“Okay.”
“What happens to a fighter who won’t stop even though he has no energy left in his body?”
“He finds hidden reserves, picks up his sword again, and finishes the job. I’ve read a lot of epic fantasy books over the years,” I said because it was my turn to be wise.
“That is not at all what happens. Now listen up. A fighter can only use his muscles for as long as his body allows. Once he can no longer swing a sword, he is going to die in battle. Would you not agree?”
“Yeah, you got me there, bro.”
“The same applies to a mage. If you cast too many spells too quickly together, you run the risk of burning yourself out. Then you will be unconscious and unable to fight. Do you know what happens to a mage who can’t get off the ground?”
“Yeah I get it,” I said sheepishly.
“Tell me then what happens to him or her?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “He or she will die.”
“Precisely. Now that brings us to the second matter. You simply can’t drink back potion after potion to restore your mana. You must allow your mind a moment’s respite. That is why mages need to stay behind a fighter, or better yet, more than one.”
“How will I know when I’ve done too much and needed to rest, is it the start of the pain?”
“Each mage is different. However, that is an excellent warning that you must back down. Allow your head to clear and then cast your next spell,” Ansalon advised.
“Okay, but is there a way to make spell casting easier?”
“I’m glad you asked. Now let us look over your book, Walt. I will help you allocate your points, and we will reserve one or two for your future mastery of the flow of mana.” Ansalon held out his hand.
I removed the book from my bag and handed it to Ansalon. He flipped through the pages, nodded, grunted a few times, and even did an “ah hah” as he tapped one of the pages.
I’m not sure what I expected, but training was about as anticlimactic as being told your vehicle passed an emissions test.
Total let-down.
Ansalon dragged his chair next to me at the needlessly ornate and parchment-covered table. Really, why were we even in this room?
“So how do I do it? Got a training yard out back or something? Do I get to cast spells like a maniac while you hold my hand?”
“Not quite,” Ansalon said. “You have five points in total. Three are destructive in nature, and two are in weaponry. You should follow the line you have already excelled at and continue with Draedor’s spells.”
“Sounds good to me, but do I even need weapon points?”
“That was a better question to ask before you started swinging that,” he leaned over and looked at my choice of arms. “Mace.”
“It’s all I had when we got started,” I said in defense.
“An excellent skill. As we discussed, what does a mage who has exceeded his powers do?”
“Lays down and gets his ass kicked,” I said. “Unless he has a trusty weapon at his side.”
“You can learn after all,” Ansalon smiled.
“Yeah. I’ll save those. Should I hit up a weapon trainers guild next?”
“Straight away if I were you.”
“So what’s next?”
“You have a healing spell available. I should think it would come in handy. But it would mean practicing the spell very slowly. No more than once a day. Shall I activate the healing line? It will cost three of your points.”
“Hmm.” I gave it some thought. We had come across a lot of health potions out in the wild. Did it even make sense to learn a healing spell this early in the game? That would only leave me with one more skill point to pour into the spell line I had already unlocked.
“I’ll put them all into Draedors.”
“A word of caution first. Until you have reached level 6 you are only allowed to keep two spells active, which you have now. Learning a new spell will simply remove your lowest level spell from your repertoire.”
“Only 2 spells? That’s some ganked up stuff,” I said.
“I see,” Ansalon nodded.
“So how do we do it? I’ve been curious about that since I got here,” I said excitedly.
“I will take care of that,” Ansalon said. “Of course there is the question of payment. To allocate all three points into Draedor, it will be three silver and three coppers.”
“Wait, I have to pay for this?” I said, and the speech icon went active in my HUD.
“Of course you must pay for it, my boy. Nothing in The Realms of Th’loria is free,” he said.
“Yeah? Dying is,” I muttered.
“A cost there as well to the body and soul, would you not agree?”
Shit. He had me there.
“Let me see how much money I have,” I said and dug money out of my bag.
I had taken some coins from the bandit cave, but we had intended to sort everything and divide it between the three of us later on. I found a pair of silvers, and a few coppers, even though a few more coins sat at the bottom of my pouch.
“I have this much,” I said, and my speech icon flashed.
“Not enough. However, this will cover three of the points if I apply a discount. This is of course out of the ordinary and at my discretion.” Ansalon steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin.
“Wait. Let me look again,” I said and untied my bag from my belt.
I peered inside and spotted a few more silver but also a half-dozen copper. I did a little math and pulled out the rest of the coppers.
“How about now?”
“Close enough I suppose,” Ansalon said and scooped the coins up. They quickly disappeared inside of his robe with barely a noise.
“Cool. So how long will this take? Should I rest up a little bit before we begin?”
Ansalon looked at me quizzically.
“I mean, what is the next step?” I followed up my first question.
“This will only take a moment,” Ansalon said.
He flattened the book on the desk and then ran his hand over the page. He placed a finger on the skill lines and closed his eyes for a moment.
Each time he allocated one of the points, strange things happened. The book’s skill bar reset and the asterisks disappeared. The oddest was when they hit me. Like thumps to the back of the brain, I became aware of pathways opening up. My mana pool surged and expanded, then shrank again back to its normal size.
“All done,” Ansalon said and handed the book back to me.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Of course. When you have more points, return, and I shall allocate more to the skills of your choice. Don’t forget to bring enough coin,” he smiled gently.
“Okay,” I said and then sat back in the chair, a little deflated.
“We have other things to discuss, but for now you should rest. As I mentioned earlier, I have a mighty quest to charge you with. However, it would be better to do it with your friends here. Without their assistance, I fear you shall not succeed.”
“So we’re done here, for now, and you want to give me a quest in the morning. This is so meta,” I said.
“As you say. Now get some rest and study your spells. We shall talk more in the morning,” Ansalon rose from the desk, stretched, and retrieved his staff.
He turned to the door, opened it, and gestured for me. I grabbed my staff and then stopped.
“Is this staff special? A goblin had it, and it seemed cool, but there are no markings on it,” I asked and held it out.
“I sense power, yes. There is more to the staff, but its real purpose may be hidden. Use it wisely, and it shall reveal itself to you,” Ansalon said like the mysterious mystic he was. “Now off you go.”
I stepped into the doorway and found the mages working at their stations had not moved in an hour. Talk about dedication… Or game logic.
“Thanks for all the help. I guess we’ll talk again in the morning,” I said.
�
�Enjoy your night at the guild, Walter.”
It wasn’t until much later that I realized Ansalon had addressed me by my full first name.
18
TRAINED TO KILL
Leveling up in Realms of Th’loria was a pretty simple matter. You collected training points, went to a trainer, and requested that they allocate them to your chosen skills. Skill points were generally acquired by going out on an adventure and using a weapon or spell for example. Got a bunch of points in sword fighting? You could pick a number of skills like “spinning attack,” where the player swung the sword around their body and struck multiple opponents. The same thing went for magic. If you collected a bunch of points in fire magic, like tossing flames around, for instance, you were allowed to select spells and pour points into their respective spells.
Occasionally a guild would give you skill points because you did something epic. These were well documented, and players knew exactly which quests to follow to get extra points.
That was the current game of Th’loria. The game we were in was old, and the skill trees were limited, to say the least.
I rose the next morning with renewed vigor. The mages met in a dining area and shared warm bread, platters covered with slices of meat and cheese, and there was also an assortment of berries and melons. I ate with gusto, and when I was offered tea, I gratefully accepted.
Karian had mentioned that the tea was a good substitute for coffee but I had scoffed, and I had also been very wrong.
It had an earthy aroma, and it was sweetened with honey. A small pitcher of milk made the rounds and mages poured measures into their mugs and then sipped the steaming liquid with satisfied smacks of lips and groans of pleasure.
I took a cautious sip, and it was like being hit by a train. The tea was strong and bitter, but the bite of herbs sat on my tongue long after I had swallowed. It reminded me somewhat of cumin, and that wasn’t even the best part.
I’ve had my fair share of coffee over the years. Everything from instant to a vacuum method that was one of the best cups of Kona in the world. I got a rush, but it was more mellow in that it didn’t make me jittery. Once I left, I was going to write a sonnet about the tea.
“What is this stuff called?” I asked.
“Tea,” Ansalon replied.
“I got that part,” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “What kind of tea?”
“It is simply called tea,” Ansalon replied.
“Well Lorian tea is the shit,” I grinned. “Where I come from they have a million kinds of tea. Jasmine, black, raspberry, strawberry, and chamomile. If it can be boiled, it’s probably been made into tea.”
“Our tea is nothing special, my boy,” Ansalon said. “It is purchased from the monks of Calia Rai in Greater Nashara.”
“Ah,” I said and bit my tongue. Why had some of the names changed in this world? Nashara had been one land, but I had now heard it referred to as Greater and Lower Nashara.
“I believe the monks incorporate a mushroom of some sort,” Ansalon closed his eyes and sipped from his cup.
I lowered mine.
“Mushrooms? Am I going to start tripping balls?”
“A curious turn of phrase. As to tripping balls, I can’t say; however, this brew will keep you well energized for the morning,” Ansalon smiled slightly.
I didn’t take another sip because I was concerned about side effects. As I ate the rest of my breakfast, I decided it was probably safe because the walls hadn’t started melting yet.
After my meal, I wanted to go back to the little cot they had provided me in the back room and sleep for a few more hours. Since we had arrived, I had barely had any sleep except our interrupted nap in the cave.
My body ached from all of the damn walking, fighting, running, wounding, and of course, fleeing for my life. At least I hadn’t been killed and resurrected again in the last twenty-four hours.
After my breakfast, I went outside to see what the day had in mind. As I sat on the stairs landing, the townsfolk came out of their homes and moved around, but they looked like a bunch of zombies. A woman dressed in a yellow shirt and tan breeches strolled to a stand a block up the street. It was still shuttered, so she turned and went back to her home. A few minutes later she ventured out, walked to the stand, and then went back because it still had not opened.
On her third trip, I decided to stretch my legs, and ask her a few questions about the town of Weslori.
“Oh goodness, sir. I’m Semre Sudath, a widow seeking a lost bangle. My husband dropped it in the ruins of Brava Duluce to the south of Weslori. If you have a map, I can mark the location. Return the bangle to me, and I will reward you,” she said before I could greet her.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “But I don’t have a map.”
“Tis but an hour’s walk and hard to miss. When you have acquired a map, I shall mark the location.”
“Cool. So I’ll get a map I guess,” I said.
“Oh thank you, good sir. I pray you will return with my family’s lost bangle,” she said and wandered back to the stand.
There was a general goods merchant near the entry to Weslori. I wondered if he had a map. Maybe Ansalon could provide one. I had planned to purchase a journal and begin documenting our journeys but had not had the opportunity to find one just yet.
As I stood around watching the NPCs going about their business, a tall man dressed in full plate mail walked out of the warrior’s guild across the street with a large amount of clanking and screeching. Poor guy needed a lube job if he hoped to sneak up on any mobs out in the wild.
He strolled past me but didn’t meet my eye.
“Why not,” I muttered as I stared at the entrance.
Before I could make it across the street, a shadow detached itself from the wall, looked up and down the street, and then made for me. I turned in the other direction, but he followed on silent feet. The man wore a long, brown wool cloak that reached the ground and swirled dust and debris around his feet. I couldn’t see his head because he wore a hood made of the same material. I stopped because I had made the mistake of making eye contact and he held up a hand to get my attention.
“Following me?” I asked as the guy approached me.
“My name is Draros Lepqen, and I have been waiting for you,” he said in a low whisper. “Word of your deeds has spread across the city.”
“I see.” I didn’t.
“I need several components necessary for creating a certain, shall we say, contraption. If you retrieve six venom sacks from rotbrutes in The Troubled Mire to the south, I will reward you with two gold pieces and an enhanced axe that does at a minimum of 10 damage.”
“Sure, buddy. I’m on it,” I said, shook my head and then moved onward.
“My thanks, good sir. But be quick for events await me to the east.”
He faded back to his shadow and was soon gone from sight.
I reached the fighter’s guild without being accosted again, opened the door, and stopped as a woman dressed in chainmail with a leather hauberk over her chest, a broadsword at her side, and a silver helmet under one arm got in my face.
“This the fighter’s guild?” I asked her.
“It is, traveler. My name is Isolea Bitterwind. A month ago my brother, Jacrath, went missing while excavating ruins in the lost city of Sharahn which lies beyond the mire to the west,” she said. “I beg of you, traveler if you come across him or his remains, return him to me. I shall handsomely reward you.”
“How handsome?”
“This sword,” she touched the sheath at her side, “has been in my family for generations and it is imbued with the blood of an elder wyvern. It is yours, and it is a small price to pay to know my brother is either safe or has perished. I beg of you. Seek him out.”
“You got it, sister,” I said.
She clasped my wrist, nodded once, and then went outside.
“This is getting annoying,” I mumbled.
“HERE FOR TRAINING?” A bear
of a man wearing a shirt with no sleeves that bore a v-neckline stretched across a barrel chest, asked. Honestly, this guy would have given Dwayne Johnson, in his prime, a run for his money
“Yep. I have two points to allocate,” I handed him my book.
“Great. Come with me,” he gestured. “Name’s Burlt Heavyhand.”
“Walt,” I replied. “I just trained across the street with the mages, so, is it okay to be here? I don’t want to step on any toes.”
“As I wear reinforced boots obtained from the ruins of Mirk Smolsk, I doubt I would feel it if you did try to step on my toes,” the man roared with laughter.
“It’s just a figure of speech,” I said.
“As you say. So what brings you here again?”
“I wish to train. But I have also trained with the mages. Is that allowed?”
“Of course it is, recruit. All who wish to become warriors, be they dedicated to the class, or a hybrid, are welcome. A battlemage is a fearsome foe on the battlefield although you will find your first 15 levels to be trying. Still, hard work, training, and dedication, will carry you far in Th’loria.”
“I’m not sure if I want to be a hybrid. Is that safe out there? Because I gotta be honest here, Burlt. I’m tired of getting my ass kicked, so if you think I should go back to the mages and learn more powerful spells, just say the word,” I stated in a rush.
I didn’t even care if I sounded like a wimp. Since I had arrived with Oz, this had been the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. How could this be so hard when I was an expert at the game back in the real world? I had been here for two days. After forty-eight hours of continuous play in Realms of Th’loria, I should have been at least level 35, and kicking all kinds of butt. Instead, it was one long miserable experience after another punctuated by occasional very real violence.
Burlt put his huge hand on my shoulder. “Tis your choice, as I said. I myself prefer going into battle with a two-handed sword. I lose myself in slaying foes, and you can too. But there is nothing at all wrong with training in a suitable weapon as a backup. Mana doesn’t last forever, nor does health, and that’s the one to worry about, yeah?”
SHARDS OF REALITY: A LitRPG novel (Enter the Realm Book 1) Page 18