“I don’t see what the big deal is. You have millions of gold coins in your account,” Warren said. Everyone, even Fizwitz, stared at him in baffled irritation. “That wasn’t helpful was it? I’ll just wait outside.”
Warren made a quick escape through the front door, shutting it hard enough that his mace toppled to the floor with a sharp clang.
Sighing, Vega clenched the bridge of her nose and thought for a moment.
“Levels increase exponentially, not linearly,” she argued. “Increasing our durability tenfold would effectively make us seven levels higher, not hundreds. I’ll pay twenty eight thousand for all seven outfits.”
“No, the XP you need to level up increases exponentially, but your attributes increase linearly,” Fizwitz insisted. “Increasing an attribute tenfold is therefore the same as increasing the level tenfold, so that’s how I’m going to charge you. My price stands at thirty eight thousand gold per unit.”
“But you’re only increasing one attribute,” Vega argued. “No other attribute is affected, so it’s not the equivalent of leveling up.
“Twenty eight thousand for the lot, and not a coin more.”
Fizwitz sighed and scratched his beard.
“I can’t just charge you a base rate. The Mythreal has to be factored in somehow,” he insisted.
“Okay, I have a proposal,” she said. “We’re heading to the Aeolic Temple, and if you augment our armour for us we’ve got a good chance of actually beating it. I’ll pay you twenty eight thousand gold now, and bring you back whatever you want from the Temple. Worst case scenario, we wipe out and you still have the base pay for your work.”
Fizwitz nodded thoughtfully as he considered her offer.
“Anything I want from the Aeolic Temple, eh? I’ve heard that there’s a charm in there that can create auras powered by electricity instead of Mana. I think I could find a fair number of uses for something like that.”
“You got it. So that’s twenty eight thousand gold coins and one Electric Aura charm for seven Mythreal augmented outfits?”
“It’s a deal,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ll have these upgraded within the hour, and the first part of your payment is due on pickup.”
“Thank you,” Vega nodded, turning back to her party. “An hour from now we’ll be at the gates of the Aeolic Temple, and I will pry the Sword of Objectivism from Lord Rand’s cold dead hands, as he has so often requested.”
“Vega, maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up,” Koby advised. “I mean sure, the Mythreal will probably let us get past the Screeches, but Lord Rand literally has the gift of Deus Ex Machina. He can pull anything out of his ass to save it.”
“But he can’t be unbeatable,” Vega insisted. “Every quest can be won, and if a party with five elite players in Mythreal armour can’t beat him, then what can?”
“Well, you’re our party leader. If you think we have a shot I’m willing to try,” Koby said. “I’m just not so sure the others will.”
“Let’s find out then,” Vega said. “Come on Maverick. It’s time I introduce you to the rest of my party.”
She led them out of the smith’s shop and through the village to a tavern called ‘The Need for Mead’. It was grimy and poorly lit, and populated by avatars of every playable race.
“It’s a little crowded in here for a weekday afternoon,” Maverick commented.
“The arena draws a lot of players here, and both victory and defeat provide an excuse to drink,” Koby told him.
“There they are; Dracogenes, Triskelion, and Wisteria,” Vega said, pointing to two Barbarians and a Celestial Elf in the corner. The two Barbarians were so darkly tanned they were only recognizable as Caucasian from their blonde hair and blue eyes. In contrast the Elf had lily white skin but her facial features were clearly Asiatic.
Dracogenes was over six and a half feet tall and was so heavily muscled he approached the limit of what was humanly possible. Though Triskelion was tall and toned as well, she was of much more reasonable proportions. They both wore a pair of metallic vambraces, but otherwise he was dressed only in a leather codpiece and headband, while she wore only a silver thong and circlet.
Wisteria had midnight blue hair and piercing violet eyes. She was typically slender for an elf, and wore a dark purple cloak, a matching leather cuirass that exposed her midriff, a scaled leather skirt and thigh high boots.
Maverick would have guessed Dracogenes was a Berserker even if Vega had not already told him, and he assumed Triskelion was a Huntress since she was reclined with her periwinkle cat, which was striped like a tiger but had the head of a lynx. There was also a small falcon perched over her shoulder. By default, that left Wisteria as the party’s Mage.
The two Barbarians drank from large tankards of mead, while Wisteria drank wine from an elegant chalice.
“You guys look like you lost,” Vega said as she and the others sat at the table. The Barbarians and the Elf all groaned in irritation.
“Have you come here to gloat?” Wisteria asked. Her voice had a tone to it that made her sound supernatural.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she claimed with a devious smile, while simultaneously gesturing to the wait staff to bring them drinks.
“We know you got the Mythreal you wanted, no thanks to us,” Wisteria lamented.
“Is this the filthy gold farmer you teamed up with to get it?” Triskelion asked, sneering at Maverick.
“Watch your tongue Trisk; he happens to be my boyfriend now,” Vega informed her.
“Since when do you care about anything but questing?” Wisteria asked.
“Since yesterday afternoon sometime,” she replied glibly. “His name’s Maverick, he’s a level 56 Paladin, and as of today he is a Champion of the Apocalypse City Coliseum. More importantly he’s the reason I have the Mythreal we need to beat the Aeolic Temple, so he’s in our party now.”
“You know she laughs at dicks, right?” Wisteria asked Maverick, arching her eyebrow.
“For real? Maverick do you have absolutely no self-respect?” Warren asked. “I’m posting this to my nanoblog right now.”
“Come on, don’t,” Maverick protested.
“It’s the only way you’ll learn,” Warren insisted. Dracogenes tossed back his head and laughed mockingly.
“Can we please talk about raiding the Temple instead?” Maverick pleaded.
“Yeah, so as I was saying Maverick is in our party now and he’s coming with us to the Aeolic Temple,” Vega resumed. “That means he’s entitled to an equal share of the loot if we win.”
“How do we know he’s just not going to sell everything he takes from the Temple?” Triskelion demanded.
“Even if he does, so what?” Vega shrugged. “He can do whatever he wants with his share of the loot. It’s his.”
“Vega, the items locked inside the Aeolic Temple are the most powerful objects in Surreality,” Wisteria reminded her. “Selling them to the highest bidder is even more irresponsible than selling Mythreal, both of which could very well get us in trouble with the Game Masters.”
“I only sell my stuff on the Imaginarium Emporium, which is owned by Surreality,” Maverick told her. “They do background checks on all buyers and sellers, and have the authority to veto the sale of any items if they have reason to believe they’ll be used for griefing. Even if I do ultimately decide to sell any of my share of the loot, it won’t get us in any trouble.”
“You see; nothing to worry about,” Vega assured them.
“I’ve already come up with a strategy for the Temple that includes Maverick,” Koby said. “As with our previous attempts, Dracogenes will lead the charge, using his Sundering Shout to scatter the Screeches. While they’re focused on him Vega will attack them from behind, with Triskelion and I hanging back to shoot down any airborne hostiles. With the Mythreal armour we won’t need to worry so much about healing, so I was thinking that we can leave that entirely to Maverick and let Wisteria concentrate on pur
ely aggressive spells. Maverick can also serve in a support role to Draco and Vega, making it less likely they’ll get outflanked.”
“What about him?” Dracogenes snarled, gesturing to Warren.
“Name’s Warren, how you doing?” Warren introduced himself with a seductive smile, shaking Dracogenes’ enormous hand. “I’m not actually with the party. I’m just keeping an eye on my buddy. You know how it is. I’m really more of a player than a gamer, though I do play Guitar Guru now and again. I’m not going to lie, I love getting up on that stage and hearing the crowd cheering my name.”
“They’re NPCs, and you play it on easy,” Maverick said flatly.
“You are just the worst wingman!” Warren growled through gritted teeth. “There’s no shame on playing a game on easy though, right Drakey? You know what they say; it’s not about the XP, it’s about the experience. As long as you’re having fun, that’s all that counts. How about you Drakey? Ever played any music games?”
Dracogenes slowly rose to his full height and unsheathed his enormous claymore.
“Now that’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” Warren asked nervously. “I’m sorry, I still have resurrection sickness. I wasn’t thinking straight, pun intended.”
“Do not call me Drakey again, little man,” Dracogenes ordered sternly.
“Not a problem. Won’t happen again sir,” Warren agreed. Dracogenes snarled and sat back down.
“I apologize for him. He’s extremely narcissistic and can’t imagine anyone he fancies not fancying him back,” Maverick said.
“Is he a good fighter at least?” Triskelion asked.
“No, he’s a newb and he’ll die within minutes, so don’t waste your time or resources helping him,” Koby replied. “Fortunately for us he’s chosen a wildly impractical suit of armour, so he shouldn’t get in the way.”
“Speaking of armour, where is it?” Wisteria asked.
“I have Fizwitz upgrading seven sets of armour right now,” Vega replied. “As soon as he’s done I will lend you the item cards, but they will remain bound to my account so that I can recall them whenever I want. The Mythreal belongs to me and Maverick, and the fact that Maverick was willing to enter the Insomnia Labyrinth with me makes him braver than any of you.”
“There’s no need to insult us,” Wisteria said. “Koby, what do you think our chances are if we take on the Temple?”
“In our past encounters, our party usually managed to kill roughly twenty five percent of the Screeches before we wiped out,” he replied. “With the Mythreal bolstering our durability tenfold, and an additional party member who will let our Mage focus exclusively on attack spells, we should be able to slay all of the Screeches and retain an average Health bar of at least 70 percent. As for Lord Rand, all we can really do is react to whatever he throws at us. I can’t give odds for that, but considering the prize I think it’s worth a try.”
Wisteria glanced at Dracogenes and Triskelion, who each gave a reluctant nod.
“All right, we’ll attempt to defeat the Aeolic Temple one more time,” she agreed.
“Yes!” Vega cried, pumping her fist. “Eat up then. As soon as your Health is replenished we’ve got to get some supplies. Once Fizwitz is finished with the armour we’re reloading to our last save point just outside the Aeolic Temple. I get the Sword of Objectivism no matter what happens, and I promised the Electric Aura charm to Fizwitz, but anything else in the Temple is up for grabs.”
“I call dibs on any sex or love charms!” Warren cried.
“You’re not a party member,” Triskelion replied. “On the off chance you survive, you don’t get anything. The Temple’s treasure is ours, and if you take so much as one Rupee I will have my cat disembowel you and feast on your intestines while you’re still alive.”
The cat growled at him, backing up her Mistress’s threat.
“Okay, Jesus. How can anyone so naked be so grumpy?” Warren asked, doing his best to hide himself behind his beer.
The Aeolic Temple was not what Maverick had been expecting. It was a squat black tower, utterly utilitarian in design. It didn’t look like a religious building at all. The entire area was engulfed in such thick fog that the top of the tower could not be seen, so he had no idea how tall it was. A broad set of stairs led to the massive doorway, lined by a column of torches on either side.
The party stood at the base of the stairs, now clad in their Mythreal armour. Though Dracogenes and Triskelion were as underdressed as before, their vambraces now shone with the brilliant radiance of Mythreal. Maverick and Koby wore shirts of scale mail and elegantly wrought cuirasses over their regular clothes. Vega and Wisteria wore similar pieces of armour, except theirs were cropped to expose their stomachs. Vega still wore her leather pants, but for aesthetic reasons had swapped her sneakers for combat boots.
“You girls look stupid,” Warren claimed, his voice echoing inside his oversized helmet, which left only a narrow slit over his eyes for him to see. “Armour like that’s likely to get you disemboweled.”
“Fantasy armour doesn’t work that way,” Vega told him. “It doesn’t matter what’s covered or not; as long as we’re wearing it we’re protected. And anyways, in real life soldiers favour mobility over protection.”
“Not to that extent,” he said. “I’m invincible in this thing! You watch; I’ll be the only one standing after you guys are Screech food.”
“You can’t even lift your mace,” Wisteria reminded him.
“Don’t need too. Once the Screeches get one look at me they’ll go running for their mammas,” he claimed boastfully.
“Just stay out of the way,” Koby said sternly. “Everyone take your positions. It’s wipe time.”
Dracogenes took his position in the front, with Vega and Maverick behind him and to either side. Behind them stood Koby and Triskelion, and at the very back was Wisteria. All but Warren had their weapons drawn.
“Maverick, kindly cast your auras now please,” Koby instructed. Maverick murmured several incantations; one to grant immunity to poison, one for increasing the odds of dealing out damage, one for decreasing the odds of taking damage, and one to boost the effectiveness of the other’s spells.
“Hey that last one didn’t do anything to me,” Warren complained.
“It wasn’t supposed to; only elites can have more than three active auras at a time,” Maverick told him.
“How elitist,” Warren said in feigned indignation.
“Dracogenes; blow the doors,” Koby instructed.
“Ego Tono!” he shouted, firing a sonic shockwave from his throat that blew the temple doors clean open. He howled a mighty yet inarticulate battle cry and charged inside, followed by the rest of the party.
“To Victory!” Warren shouted enthusiastically, though he became winded within a few steps. “Jesus Christ, this armour really is heavy. Okay you guys, you guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
He took only baby steps towards the Temple, breathing heavily all the while.
Standing far behind him, invisible in the deep mists, was Idolum.
The cavernous antechamber of the Temple was eerily quiet and empty. In the center of the room was a tarnished silver statue of the Titan Atlas, with a globe shattered at his feet. Atlas shrugged, and wore an expression which clearly said ‘ain’t my problem bitch,’.
The stone walls were now nearly bare, but were speckled with various colours of paint; remnants of a distant past when the temple had been elegantly decorated. The entire interior was bathed in torchlight, but yet was somehow unnaturally cold.
“Ready when you are Vega,” Koby said. Vega nodded, and cleared her throat.
“Lord Rand! Show yourself,” she announced loudly to the empty hall. “For too long have you exploited the people of Surreality for your own selfish greed, and we will not allow it to continue.”
“The question isn’t who’s going to let me,” spoke a voice that echoed through the vast Temple, and could then be heard taking a drag of
a cigarette. “It’s who’s going to stop me.”
The horrible cries for which the Screeches were named could be heard drawing near, along with the furious beating of their wings. A flock of them erupted like a geyser from a chasm in the floor, the whirlwind from their wings snuffing out the torches.
“Luminata perpetuosa!” Wisteria cried, conjuring a brilliant white light from her staff that eradiated the hall. They saw the flock of the Screeches swooping down in a spiraling column towards them, but then retreating in agony from the blinding light.
The light gave Maverick his first good look at them. They were basically humanoid bats, no more than five feet tall, with sickly emaciated bodies sparsely covered in course hair. They exhaled noxious fumes from their deformed snouts; poisonous gases that would have sapped the party’s strength were it not for their auras.
“Start shooting! You know they’re not going to stay up there for long,” Koby said. He fired his rifle into the circling swarm, while Triskelion rapidly shot ethereal arrows from her silver bow. Wisteria and Vega conjured bolts of lightning to bring the creatures down. Whenever a Screech fell it was immediately smashed by Vega’s hammer, decapitated by Maverick’s axe, impaled by Dracogenes’ sword, or occasionally mauled by Triskelion’s cat.
“Here they come again!” Koby warned, as the swarm made another dive for the party.
“Ego Tono!” Dracogenes screamed, though far louder than before. The shockwave parted the swarm instantly, and caused many dazed Screeches to tumble to the ground.
Dracogenes bulldozed through the throng, knocking down any Screech that was fortunate enough to avoid the end of his blade. Maverick began swinging his axe through the stunned horde, decapitating and eviscerating the Screeches where they lay. Vega jumped clear over his head, and when she landed she slammed her hammer down with a mighty thunk that shattered the floor tiles and produced a tremor that rippled through the grounded Screeches, keeping them incapacitated. She spun around and around in a whirlwind, knocking down any enemy than came within reach of her hammer. Blood splattered in all directions as skulls and rib cages were crushed.
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