Morogan and I headed back toward the bandit camp, on the lookout for any sort of patrols or traps. We were almost in the camp before we saw any movement. We saw two wagons with mules that had already been harnessed. The wagons were packed and ready to go. I pointed at them.
Morogan nodded and then pointed toward a hut. “Hear talking,” he whispered. We crept closer to the little hut. Inside, I could now make out the voices as well.
“I don’t care how many people I have to drain. I need more blood. If you can’t get more, then I’ll have to use yours.” said an unknown voice.
“I’ll get more, quit worrying.” Flint kicked the door out of its frame and stormed off toward the wagons. “Are you coming? Slag expects us in Bridgeport by tomorrow.”
A black-robed figure stepped out from the hut. He looked down at the door sitting on the ground and shook his head. “Do you have to break everything that gets in your way?” he said, raising his hood to cover his head and face.
“Naw, man. I just enjoy it. Just like you get off on draining the life out of helpless people,” said Flint. “C’mon, Tod, let’s get moving.”
“That’s Damon Tod,” the black-robed man corrected. “You’d be wise to remember it.”
Flint frowned. “Look, man, don’t try to intimidate me. I’ll gut you out here and no one will ever find your body.” The two stared at each other for several long moments.
Damon Tod laughed. “You’ve got guts, Flint. I can appreciate that. Let’s get going then.”
Flint yelled to the other two minions who were in the camp. They loaded the prisoners into one of the wagons while Flint and Damon left ahead. As soon as Flint was out of earshot, we knocked out the two minions and freed the two prisoners. The merchant started working on the guard’s wounds in an effort to stabilize him.
The winds began to pick up noticeably, as thunder boomed in the distance. More rain was on the horizon. I had Morogan get Chuck and Ben while I searched the camp for anything useful. I found some more rope, a pair of torches, and some leather. I tossed it all in the back of the wagon.
“What will you do now?” I asked Ben, as we led the mule-drawn wagon down the road to Bridgeport. The merchant had stabilized the guard but was exhausted.
“Likely, we’ll find some kinda work in the city. Save up enough fer transport back home.”
Chuck joined in. “Maybe save enough to bring our families here.”
“Good plan,” said Morogan. “Family important.” Everyone agreed. We pushed on through the day, finally arriving late afternoon just as the rain started to come down in earnest.
The city of Bridgeport was a cliffside paradise overlooking the ocean. Natural erosion created several rivers which surrounded the city, and waterfalls dumped right onto the beach far below. Six bridges, one for each main road, connected the city to the rest of the land.
We had Chuck and Ben take the wagon to the infirmary. We gave them the rescue quest to help cover their living expenses in the city while they worked to save up to go home. They thanked us before parting ways.
We headed for the town square and found Mary Magnus exactly where Stephen had mentioned. A large umbrella protected her from the rain, and she sat upon a short wooden stool with a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stared off into space. Her graying hair was tied back under a red bonnet, and wrinkles dotted her eyes and cheeks, likely from smiling quite often.
“Mary Magnus?” I asked.
She slowly turned her head toward me. “Yes?” she asked.
I pulled out the sack that I’d brought her. “Stephen asked me to bring you these,” I said.
She looked down and reached for the sack but stopped suddenly, noticing my bracer. Her eyes grew several sizes, and a huge smile stretched her wrinkles flat. She looked up at me, eyes sparkling. “He said you would come… Abalonious.” She nodded. “And now that you’re here, I can give you this and go home.” She reached under her blanket and pulled out an old stone. “Here, take this, please.”
I reached out and took the stone from her as she took the sack. Maybe this lady isn’t all there? “Thank you,” I said, smiling.
“You’re very welcome, Abalonious,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll see you again at some point soon. Your friend is waiting for you at the church.”
“Thanks again, take care,” I said.
“You as well,” she said, still smiling.
I pocketed the stone, and we walked a ways away from her before I leaned over to Morogan. “We need to find the church,” I said.
“Ask directions?” he said. We ended up not needing to. From the front gates, we could see the massive stone church, looming ominously over the entire city. A huge statue stood guard atop it, runed sword held to the sky. A monument to the Caretaker. I pointed at it. Morogan nodded.
6
Garstil, The Arcane
The church was made completely of stone and carved columns. Tall wooden doors adorned the front, intricately wrought iron designs depicting great battles of old. The doors creaked as I pushed them open. We stepped out from the rain and closed the ancient doors behind us with a thud. Stone tiles comprised the floor, drain grates directly inside for situations just as this. Twin fireplaces adorned both sides of the entrance, and we were able to dry off quickly before proceeding deeper into the church.
Our footsteps echoed as we walked toward the altar. Paintings and murals inside depicted more of the battles from the outer doors. Great wars and the wrath of Gods and Demons alike. Clergymen gathered around a painting, discussing its relevance to a coming sermon. We stood by, in view, but did not interrupt.
“Yes, my sons? Is there anything we can help with?” They all turned in unison.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. We were hoping to find a friend of ours, a mage named Garstil? Would you happen to have seen him?”
The older of the four smiled. “Yes, we just spoke with him a few minutes ago; he’s expecting you. You’ll find him before the Altar of the Caretaker.”
“Thank you. Sorry again for the interruption.”
“No apologies are necessary. We live to serve and guide the children of the Caretaker. Please, be well, and may he watch over you always.”
We headed toward the front of the church. Before the altar kneeled a man in leather armor, wearing a tattered cloth shoulder mantle with his hood down, exposing his long black hair and widow's peak. Without opening his eyes, he spoke. “Pray with me, brother.”
I knelt down before the altar and closed my eyes and prayed. A droning sound filled my mind for a moment, quite similar to the transferring of knowledge. However, that was where the similarities ended. I opened my eyes to darkness. I had been here before. When I first started the game. I wasn’t alone. As I looked around, several other people stood at random intervals. Morogan popped up next to me, grinning.
A large oak ornate double door opened in a wall that wasn’t there a second ago. The sound of expensive leather dress shoes on the marble floor caught my attention, as a butler exited the doorway.
“The Caretaker bids you all welcome. Please be patient. We will be with you shortly.” He retreated into the door and closed it quietly behind him.
Little hands grabbed me from behind and spun me around. “Aba! You’re here too!” Ashley Magnus threw her arms around me and gave me a hug.
I smiled. “Hey, Ashley! I’m still trying to figure out where here is. But I’m glad you’re here too.”
“Did Morogan come too?” Concern warped her tiny features. I pointed behind her and grinned.
“Yay, Morogan,” she squealed and ran at him, damn near knocking him over. He hugged her back, grinning and laughing.
I smiled as they caught up. I spotted Agamor and made my way to greet him. He looked me over, appraising me.
“You’ve grown in strength, Abalonious. This is a great thing!” Agamor reached out and traded grips. “Merchant Evans told me of your meeting. You are off to a great start.”
“Thank you, an
d I’m glad Evans made it to your village. I was worried.” I looked around. “Where exactly are we anyhow? This is where I was the night before I woke up in your village. But that wall and door weren’t there.
Agamor smiled. “This is Otherworld, where new souls enter our world and where the Caretaker resides. It changes depending on the Caretaker’s needs. Today, a gathering of friends will take place. For that to happen from all over Tempest, we must meet here, in Otherworld.”
“So, you’re telling me we can meet here, from anywhere in Tempest at any time?” I was shocked. How come no one had mentioned this to me?
“Yes. However, not at any time. When one prays, it is heard by the Caretaker. If he deems it worth his time, you will be brought here.” He waved his arm around the vast darkness. He looked toward the door. “It is time, my friend.”
The double doors opened wide, and the butler returned. “I apologize for the wait and thank you for your patience. Friends, please join us.” He bowed slightly over his left hand, motioning inside with his right.
The room was essentially a tavern. A large round oak table filled the middle of the room, and there were enough chairs for everybody present. A roaring fireplace was nestled in a corner, and the moonlight shone through the windows. I glanced outside and saw a vast whiteness, contrasting the darkness we’d just left. Snow. As far as the eyes could see. We were on the top of a mountain, overlooking some great city in the distance.
The butler addressed the gathering as Mr. Nelson entered the room, dressed in heavy leather armor and looking considerably younger. “I present Noslen, The Caretaker, and formerly, The Sword Bearer. Friends, please, be seated.”
We sat with Noslen at the head of the table. “Thank you all for coming. It warms my heart to have you all gathered in my home.” He smiled as he looked around the table at each of us. “You have all made such great progress in such a short time. I am very proud of each and every one of you.” The gathered people smiled at the compliment. Apparently, Noslen was held in very high regard with this group.
The butler turned to Noslen. “Will there be anything else sir?”
“No, Gregory, thank you.”
Gregory bowed. “As you wish, my lord.” He strode out of the room, back straight, shoulders squared, closing the door silently.
“Friends,” said Noslen, his sudden grim expression contrasting his welcome. “Unfortunately, this isn’t an occasion for a happy gathering. I’ve called you here to warn you of dire news. The necromancers have discovered the existence of several dark artifacts that could tip the balance of power in their favor.” Murmurs started to circle around the table. “We cannot allow them to hold even one of these artifacts in their possession.”
I raised my hand, out of respect, I think. Noslen nodded to me. “Do we know anything about what kinds of artifacts? What powers they have? Where they are?”
Noslen frowned. “No, to almost all of your questions. We have few details, but what I can share is this. There are three necklaces that, if the wearer is killed, they will become Liches. Undead wizards with tremendous potential for destruction and necromantic power.” Everyone gasped. “Furthermore, they affect the Ascended just as easily as anyone else in Tempest.”
“Ascended?” I asked, confused.
Noslen pointed at me. “You, Garstil, anyone else who’s been uploaded into the system. We refer to the new arrivals as ‘Ascended’ since technically your conscious ascends from its previous corporeal state, in a sense.” Sensing we were satisfied with our answer, he continued. “There are also a few rings and an earring that we’re aware of. We don’t know much about their powers, unfortunately.” He paused for a moment. “I leave it to you to hunt down these artifacts and secure them from evil. I have faith that you will succeed. If the necromancers win, it will spell the doom of the entire world of Tempest.” Gloom settled over the gathering.
The doors opened and Gregory stepped in. “It is time, my lord.”
Noslen frowned. “Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to. I wish you all the greatest of luck in your quests. Remember to trust in yourselves. Each of you has an incredibly vast potential of untapped power.” He stood. “Take care, all of you.” One second he was there, and the next, he was gone.
“Please, this way,” said Gregory. He escorted us out of the giant double doors. I stepped through the door, and I was back at the church. Morogan and Garstil stood nearby looking morose. We still had a lot of work to do. I invited Garstil to the party, and we made our way into the rain.
Garstil spoke first, voice low. “There are a few quests in the square that'll provide some decent experience. You two should probably grab those before heading into the sewers.” He handed me a small stone. “Here, take this. It'll let me find you in the sewers once I've finished up my errands with the city militia.”
I pocketed the stone. “Tracking device. Neat. So, what are we supposed to do when we find the bandits’ sewer hideout?”
“Try not to take them head-on. I'll bring the militia as soon as I can. Stay safe down there.” We traded grips and parted ways.
“Aba want eat?” Morogan asked, hopeful.
“That’s probably a good idea. I doubt I’ll have much of an appetite after the sewers.”
We made our way to the central plaza, which surprisingly wasn't closed down. Despite the heavy rainfall, shopkeepers tended tents every few feet. We approached several vendors and asked if they had any work for us. An herbalist mentioned a special mushroom, which only grew in the sewer system, that could be used to make antidotes. Unfortunately, rats had made a nest in the sewers, and the herbalist was too afraid to collect the mushrooms. We offered to collect them and deal with the rats and were offered a quest, which we accepted.
We visited a supply tent where we sold off the miscellaneous doodads we’d been looting and bought new carry satchels that tied to our waists. We also picked up a pair of torches, and I placed an order for a custom tent, which took a good chunk of my silver. Next, we stopped by one of the food tents which had an assortment of breads and pit-roasted meats. We bought a roasted chicken to split, as well as a couple buttered rolls and two ales. The shopkeeper was nice enough to let us eat under her tent, as business was slow and she didn't want our food to get soaked before we could enjoy her heavenly masterpiece.
We finished our meal and thanked her. Soon after, we made our way to the sewer entrance. It was a low-hanging set of rusted wrought iron gates set into the stone wall. The gates opened with a squeal, and we closed them behind us. Lighting the torches with my new flint and steel kit, we pushed into the humid darkness.
The air was heavy with foul smells, and water dripped somewhere in the distance beyond the reach of our flames. A skeleton lay against a wall, leather clothing tattered and torn, and millions of deep claw marks and dried bloodstains covered the surface. The bones had been picked clean. That should have been a clue.
“What's the big deal with the rats anyhow?” I asked, quite amused.
“Aba not afraid?”
“Of rats? Why would I be? Most of the time, they're more afraid of you.” I chuckled. “Seriously, let's squish them and get—" something heavy and furry dropped on my head, clawing and raking at my neck. Yes. I screamed. Like a little girl. I flung the thing from me, and it landed on all fours and skidded to a halt facing me. Hissing, fifty pounds of rat stared me down as if challenging me.
Morogan was laughing so hard he clutched his belly. “Aba, step on rat! Make squishy!” He continued to laugh until teeth sunk into the back of his calf muscle, puncturing the leather. “Ack!” He jumped and almost hit his. I too joined in his laughter. He roared, grabbing the rat by the back of the neck, and tossed it against the sewer wall with a wet crunch.
His roar echoed down the sewer tunnel. Screeches answered in turn, as red beady eyes glared back at us from the shadows. The walls moved. We both drew weapons as the pack of rats charged in unison. You’d think after our run-in with the spiders that I should have
expected giant rats, right? If we ever fought ants or bees or mosquitoes, I’d have to keep that in mind.
Teeth, claw, sword, mace, and shield met in a clash of chaos. Vicious strikes cleaved and smashed giant rats to pieces. After several grueling minutes, we stood panting, covered in claw marks, but overall in perfect health. Morogan looted the rats.
“Anything good?” I asked. Most games dropped loot from critters.
“Silvers. Health potion. Junk.” He shrugged. Amazing what these things will eat.
Pain exploded from my right shoulder and spun me into the wall. Morogan roared, jumping in front of me. Three more impacts rang against his shield, followed by footsteps quickly retreating down the tunnel.
I pulled out the arrow with a curse. “Hey, Morogan, toss me that health potion?” I downed it, bringing my HP back to full. I watched in amazement as the wound healed. I wasn't happy about the hole in my armor, however.
We were definitely on the right track. I looked past him, seeing only darkness beyond the torchlight. We made great targets holding the torches. “Morogan, douse the torch, we’ll creep up on them in the dark.”
“Arrow scratch Morogan favorite shield. Morogan mad. Smash faces with shield.” He snuffed his torch and hung it from his belt, as did I. The footsteps up the tunnel stopped, waiting. A pair of arrows hit Morogan’s shield. Two more whizzed by our heads. They were shooting blind, hoping to hit us. “Morogan see two mans with bows.”
I leaned close to his ear. “Rush them. I’ll hold onto your belt and keep up.” Morogan took off with surprising agility, keeping his footsteps quiet. A few seconds passed, and hurried shuffling met my ears from farther up the tunnel. A light bloomed, dim, just ahead of us. Morogan roared, and they hesitated. I triggered Dash and slammed into the first man, and Morogan slammed his armored shoulder into the second. The torch dropped into the sewage stream and went out with a hiss. I jumped back, wind whooshing past my nose from a fist flying past where my face had been. The sound of heavy blows and grunts and screams and wet impacts resonated throughout the tunnel. The noise stopped. Morogan lit his torch. He stood panting, covered in blood, grinning like a maniac. The two men on the ground were unconscious but breathing. We bound their arms and legs and liberated them of anything of value and their bows and quivers.
Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1 Page 6