Exalted Realms Online- Harbinger of Chaos

by Jamie O'Leary

  “I’ll take a fat boy and hash. I brought the drinks tonight,” Darkwind flirted as he hoisted the flasks of wine onto the bar. She grinned back at him.

  “Ambrosia, do you know why I keep coming back here, to Mevalon?”

  “I’d say me, but no, I’m guessing you’re here for the scenery,” she laughed.

  “You know I love you, but I keep coming back because I can relax here.”

  She looked confused. “No one’s out hunting your head these days?”

  “No, I have several bounties on my head, as we speak, but here’s the thing…” He leaned in close, “I don’t care.” Darkwind busted up laughing.

  Ambrosia held up one of the flasks, which was empty. “You’re already drunk!”

  Darkwind nodded and slurred, “I’ve been drinking all day, and I could take on any one of you… right now… who thinks they could take me?”

  “Alright, settle down,” Ambrosia said, calming him down. She sat him back at the bar and reminded him that he was going to get kicked out of there if he caused any trouble. Darkwind grunted and tipped her a gold coin.

  “This isn’t enough if it means putting up with you,” she smiled, shoving the coin into her pocket. She went to working behind the bar and Darkwind continued to drink and watch the crowd sing and dance through a smoky haze and drunken stupor.

  ***

  Later that evening, Oswic looked outside his window, overlooking the southern courtyard of the High Council’s tower. The page that he sent earlier awaited him with the horse he’d requested. The steed was average, but he would be able to easily make the trek to Etonia. Oswic gathered his bags and scurried to the courtyard.

  He tipped the boy a handful of gold coins and instructed him to remain silent of all this. The boy, enamored with his boon, simply nodded in compliance.

  Oswic threw his bags over the saddle and leapt onto the horse. He would have to go through town to leave, so he started trotting slowly through the streets so as to not attract any attention.

  The streets were quite barren at this time of night. It was when most were already asleep. The usual restless crowds stayed nearer to the dense night scenes in the famed red-light district and other lascivious corridors that Oswic would never have travelled anyhow. All he had to do was avoid any contact within the city limits.

  He rode past the Temple of Letz. The fires in the temple were still burning in effigy for Regent Nordys. As he approached the Fiery Wyrm, Darkwind came stumbling out of the entrance. He startled Oswic’s horse as he flailed around in an inebriated state, drawing Helgabrand, which caused Oswic’s horse to rear up and buck the High Councilman off before galloping away. Oswic groaned as he scrambled to his feet.

  “Wait! No! Come back!”

  Darkwind was heaving with laughter.

  Oswic angrily approached the warrior. “You idiot! That was my horse! I need that horse!” He scooped up his bags.

  “Relax, pops. You want a horse? I’ll get you a horse,” Darkwind bragged.

  “I need to get out of Mevalon…tonight,” Oswic stammered.

  “Okay, okay. I got it. What’s your passage out of Mevalon worth to you?” Darkwind couldn’t resist driving a hard bargain. After all, what was stopping him from slaughtering this poor old fool right then and there and snatching whatever was in those fancy bags of his.

  “I can pay you handsomely, good knight,” Oswic begged.

  “Ha! I’m no good knight, but I’ll help you for, say, fifty-thousand gold.”

  Oswic resisted for a moment before realizing he had no other choice, and he reluctantly agreed. “You’ll be paid once I’m safely outside the city. Double that if you can get me to Etonia.”

  Darkwind started to sober up at the sound of the old man’s offer. “One-hundred thousand gold to escort you to Etonia? That’s it? No funny business? Just an escort?”

  “I only need protection, and you certainly seem capable of protecting someone of my rather humble stature,” Oswic demurred.

  “Alright. I’ll do it. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Oswic. I thank you for accepting my offer. Of course I wouldn’t need you if I still had my horse,” he lamented.

  “It is done then, Oswic!” Darkwind slapped him on the back hard. “I will escort you to Etonia. You’re now in the company of Darkwind. Nobody is going to mess with you as long as you keep paying me to do what I do.”

  And with that, Oswic slung his bags onto his back and he and Darkwind began walking the main stretch of road that led through the city and out the gate towards Etonia. Darkwind was still tipsy, but able to fight if he needed to. Oswic followed begrudgingly, complaining about the trek as soon as they stepped foot outside the Capitol’s gates. This was going to be a long trip.

  V

  Daemeon stared at her ceiling, which was lit up by the twinkling kaleidoscope of colors that swirled silently around her room. A miniature color projector shot shapes of changing colors over the ceiling, which helped her fall asleep. These twinkling lights dancing above her reminded her of the interior of Darkwind’s lair, which was lit up by the myriad jewels that filled his treasure room, the lantern light bouncing off their refractive surfaces. She always liked things that glittered.

  Her family moved to the city when she was just a kid. The sun was setting when they approached the towering steel-and-concrete walls, and suddenly beads of light began to dot the structures, that were now fading under dusk. The violet skies dimmed and Daemeon was awestruck by the fluorescence and neons. Her fondness of twinkling lights from her memory of this childhood moment was weaved into every fabric of her life, from her nightlights to her character’s lair in-game.

  She closed her eyes and lay there thinking about her next move for Darkwind, who had been racking up immense PKs, as well as looting countless treasures, but seemed to be getting nowhere. She was unstoppable, and while the omnipotence was intoxicating, she was getting bored with ravaging Half-World on a daily basis. Would she consider quitting Exalted Realms if she had plateaued for good?

  Her eyes opened. No way.

  She jumped out of bed and suited up to game. She donned her VR headset and clutched her controllers. Why hadn’t the Lord of Chaos revealed himself yet? How many more souls would Darkwind need to earn to summon him? She’d missed something, somewhere—a hidden boss perhaps, or an NPC that Darkwind may have let live when he should’ve taken their lives. It was racking her brain, and she was now on a new mission to discover the missing souls needed to reach her ultimate goal. The fact that this was maybe just a lie, a groundless rumor went over her head; she was now in too deep to turn back or question the existence of an end to this game. She had to find out whether or not she could unlock the Lord of Chaos.

  ***

  Darkwind sat by the fire as Oswic slept against a moss-covered log. “How did I get myself into this mess?” Darkwind muttered to himself as he watched the embers flutter into the night sky. The fire was small, but warm, and Darkwind continued to think about his next move. He was already determined to murder whomever he needed to in order to complete his quest, and ultimately the game, a feat yet to be done by anyone in Exalted Realms Online.

  Oswic snored loudly, his jowls flapping with each exhale. How disgusting! Darkwind knew he’d have to kill Oswic at some point, but he decided to chaperone Oswic to his destination and get paid first before turning on him. The old man would have no clue, and it wasn’t personal. At this moment, Darkwind was about to murder him for his snoring. Instead, he got up and stretched his legs.

  Suddenly, a twig snapped in the surrounding woods. Darkwind grabbed Helga and scanned the dark patches of forest that seemed to go on forever into a black void. Only the campfire lit the clearing. Darkwind listened.

  “Oswic,” Darkwind whispered.

  Oswic stopped snoring for a moment as he shifted his body into a more comfortable position.

  “Oswic, wake up,” Darkwind whispered louder.

 
The old man stirred, “Huh? What is—”

  “Shhh,” Darkwind motioned for him to be quiet. “There’s something out there.”

  Oswic’s eyes widened as his imagination ran wild with what kind of foul monsters were in these woods and how he would surely become their feast. “Don’t let whatever it is eat me, sir,” he cowered.

  Darkwind pushed him away. “Quiet, fool!”

  Darkwind scanned the darkness again. His ears perked up at the sound of panting. A pack of morgwolves, no doubt. Darwind gripped Helga tight. “Stay behind me,” he commanded Oswic, who trembled , clutching Darkwind’s arm as they circled around the camp.

  Suddenly, a dark blur darted across the clearing. Darkwind spun around. There was more rustling in the woods. Damn fool! You fell into their trap!

  Three morgwolves closed in. The beasts measured eight feet in length, bearing two-inch claws and fangs that could rip flesh from bone as easily as Helga took limbs. They were wild and mangy creatures, snarling through rotten gums, their foul breath steaming into the chilled night air. They licked their lips at the sight of Darkwind and Oswic, and the pack positioned themselves ready to attack.

  “If I die here, sir, please take my belongings on to Etonia,” begged Oswic.

  “Shut up. You’re not going to die today,” Darkwind shot back.

  The first morgwolf pounced at Darkwind. Helga tore through its torso and the beast was dead before it hit the ground. Darkwind whipped the fresh blood off his streaked sword and poised for the next attack. “C’mon, you furry bastards!”

  The other two flanked them and attacked simultaneously. The one slashed with its front claws as the other snapped its jaws at Darkwind, but Darkwind managed to dodge the one and block the other with his gauntlet. He stumbled backward from the impact of the beast’s blow. Dammit, this thing is strong! Darkwind managed to regain his fighting stance. Then, he leapt at the one morgwolf, plunging Helga into its ribs. The beast let out a yelp and slumped to the ground. The final morgwolf circled the duo. Oswic was feeling more confident that they’d make it out of this alive yet. The last remaining morgwolf decided that facing down Darkwind was not the wisest decision, so the beast turned and snarled back at Darkwind, who maintained Helga at the ready. Then, the morgwolf disappeared into the woods.

  Darkwind skinned and prepped the morgwolf carcasses. They would have enough meat to last them several days. That was at least something, seeing that the experience he had gained from killing those beasts was negligible at best (nothing seemed to earn him good XP these days, no matter what or who he killed.) Oswic, for his part, was excited that his new friend would be able to handle anything that came their way. After all, he was paying good money for Darkwind’s services, he’d better be able to handle it. Morgwolves were known to be incredibly cunning pack hunters. Luckily for Darkwind and Oswic, there were only three of the beasts together that night, otherwise it could have been the morgwolves dining on them instead.

  The next morning, Oswic awoke to Darkwind cooking a morgwolf leg over the fire. It was a choice cut of meat, skewered and hung. Darkwind rotated the skewer to cook the meat thoroughly. He even added some delectable spices from the southern region of Porrine. The roasted meat was making Oswic’s mouth water and he could hardly wait to eat.

  “Darkwind, we should arrive in Etonia in two, maybe three days. After what happened last night, I’d be willing to offer you even more money as my personal bodyguard. Think of it, you could make a lot of money and all you’d have to do is protect me,” he offered.

  Darkwind shook his head. “I don’t do babysitting jobs.”

  Oswic frowned in dismay. “Please, sir, you’ve got to help me. They’re going to kill me!” he pleaded.

  “Who’s going to kill you?”

  “The other members of the High Council,” he replied tearfully.

  Darkwind scratched his beard. He took longer than one would normally scratch a beard, but he wanted to have some dramatic effect for what he was about to offer Oswic. Then he pulled Oswic in close. “How many Council members are there?”

  “Twelve, including me,” Oswic stammered.

  “Eleven souls plus one,” Darkwind murmured. That could work. Darkwind was hopeful that these player-kills would finally lead him to the ultimate reward. It was almost too good to be true. Twelve for the price of one!

  “Alright, fat man,” Darkwind poked. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’m not babysitting you. Tell me where I can find the rest of your High Council.”

  Oswic’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect that all his enemies would soon be dead at the hand of this mercenary he was so lucky to have run into. Oswic began to explain to Darkwind the maze of tunnels that ran underneath Mevalon. These tunnels were installed before the foundation of the city was laid, as Dorien Mevalon wanted to have an escape route for he and his family, should the city ever be taken.

  The labyrinthine corridors ran from under the Tower of Mevalon, where the royal families stayed, to the other side of the Western Wall, emptying out in the Borsk Bog before their enemies could discover they were gone. Thankfully the tunnels never needed to be used, and by now the labyrinth would likely be home to a bevy of monsters.

  Darkwind paid close attention to the route that Oswic drew out on some parchment with an obsidian pen. He watched as the lines intersected, eventually forming a map. “There are six routes, but only one true route into the tower. This is where you’ll find the rest of the High Council. Kill them, Darkwind and I will pay you quite handsomely for your service… say, one million Mevalonic gold?

  Oswic extended his arm. Darkwind gave pause (for effect, as he was still playing Oswic) then his hand met Oswic’s. “It is done,” Darkwind confirmed.

  They traveled through the morning when they came upon the Dusty Trail Inn, an aptly named, rather quaint inn nestled off the smooth dusty trail that was oft-traveled by merchants and players of all kinds. It looked like it might have a room available. Darkwind loaded up Oswic’s bags and gave them to the old man.

  “Get a room. I’ll be back in the morning,” he quipped as he turned his horse and rode back in the direction of Mevalon.

  Oswic scurried into the Dusty Trails Inn.

  The breeze brought in a foul smell from the southeast. That must be Borsk Bog. He tugged on the reins and changed course. The horse galloped, picking up speed across the open plain. The smell was strong now; a sort of putrid ash. The Borsk Bog was not a particular travel destination. Darkwind himself had only been around the outer edges of it, always avoiding it because it seemed to yield nothing. No wonder the Mevalons designed their escape route here. No one would think to search this place.

  He dismounted as he got closer to the point that Oswic had marked on the map. Darkwind tied off the reins, slung his satchel over his shoulder, grabbed Helga, and walked up to the face of a large, moss-covered wall. Darkwind ran his hand over the soft, green tufts. He checked the map, then felt around some more. Eventually, he found a slit in the rock. He cleared away the mud and moss, revealing an edge, perhaps the edge of a door. Excited now, Darkwind rubbed away the overgrowth, soon revealing the door. However, there was no handles or knobs, no fulcrum or lever to speak of.

  Darkwind plopped down to rest and began taking in his surroundings. The bog was comprised of large cypyro trees, whose leaves built up methane and caused them to explode. “Borsk” is actually Old Mevosi (the Mevalonic language) for “flame”. Among the dead branches and thick mud, he searched for any possible way to open the door, which looked to be solid rock.

  He swung Helga at the stone and her pangs reverberated in the thick, swampy air. He tried to wedge the sword into the crease between the doors to no avail. He checked the map again, then remembered something Oswic said: When you reach the door, look to the south and put your hand inside the largest tree you see. You will feel a lever. Pull it towards you to open the door. Sure enough, only a few paces behind him stood a cypyro tree with a gaping hol
e in its trunk, which was withered and twisted, wrenching inwards on itself, its contorted legs, large and firm, were permanently sunk in the muddy earth. Darkwind reached in and felt the lever. He wrestled with it for a moment before flexing his bulging biceps, pulling with all his strength. He yanked the lever back until he heard a loud click and the low rumble of the rock wall scraping as the doors opened.

  Darkwind grabbed Helga, lit a torch, and ventured into the darkness of the Mevalonic Maze.

  VI

  The air was dank and Darkwind couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, even with a fresh torch, and what little light coming in behind him was fading fast. He strapped Helga to his back, clutched the map in one hand and the torch in the other, and pressed on.

  He’d been walking for what seemed like hours. The cavernous corridors were large enough for a party of players to travel comfortably, and Darkwind marveled at the sheer size of these halls. They were dead quiet, save for their own music—dripping water and the echoes of scurrying insects, or the occasional chirp of the greybats that dwelled in here. They were harmless creatures and Darkwind ignored them. Some scattered at the flame as he passed.

  Finally, Darkwind came to the first fork in the map. The old man said to take the left path. Darkwind headed into the left tunnel. These halls had never been traveled by any players before, and Darkwind took his time looking for any secrets the Mevalon family had to hide down here (so far, there was nothing.)

  At the next junction, there were four corridors. The map directed him into the third one from the left. These corridors had a different odor about them, and an odd breeze. A breeze inside the mountain? Darkwind moved into the correct corridor, which led him into a grand room with ceilings eighty feet high and held up by a multitude of Mevalonic statues, no doubt idols of either their ancestors or gods, carved from the stone of the very mountain they held up in this room. The room was covered in a thick binding of silken webbing, and Darkwind knew he might be in trouble. A large hole that appeared to have erupted from the corner of the room was also blanketed in the white threads of death, and it looked as though the drained carcasses of greybats and other smaller creatures lay rotting.