Viridian Gate Online: Books 1 - 3 (Cataclysm, Crimson Alliance, The Jade Lord)

by James Hunter

  Quickly, Forge slouched back over and went to work, using the chisel and metal-headed hammer to create a series of circular divots just below where the shaft and the head connected. Then he carefully, gently, fitted the rubies into place with the rubber-headed hammer. Each stone clicked home after only a few taps, giving off a flash of brilliant light, which faded after a couple of seconds. “And there she is,” Forge finally said, lifting the weapon and inspecting the workmanship.

  Satisfied, he handed the warhammer back to me with a grin. I held it up, thoroughly scrutinizing the changes before pulling up the item description.

  <<<>>>

  Gavel of Shadows (Faction Bound)

  Weapon Type: Blunt; Warhammer (Modified)

  Class: Ancient Artifact, Two-handed

  Base Damage: 57 (Modified)

  Primary Effects:

  50 pts Shadow Damage + (.5 x Character Level)

  +10% Damage to all Blunt Weapon attacks

  Strength Bonus = .25 x Character Level

  Spirit Bonus = .5 x Character Level

  Weapon Durability +20%

  Secondary Effects:

  +250 EXP per kill

  +29% Extra gold dropped

  Increases all Blunt Level Skills by 1 while equipped

  Can be used with a small buckler (5% reduced weapon speed)

  (1) Available Enchantment Slot

  <<<>>>

  I grunted, seriously impressed with the changes. Not only did the weapon look more badass—what with its additional fiery runic script and eye-candy gems—but it was legitimately better. The Base Damage had increased by 10 points, the Durability was 20% better, and sure enough, I now had an extra enchantment slot just waiting to be used. “Wow,” I said, closing out of the screen and sliding the hammer back into my belt.

  “Right?” Forge replied, crossing his arms. “Maybe we don’t have all the cool combat-oriented buffs that the Battle-Craft Faction tree offers, but who cares? With perks like these, we can hand design weapons and armor that’ll give us custom buffs, perfectly suited for any class build. Screw those cocksucking turdbags over in the Empire.” He paused, his eyes taking on a thousand-yard stare, as though he were envisioning all the possibilities. “Anyway,” he said eventually, “I can take care of your gear too, if you want. It’ll probably take me half an hour to upgrade both y’alls stuff, but it’ll be worth it. That gonna be a problem, Boss?”

  “Nope,” I said with a shake of my head. “We still need to swing by Vlad’s room and try to talk him into coming.”

  Forge snorted and shrugged. “Yeah. Good luck with that. He’s been busy all night—I don’t think that joker ever sleeps. Just works and works and works. I’m more than willing to bust my ass, understand, but just watchin’ that guy makes me want to have a heart attack. It’ll take an act of God to get him outta that lab of his.”

  “Or the act of an in-game goddess,” I whispered under my breath.

  FIFTEEN: The Mad Alchemist

  Cutter and I stripped down to beginners’ garb and left Forge to his work—though I kept the Crown of the Jade Lord firmly in my possession. That bad boy wasn’t going anywhere, not until this Death-Head quest was finished one way or another. Cutter headed over to the entrance, waiting for Abby and Amara, while I headed for a set of circular stairs at the rear of the guild building. I sighed. The Devs behind VGO certainly had a thing for turrets, towers, and minarets, all of which seemed to have a million steps.

  Not big fans of elevators, though.

  Begrudgingly, I trudged my way up, grumbling the whole way.

  After what felt like several minutes of walking, I made it up the stairs, halting at a bulky wooden door—carved with runes identical to those on the exterior building doors—which led to Vlad’s workshop, laboratory, and living quarters. Forge had mentioned that Vlad never seemed to leave his studio, but in Vlad’s defense, if I had to hoof it up and down all those damned stairs I probably wouldn’t leave either. I knocked on the door, thunk-thunk-thunk, and waited, tapping my foot impatiently as I pulled up my Debuff screen, checking to see how long I had before the next stage of the Death-Head poison kicked in:

  <<<>>>

  Current Debuffs

  Death-Head Mode: You’ve temporarily activated Death-Head Mode! Time until the Diseased debuff takes effect: 19 hours 42 minutes 31 seconds.

  <<<>>>

  There was a rustle of movement through the door: the scuff of boots, the rustle of papers, a tinkle as glass shattered, followed by a string of muffled Russian cursing: “Oo ti bya, galava, kak, oon a bizyanie jopuh.”

  There was another thump and the squeal of a wooden table sliding across the floor. “Yes, one moment, one moment,” Vlad said, this time in English. The door flew open a second later and my Russian weaponeer—a Dawn Elf with golden skin and a sheet of platinum hair, sporting a leather work apron—appeared in the doorway, his face scrunched up in a deep scowl. He looked to be on the verge of unleashing an ass-chewing of epic proportions, but his mouth clamped shut when he saw me.

  “Jack,” he said instead, the scowl replaced by a warm grin. “My apologies.” He slid back and pulled the door wide open. “I thought, perhaps, it was one of the moronic, ublyudok apprentices. The fools cannot do anything right, it seems. Always interrupting me. Swimming in my hair, as you Americans say. But enough of that”—he waved me in—“please come. Come.”

  I stepped in, taking a quick survey of the room. The lab was a total mess.

  Books were scattered everywhere—propped up on tables and chairs, lying open on the floor—while loose papers, filled with scribbled notes, sat in disorganized stacks. There were plates and empty bottles of mead lying haphazardly near a twin bed with rumpled sheets. A series of shelves lined several walls, loaded down with ingredients of one type or another: everything from bee stingers and amber sap to powdered diamond and goopy jungle muck. Against the far wall sat a sprawling table covered with glass beakers, lengths of tubing, impromptu Bunsen burners, mortars and pestles, and vials filled with finished potions.

  And that was only the beginning. There were also stranger things—miniature models of siege weapons, blueprints, discarded pieces of armor. Honestly, it looked a bit like the lair of some mad scientist. Thankfully, this mad scientist was on our side.

  “Oh, do I have some new things to show you,” Vlad said, nearly bouncing in place as he rubbed his hands together. “This new Alchemic Wonder faction ability? It is, how do you say, amazing. The potions I can create now are truly unparalleled, and the Explosive Catalyst subspecialty? Neveroyatnyy. Splice? Incredible, truly. So many things to show you. Come, look.” He hustled over to a workbench with a rough wooden crate on top. He bent over, fishing around in the box for a second, before hauling out a coil of silky white gossamer rope.

  “Behold,” he said, lifting the rope triumphantly above his head, “the future of engineered fabric.”

  I eyed it suspiciously, waiting for it to do something. It didn’t. “Yeah, that just looks like a piece of rope,” I finally said.

  “Blasphemer,” he replied with a colossal eyeroll. “This is no mere rope. I took spider silk—far too sticky and cumbersome to work with—and used the Splice ability to combine it with this.” He pulled a small vial, filled with glimmering powder, from his inventory bag. “A rare type of powdered diamond. Making this was no easy task. No, no. Quite a complicated process, but now that I have it down … it will be easy enough to replicate. This silk, reinforced with the diamond, is stronger than steel, but softer than silk. It could be used to create more versatile armors, or augment siege equipment.”

  I just cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Fine, so you are not so impressed with rope.” He tossed the coil of rope back into the crate, then shuffled over to another box, quickly pulling out a bandolier—like something you might see in one of those classic Rambo movies. Instead of grenades, however, the pouches were filled with glass balls that looked like Christmas ornaments.

  “Okay.
Fine. This will impress, I think. But, uh, come this way just a bit.” He waved me over to his side before removing one of the balls, this one a blue so deep it was nearly black. “Watch and be amazed.” Across from us, near the door, stood a wooden mannequin equipped with heavy steel armor.

  Vlad squared up his shoulders like he was preparing to shoot some hoops on the court, then gently lobbed the orb. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc, smacked into the dummy, exploding on impact, and released a cloud of swirling snow and a frigid wave of arctic air. After a second, the impromptu blizzard subsided, the snow settling on the floor around the dummy in a half circle. The mannequin, however, was riddled with chunks of sharpened ice shrapnel and coated with a thin layer of hoarfrost. Wow.

  “Impressive, yes?” he said with a devilish grin. “After careful research and examination of Huntress tech, I fashioned these orbs. And now, with the Explosive Catalyst ability, I can upgrade them. Each orb is costly—they require Raw Darkshard Ore, Refined Blasting Powder, and Foxfen Essence for the base formula—but they can be altered in numerous ways. This”—he pulled out a deep orange orb—“replicates Flame-Burst. And they are not limited to offense.”

  He slid the orb away and pulled another, this one bright yellow. “This produces a cloud which increases Attack Damage, Spell Strength, and Spell Regeneration by 22% over two minutes. And I’ve got more. Many more. Orbs to flash-fry enemies. Orbs with group healing capabilities. Orbs to boost movement rate or lower elemental resistances. I’m even tinkering with an orb capable of dispelling magical shields. There are many, many permutations to discover, but this could be a powerful trump card. Just think, really think”—he tapped a finger against his temple—“of the possibilities.”

  And I did think. The potential left my head spinning.

  Sure, a Firebrand could conjure Flame-Burst, an Ice-Lancer could flash-freeze enemies, and a Cleric could cast AOE healings or group buffs, but these trinkets allowed a well-equipped player the ability to mimic almost any class. Even better, these things weren’t tied to Spirit levels, which meant they’d offer a lot of backup versatility for spellcasters.

  “Da,” Vlad said with a grin, “you see. It is written all over your face.”

  There was a light knock at the door, followed by Cutter’s voice. “Abby’s downstairs,” the thief said. “Amara, too,” he added sullenly.

  “Okay, one minute,” I shouted back, rounding on Vlad. “This is unbelievable, Vlad. Seriously. The bee’s knees as my dad used to say, but I’m here for another reason.”

  “The bee’s knees?” he replied, his lips dropped in a confused frown. “Bees do not have knees, I think. But never mind”—he waved his confusion away—“if you are not here for inventions, then what?”

  “I’d like you to go on a quest with me. An important one.”

  All the humor drained from his face in a flash as he stowed the yellow orb and slipped the bandolier back into his inventory. “I am flattered, truly. But no. I think not. This is where I belong,” he said, sweeping an arm around the disorganized lab. “I do not care for questing or adventure. I am an engineer. This is where I want to be.” He slowly ambled over to his worktable and picked up another of the orbs, this one filled with a swirling gray gas. “There are breakthroughs to be made,” he said, glancing at me over one shoulder before setting the orb down on the tabletop.

  “Bloody hell, you lot are taking a long time,” Cutter said, pushing the door open with a heave. “We’ve got places to go—do I need to haul him out, eh?” he asked, swaggering into the room as the door swung inward, slapping against the wall with a thud. I sighed and turned back to Vlad, but froze as my eyes landed on the orb Vlad had set on the table a moment before—

  The glass ball had rolled right up to the edge of the table, and teetered there, deciding whether or not to tumble. Vlad, oblivious, turned, lightly bumping the table with his hip in the process. And that was it. The orb toppled, crashing to the floor. Before I could do anything—scream out, warn Vlad, dive for cover—there was a tinkle of shattering glass and a brilliant explosion of light, accompanied by a sweeping wave of gray gas. The explosion hit me in the face like a giant pillow, hurling me back toward the door. I slammed into Cutter, and we both went to the ground in a tangle of limbs as a combat notification popped up:

  <<<>>>

  Debuffs Added

  Alchemist’s Toxic Cloud: You have been poisoned: 2 HP/sec; duration, 2 minutes or until cured.

  <<<>>>

  The room spun and pinpricks of light exploded on the edges of my vision, but I fought my way upright, surveying the room, which was now covered in toxic fumes like a morning ground fog. Cutter was behind me, looking shaken and a bit confused, but otherwise fine. Vlad, though, was sprawled against the far wall; black scorch marks adorned his leather lab smock, and the left side of his face was covered in nasty red burns. He was alive, but his breathing was sporadic and his HP bar was dropping by the second: the toxic cloud debuff extracting its pound of flesh, no doubt.

  The guy needed help, ASAP, or he was going to die. I scrambled to my feet, took a deep breath, and rushed over to him, dropping to a knee as I fished an HP Regen potion from my inventory. I pried Vlad’s lips open, unstoppered the glowing red potion, and forced the unconscious man to drink. He sputtered and fought against me weakly, disoriented from the blast, but he did drink, even if begrudgingly. With that done, I tossed the empty bottle aside, scooped Vlad’s limp body onto my shoulder, and beat a hasty retreat for the door.

  Cutter was up and waiting for me in the hallway, his nose scrunched up, eyes squinted against the acrid, burning smoke. Without a word, he slung an arm around my shoulder, helping me down the winding stairs. The second we reached ground level, I collapsed from both the physical strain of carrying Vlad and the noxious poison sprinting through my veins. I lay on the wooden floorboards, pulling free another Health Regen potion and downing the thing in a single go, restoring most of my HP, though the toxic poison continued to eat away at my life.

  “Bloody hell,” Cutter said, bent double, hands planted on his knees as he wheezed. “You okay, friend?” he asked between wheezes, eyeing me as though I might be contagious with the plague.

  “Fine,” I gasped, lying there, staring up at the ceiling.

  Cutter edged near the mad alchemist and nudged him with the toe of a boot. “I think he might be de—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, however, Vlad shot up coughing and gasping as he frantically scanned the room, eyes wild. A bit of the tension melted out of Vlad’s shoulders when he saw Cutter and me. “Unexpected,” he mumbled, “very unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?” I pushed myself up onto my elbows, finally able to breathe normally again. “Vlad, that stuff almost killed us. You never mentioned any toxic cloud.”

  He sniffed and shrugged. “New formula,” he replied dismissively. “Untested. Too much zinc, apparently.” He reached into a satchel tied around his leg and pulled out another orb, identical to the one that’d smashed to the floor and almost killed us all. “This, it is supposed to replicate Plague Burst,” he said. “Almost right, I think. But the mixture? Too volatile.” He paused and stared morosely at the little glass orb. “Next time,” he said with a sigh, before disappearing the orb back into his inventory.

  “You’re out of your mind, you know that?” I said, letting Cutter pull me back to my feet as Abby and Amara hustled into the room, weapons drawn and ready for a fight.

  “Calm down,” Cutter called out. “Nothin’ to see here. Just an overzealous moron with more curiosity than common sense.”

  “Thank you,” Vlad finally said with a sigh. “I have killed myself once already, and the Death debuffs are most unpleasant.”

  “No problem,” I said with a grin, “and I know just how you could repay me.” I launched into my spiel, giving him a brief rundown of the upcoming mission and how important it was. He listened stoically, nodding in all the right places, and when I finally finished, he simp
ly glanced back at the spiral staircase as lingering fingers of smoke drifted toward us.

  “Perhaps it would be good for me to get away from the lab,” he conceded. “Besides, it will give me a chance to try out my new field alchemy abilities.”

  “Well then,” Cutter said with a grin, “let’s get our gear and stop draggin’ our bloody feet. Ankara—the Jewel of the West—is waiting, and I can guarantee you’ve never seen anything like it.”

  SIXTEEN: Ankara

  “Oh. My. God,” Abby said, her disembodied voice drifting to me through the opalescent portal suspended in the air before me. “Hurry up, Jack. This place is fantastic.”

  The mage on duty at the Mystica Ordo, a willowy Dawn Elf boasting brown robes and a bored expression, waved me through before slumping back in her chair. I pressed my eyes shut, steeling myself against the inevitable wave of vertigo, and stepped through. The breath caught in my chest as power—cold as arctic ice—washed over me like a downpour of frigid water. The chill filled my body, invaded my lungs, and stabbed at my clenched eyes, but the sensation was fleeting, quickly replaced by a combination of blistering heat, gritty sand, and arid wind, all slapping against me.

  “This way,” Abby said, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me over to the side, clearing the way for the rest of the team to come through. The dizziness only lasted for another heartbeat before passing away. Just an uncomfortable memory as my feet steadied beneath me. Finally, I cracked my eyes, letting in a trickle of harsh, garish desert light. We were on the outskirts of a modest and unimpressive village called Hoppa, which bordered Ankara.

  Square buildings, two or three stories high, sported rough sandstone foundations and walls built from red bricks of mud and straw; wooden trusses, supporting the upper floors, poked out from the sides of the building like nubby fingers. Yellow hardpan roads—dusty, dry, and badly cracked from the oppressive heat—darted haphazardly through the sprawl of buildings, snaking this way and that. Shops and stalls of every sort and variety lined those streets, hiding from the sun’s rays beneath brightly colored cloth awnings propped up by wooden struts.