping on a goblin that got too close, ending it in a squelch.
Ugh, it was definitely my NPC. Why had the game’s Myers-Briggs analysis paired me up with this thing?
I scanned the clearing, struggling to pick out the details. Other races had some cool aided night vision, but not Wodes—they didn’t get squat other than no restrictions.