Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset

by James Osiris Baldwin

  My hope was that Bryos had enough ships coming and going that we could vanish before the Mata Argis showed up. They were the reason that I had a cold, and why I was still only Level 8 – barely – and Karalti was only Level 1. We were currently marked with the Fugitive status. Every time I’d attempted a sidequest, visited a merchant, tried to stay at an inn or made any trouble after escaping the Eyrie of Saint Grigori, Ilia’s finest appeared out of thin air and began to hunt us. Each time we’d fought them, they’d gotten harder. The last group, in some podunk Ilian village I couldn’t even remember the name of, had been ten levels higher level than me. There had been no fight: we’d had to run.

  “Not even little peek?” Karalti asked, as we cut down an alley toward the docks.

  “Not even little peek.”

  “Ooookaaayyy.” Karalti wheezed a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew back into the cloak, leaving only the tip of her nose and her nostrils outside. “Karalti smell?”

  “Karalti can smell. But keep your head covered.”

  “Eeep!” She made a happy chirp, nose working overtime. “Smells good! Like fishies!”

  I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help but smile.

  Since fleeing the Skyrdon of St. Grigori with Karalti four days ago, we been relentlessly hounded by the Mata Argis, the secret police who enforced the Warden’s rule in Ilia. They wanted to kill me and drag Karalti back to the Skyrdon, the dragon knights who would force her to breed the next generation of enslaved dragons for their order. As a result, we had been making do by hunting and brewing potions, killing monsters, and dispatching mercenaries and bandits. The EXP had been pathetic, but the potions I’d been able to sell for a silver here, a silver there. Still, without the ability to do much in the way of quests, levelling had all but ground to a halt. Entering Bryos was a huge risk, and the only reason we were in the city at all was because it was the only way to escape the reach of Ilia for good. I intended to get on a skyship for my fictional homeland, Tuungant, and leave this stinking shitheap of a country behind.

  Gold rolled and clinked inside my pack as we turned a corner and lit on the inn I was supposed to be looking for.

  The Whistling Clam - yes, really - was a large ramshackle inn with three stories and two balconies, the kind that was sure to be smashed during dramatic player-vs-NPC bar fights. The entire building was painted sky blue, the color flaking off in patches from the damp filthy wood beneath. Anxiously, I walked Cutthroat over to a noticeboard highlighted by my HUD. A blinking blue arrow hung over the flight schedule for Tungaant.

  Glancing back down the street, I reached out to it and ripped a copy into my Inventory, turned Cutthroat around, and nudged her to walk back down the alley beside the inn as I had my HUD read it to me telepathically.

  “Let’s see…” I muttered aloud, reining Cutthroat to a stop. “Oh man, we are so frickin’ lucky.”

  “Huh?” Karalti’s nose lifted up the edge of my cloak.

  “There’s a flight boarding in thirty minutes. Long trip with about ten port stops… but still.” I said, folding the timetable back into my Quest Items. “And the fee listed on the Archemipedia checks out. All we have to do is stay down and stay cool, and we’re out of this pigpen.”

  “I’m hungry,” Karalti said, her tone dreamy with longing.

  “You’re always hungry, little Tidbit.”

  “Can we find something to eat?” Karalti pressed in against my back, shivering and hot.

  Ever since hatching, Karalti had been ravenous. She hadn’t grown much in size since she’d hatched, but I’d noticed that the closer she got to Level 2, the flakier and duller her scales had looked and the more she’d wanted to eat. And damn, the kid could eat.

  “There should be a stable around here somewhere,” I replied. “I can smell it. Come on, Cutthroat. Move your butt.”

  Cutthroat stopped trying to scratch her muzzle off and began to pad forward, tail lashing.

  Most riding animals in Archemi were meat-eaters, so public stables provided them with offal, spoiled hides, rodents and probably the odd murdered pickpocket in ‘hospitality troughs’ outside inns and taverns. The troughs and stalls reeked terribly, but hookwings were scavengers capable of stomaching even the rottenest meat. I’d learned this when Cutthroat returned to camp one night chewing on a human body she’d dug out of a bog. She’d been fine. I, on the other hand, would never be okay ever again.

  I basically let Cutthroat guide us to the nearest stable, which was on the other side of The Whistling Clam in a small courtyard facing Hell’s Walk, the street dividing the buildings from the docks. She surged eagerly toward the stalls and the trough of sun-ripened, fly-blown pig guts inside. Surprisingly, there were no other hookwings in there already. No stable hand, either.

  I kept an eye out behind us, and finally opened my cloak up. “Okay, Karalti. Go grab something to eat.”

  “Yay! Food’s the best! Yay!” Karalti kicked off my leg, flapping like a bat. One wing hit me in the jaw, snapping my head back. Once the stars faded, I dropped down to the ground with a sigh, catching Cutthroat by the reins. While she foamed at the mouth, I unequipped her [Iron Muzzle] and folded it into my inventory. “Don’t eat too much, Tidbit. You have to be ready to fly.”

  “Oki!” The little queen dragon landed gracefully on the edge of the trough and began to chow down like her life depended on it.

  I was worried that I was doing something wrong with her. According to her character menu, dragons grew and matured by levelling. Karalti was still the size of a small dog, with feet and hands too big for her scrawny neck and wedge-shaped head. When she’d hatched, her gleaming black skin had rippled under light with colored fire, like opal. Flashes of blue, orange, green, gold and red glowed between every dark scale. Now, her skin was dull and flaky.

  While my saurian buddies pigged out, I went to the outside of the stable and kept watch over the strangely empty yard. From here, I could see out the gate and onto the street with perfect clarity. I kept an ear out for strange noises or conversations, and restlessly brought up Karalti’s Path information.

  Dragon Character Information

  Leveling Your Mount

  Your NPC mount has her own EXP pool that is independent from your own. Like you, she levels by gaining experience from combat, training, and practicing her skills. Unlike you, your dragon only gains three kinds of EXP: Combat EXP, Skill EXP, and a special type of EXP called Lexica.

  Combat EXP is gained by going on adventures, fighting enemies, and completing quests. When your dragon completes a quest with you, the two of you each receive 100% Combat EXP from the quest. Any EXP you gain from winning combat is split. If you fight and kill a monster but your dragon doesn’t help, only you gain that EXP. If the two of you kill it together, you each earn 50% of the total EXP from that monster.

  Lexica

  Lexica is a form of EXP unique to dragons that allows them to comprehend the Words of Power written into their blood. As your dragon gains more Lexica, they can learn spells and unique abilities in addition to their Path and Advanced Path. All dragons are born with the ability Gift of the Blood, which allows them to begin interpreting and manifesting Words of Power without needing to use any special tools or extra mana. At Level 2, they have enough Lexica to manifest their most important Word: their breath weapon.

  Lexica EXP is gained as your dragon matures. Between Level 2 and Level 31 (when she is fully mature), she will gain a total of 60 Lexica points that can be spent on spells or unique abilities. This is enough to select 10-20 possible spells/abilities. You cannot change these abilities, so choose wisely!

  Most spells require 3 Lexica points to acquire, but some spells/abilities require as many as 6 points.

  Dragons are immune to mana toxicity and do not need any tools to control or contain mana when performing magic. However, the tradeoff is that the dragon’s abilities have a long cooldown period, and casting too many spells in a row while airborne may cause the dragon to faint while flying, as each s
pell depletes their blood. They are also restricted to the spells and abilities determined by their type. Your dragon’s character menu lists their type and sub-type (if applicable).

  Your dragon is a Queen dragon, which means that the Words of Power in her blood are unique to her, and the combination of abilities and spells available to her are not shared by any other dragon in Archemi. Her skill trees and the advanced paths available to her reflect this.

  My dyslexic ass was still no good at reading, so I had the HUD telepathically narrate the page to me for the millionth time while the noise of the street filtered in. Even with the mental chatter, I could hear and distinguish every conversation going on outside and on the balconies of The Whistling Clam. That was because I was now literally a mutant. I had passed the Trial of Marantha, the test given to aspiring dragon knights so that they could withstand all of the challenges that riding and fighting on a dragon presented. G-forces, extreme temperatures, vertigo, and perhaps most importantly, mana poisoning.

  “...What do you mean you saw him with Kella?!”

  “...Clams and cockles! Fresh clams, six for six!”

  “...I don’t know. That hulk looks like it couldn’t make it crosst me gods’ damn bathtub, let alone the Sea of Blades...”

  “... girls at THAT place got the pox. Last time I went there, woke up three days latah with blistahs down there...makin noise no blistahs ought to make.”

  And a different voice: more cultured, out of place. “...Yes, foreign. He’s quite distinctive, with long hair like in the drawing... yes, he has it tied back, like a savage. You saw him? Where did he... is that so?”

  My eyes snapped open.

  “Karalti,” I said aloud, turning to stalk back inside the stable. “Go hide in the rafters.”

  The little dragon chirped and cocked her crested head, a fillet of meat still dangling from her jaws. She regarded me with innocent violet-white eyes, radiating confusion.

  I pulled the Spear of Nine Spheres off Cutthroat’s saddle and spun it around until the long, glaive-like blade pointed down. “Go. The Mata Argis are here.”

  Karalti hissed, and then sprung into the air. At Level 1, her wings were still long enough and strong enough to carry her short distances, even when weighed down with food.

  I went to the edge of the stable, the head of the Spear held low to the ground. The weapon wasn’t much to look at: a seven-foot long, dark metal polearm with faint engravings softened and dulled by age. The head of the glaive was a full-tang, curved metal blade. I’d scrubbed the tarnish off, but even after close to a month of use the weapon – an ancient magical relic – still looked like a broken antique:

  Ruined Spear (Spear of Nine Spheres)

  Soulbound Weapon

  Slot: Two-handed

  Item Class: Relic

  Item Quality: Ruined

  Damage: 25-55 Slashing or Piercing

  Durability: 27% (-6 damage)

  Weight: 1 lb

  Special: +2 Dexterity, Soulbound, +50 HP, +2 Defense

  A weapon reputed to be the Spear of Nine Spheres. To repair it, you will need to find a Mastersmith capable of reforging Lazula (bluesteel) magical artifacts.

  "Time for me and you to do what we do best, my girl.” I adjusted my grip on the Spear. “Break shit and kill things.”

  Chapter 2

  From the shadows, I watched the seven men move into position. One Mercenary stayed outside of the fence while the other six filed in and fanned out. They acted like professionals who knew how to work together, but the way they were moving told me that they weren’t a hundred percent sure where I was. Either that, or they had someone approaching from behind the stable. They were probably DPS: a Thief, Rogue, Assassin, or similar Path.

  I pulled Cutthroat around by her reins, pointed her in the direction of the approaching vanguard, and swatted her as I gave her the codeword command for ‘attack’. “Icecream!”

  The hookwing knew what that word meant. Murder.

  She lowered her head and charged out of the stable, breaking out into the open with a roar while I bounded out back to face the unseen rearguard.

  Two Level 10 Mercenary Rogues, one with a net, the other with a crossbow, had jumped the fence and were coming up from around the building. I nearly ran into the net-carrier - and reflexively brought the butt end of my Spear around to hit him on the side of his head. As he staggered, I triggered one of my skills, Shadow Dance. I shot to the side, a blur of darkness, as the other man aimed and fired his crossbow in the wrong direction. I emerged out of Shadow Dance almost right behind him, slashing at his neck.

  [You Backstabbed Mercenary Rogue!]

  [Critical Hit!]

  The Mercenary’s head went flying, hitting the other guy as he scrambled up. He was hardened enough to not juggle it and scream. Covered in blood, snarling obscenities, he hurled the net at me and drew a pair of daggers. I heard men screaming in front of the stable, then a saurian shriek of rage - and pain.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart!” I called to Cutthroat, knocking the net away with the butt of the spear and whirling it to parry the first sword strike with the pointy end. “I’m coming!”

  Mercenaries called to each other, and boots thundered around both sides of the stable as I dodged, blocked, then hit the soldier’s blade with a powerful strike, sending it flying out of his lacerated hand. I triggered Lunge, and drove the foot-long spear blade and part of the haft through his chest. He was a high enough level that it didn’t kill him outright, but the kick to the chest to get the spear out of his body and the [Bleed] debuff sure as hell did.

  There was a cry from the yard. “He’s out back!”

  “Where’s the dragon!?”

  Hiding, assholes. I ground my teeth, and charged out to join Cutthroat.

  The hookwing was surrounded, trying to fight in multiple directions at once. Men with pikes kept her from their throats, while crossbowmen plugged her full of bolts. Three [Mercenaries] were torn apart like wet rags on the ground.

  I willed my body to become immaterial again. The tattoo on my right hand blazed with cold, sending shooting numbness through my body. My HP drained fractionally as I slithered into a haze of dark smoke. I dashed in past Cutthroat, supernaturally fast, and reappeared just behind one of the Mercenaries who was attacking her. He spun, panicked, and struck a glancing blow off my shoulder armor as the others rushed in. I danced back like a ghost, blowing around one of the pikemen and reappearing behind and to the side of him. The mobs converged on me, and as soon as they massed up, I deployed the nuke: my newest ability and first AOE attack, Umbra Burst.

  “Hrragh!” I slammed the end of my spear into the ground, discharging the built-up dark energy in my body. Twisted thorny vines of shadow sprung from the ground, lashing out to capture - and puncture - legs and arms. The men screamed in confusion and fear as ice crawled up along their flesh. I capitalized on the short Frozen debuff with another ability: Blood Sprint, which powered a slashing strike that knocked three of the men off their feet and sent them to the ground, and its combo chain ability Blood Storm.

  The dark mana swirling around my spear turned dark red as I whirled the polearm around and cut a swath through the Mercenaries. Each successful blow restored health, and my HP jumped well above what I’d lost using Shadow Dance. Three of them screamed and fell to the ground, their skin dry and stretched tight over the bones of their faces.

  Two weeks ago, I’d have been disturbed by what I was doing. But now, I had Karalti – and I would have eaten a man alive if that’s what it took to protect her.

  “Oriaysal!” The Mata Argis Agent, who had stayed out of the battle until now, leveled his hands at me. Only then did I spot what he’d been hiding under his cloak. He was wearing gauntlets reinforced with black matte crystal capsules and flexible tubing, the leather glowing with runes.

  A spellcaster. He’d been letting his men wear us down. And he was Level 25.

  The spell went off like a flashbang, blinding Cutthroat and me
. It was like being stabbed in the eyeballs with a needle. NPCs who had been drawn to us to watch the fight fled, while screams of terror echoed from the street.

  I struggled to keep position, hold a fighting stance, but I took hits from all sides as the Blindness debuff ticked down. Worse, I heard the mage speak another Word of Power. “Thoram!”

  Thunder cracked, and suddenly I was flying, and not in the fun way. The energy slammed into me and surged through my limbs. Like a bowl of wet noodles thrown at a wall, I hit the side of the stable, limbs turned to jelly, then bounced and clattered onto the ground.

  Or at least, I thought it was the stable. My vision swam back into view, and I saw that I’d actually flown across the yard, through the open gate, tumbled across the road, and hit the side of a large shipping container at the water’s edge. Barely ten feet away was a flimsy knee-high barrier and a sheer five-hundred-foot drop into the churning abyss that passed for Archemi’s oceans. 300 HP had vanished like a bad dream.

  Groaning, I picked myself up to see the spellcaster whirl around and cast on Cutthroat as she charged him down. This spell engulfed my hookwing in a cloud of ice. Cutthroat gave a croaky squawk as she toppled to the ground.

  Fuck, this guy was fast. I gulped down a couple of healing potions as I dashed for the gate and slammed into the swordsman who barreled at me, clumsily swinging. I slashed him to the side, and he fell, clutching his spurting throat. I bounded forward, leaping like a cricket in a bid to land on the mage, but my spear and feet slammed into an invisible barrier. My eyes widened, just before he casually blasted me with the other hand.