by Kevin Murphy
“Great,” thought Dakkon wryly. His already thin desire to help the cocky sorceress waned further.
“I get it,” said Dakkon. “Enough about your exclusive club. Tell me about the work itself.”
“That’s really the important part,” said Lina, further driving the point that teamwork was paramount in her trade. “Knowing what’s worth what is pretty simple after just a little research—unless you find something exceptional.”
That caught Dakkon’s interest. “Exceptional? Like what?”
Lina smirked in a calculated, maddening way. “A unique and powerful artifact; a relic, that is, an item touched or created by the divines; or something integral to a major quest.”
Dakkon’s dagger fell into the second category—maybe even the first. “What if something falls into all three categories?” Dakkon asked.
Lina considered this for a few, silent moments. “It would be unlikely to increase the value by any significant margin—but that’s assuming the buyers require it only for one of those three qualities. Everything is relative. Read the situation and price the item accordingly.” She sighed. “Also, it would be ideal to have someone both competent and trustworthy to sell the acquired items full time.” The last bit sounded like it may have been a recent source of frustration.
“How much money should I expect from selling a god-touched item?” Dakkon asked.
“That’s…” Lina’s face scrunched up as though she were really considering the matter, then her face relaxed at once before glaring at Dakkon indignantly. “That’s really putting the cart before the horse. What makes you think you can even locate a relic—let alone acquire it?”
Lina’s unamused facial expression was contagious, finding its way onto Dakkon’s face. “You know I have one already, hence Gullen’s commission.” Dakkon said.
“I know nothing of the sort,” barked Lina. “The thought occurred to me—but after some brief reconsideration, I realized that you had simply incurred his wrath and he wanted to send a message.”
“Why would you assume that? If he paid for me to die until I dropped or gave up a specific item, wouldn’t that have to imply I had something he wanted?” reasoned Dakkon.
“That was my first suspicion,” Lina admitted before adding pointedly, “until I used my head. If Gullen wanted your item, he’d buy it from you. You don’t strike me as the billionaire’s son type, so what possible incentive could you have to refuse Gullen’s money? You’re a beginner—a novice—a noob. What could you possibly have gotten your hands on that Gullen couldn’t buy from you?”
Maybe he had pissed off the mafia-boss-esque Gullen when Dakkon had tried to break into the man’s vault so brazenly, maybe not. Still, Dakkon could see where the sorceress was coming from. Dakkon had obtained an incredibly valuable item incredibly early in the game. He also passed up a considerable payday on what was more or less his own hunch. Maybe, from an outside perspective, his motives seemed unlikely.
“Fine,” said Dakkon. “So, I hunt for relics by paying attention and having some—trustworthy—friends to help. Anyone could have figured that much out. How does that help me?”
“I never said our methods were any great secret,” said Lina. “You wanted me to tell you about relic hunting, and I have. The most important thing is to have a team that’s clever, adaptable, and unlikely to swindle you.”
Dakkon was under the impression that there was more to hunting relics than Lina was letting him know about, but he had no way to know for certain. So, he rode along in silence, practicing his thermomancy.
\\\
The three travelers passed by the little city of Rinden, the last settlement that the remnants of the expeditionary force had caravanned through on their way back to Tian. The calamity which the gods had supposedly loosed upon the land had burnt down yet another nearby village to the southwest—the direction which Lina had chosen to lead them. Dakkon still wasn’t sure where he was being taken. When he asked Lina to divulge that key piece of information, she dismissed his inquiry by saying that he’d know soon enough.
On the stretch of well-traveled road between Rinden and the burnt-down destination village of Gotswain, a familiar scene began to play out. In front of them, despite their relatively slow speed, two hempen ropes tightened from slack to taut between two trees across the road from one another.
Merri simply raised his massive foot and stomped on the ropes, forcing them back to the ground as he walked forward, unimpeded. Nightshade followed alongside. Eight highwaymen filed out of the woods with crossbows raised intently. Dakkon looked nervously from man to man, and then to Lina.
Merri continued to walk forward, unperturbed. Lina looked to Dakkon. “If they attack, I’ll be leaving them to you,” the sorceress said.
Was this supposed to be some kind of test? Of course, the bandits were going to attack. She could finish them off in an instant. So then, why would he have to do all the work?
“Oi!” yelled one of the perplexed would-be robbers when it was apparent that their targets had no intention of stopping as considerate victims should. “Can’t you see you’re surrounded?”
Merri could see just that. He didn’t care and continued on his way.
With a *thwang,* the bandit who spoke let a bolt fly forth from his crossbow at Merri, then the other bandits quickly imitated the act. Dakkon had anticipated the incoming missiles and, after the first shot, attempted to shield the giant man with an ice barrier. Dakkon’s lack of proficiency with the improvised technique only allowed him to create an unwieldy ice paddle which—more through chance than skill—managed to block two of the bolts.
Including the initial shot, five projectiles had lodged themselves all along Merri’s body. He continued to walk forward, disregarding the threat of the puncture wounds which he’d sustained and pulled out bolts one at a time.
With the encouragement of Dakkon’s heel, Nightshade sprang forward and trampled over the lead bandit. Dakkon formed and threw a shard of ice, which narrowly missed his target, but stuck into the ground with a satisfying thud. Dakkon climbed off his horse, a spear of jagged ice slowly forming in his hand.
The downed bandit backpedaled from his grounded position in a crab-like posture, leaving his crossbow forfeit on the ground.
“Gah!” the bandit cried. “Back off!”
By the time the brigand was back on his feet, he was legging it back into the tree line neatly followed by his band of miscreants. Apparently, they could stand to wait for more compliant prey.
When Dakkon caught back up with Lina, he wanted an explanation. “Why the hell didn’t you do anything!” he demanded. His patience with the unknown task was leaving him.
Merri stopped walking and turned to the sorceress’s defense. He raised his powerful hand to stymie any further protest. When it was clear that Dakkon understood and wouldn’t press the issue further, Merri turned forward and began to pull again.
The three moved in silence, once more, save for the stamping of hooves and feet, and the groan of wooden axles. Several cycles of using and regenerating mana later, Lina was the first to speak. “You’d have found out soon enough,” she said. “What was stolen from me, was my class.”
This odd statement grabbed Dakkon’s attention. He knew that he should try to learn more, but held his tongue out of lingering frustration. The three continued onward allowing the passage of time to settle their nerves.
\\\
Seven minutes before they could see the little town of Gotswain, they could smell what had transpired there. Much of the small town had recently been ablaze, though now it merely smoldered. The remnant population of the town was being treated by a group of clerics whose banners championed Gae`el, the Goddess of Storms. Dakkon approached a group of NPCs tending to the town’s few remaining livestock.
“What caused this?” Dakkon asked. “Raiders? Some sort of monster?” Dakkon hoped for any answer other than a lone fire wielder. Lina’s confession that she had lost her class hadn’t co
mforted him. He didn’t want to accept the idea that if Lina could have her class stolen from her, then perhaps he could too.
“It was a man,” said the burly shepherd by either occupation or by circumstance. “One man.”
“Did you see which way he went?” Dakkon asked after a resigned sigh. The man simply pointed toward a dirt road and went back to tending his herd.
One of the clerics who had been at work easing pains of the wounded approached the three travelers. “There’s an old stone fort in that direction—only thing down that road not lost to time. Gods willing he’ll be hunted down in there, where he can’t cause any more harm to innocent folk,” said the wild-browed cleric.
“Hunted down? Is that just idle hope or is he being pursued?” Lina asked.
The cleric gave a weary smile. “The Order of the Nurturing Cloud will deal with him. No need to worry.” The cleric pointed in the direction of his banner with a nod of his head.
Lina nodded stiffly.
“Just don’t try to go and watch the fight. It could get messy,” said the cleric as he walked back to the mended, though distraught, townsfolk.
“Damn it,” said Lina as soon as the cleric was out of earshot. She bit her lip in frustration.
“What?” asked Dakkon, his fleeting temper from the road mostly dulled.
“We’re going to have to rush in a little recklessly now,” she said. “That order may be some random, backwoods congregation but they’ll still send inquisitors to suppress his magic. Whether they capture him or kill him, I’ll be royally screwed by the outcome.”
Dakkon wasn’t certain what inquisitors were, but from Lina’s words he assumed they had the ability to negate the effects of spell casters. He made a mental note of it. That was an interesting ability he’d need to look into.
“Going in guns blazing hasn’t really been my playstyle, if I’m being honest,” said Dakkon.
“We won’t have the luxury to calmly assess the situation. We need to take him out now,” Lina said.
“I get it,” Dakkon said with a nod. He had managed to calm down on the last leg of their walk to the little town of Gotswain. Though he didn’t much care for Lina’s attitude, it was likely due to her circumstances. Having her power taken from her must be incredibly hard to bear. “You know, I’ve been thinking—I may have an idea for a leg up in the upcoming fight.”
\\\
The fort was crumbling down. No doubt, in a gaming world like this, monsters would have taken up residence in this sort of abandoned fortification. That certainly helped explain the smell of singed fur.
Dakkon entered and moved through the old stronghold, following his nose when other clues failed, as quickly as he could manage in stealth. It didn’t take long for him to find the wicked mage—there was a trail of scorch marks leading most of the way.
The target Dakkon’s party sought was in a large room filled with rubble and debris, likely once used as a mess hall—he guessed—due to the remnant tables and chairs. The ill-gotten gained fire mage sat upon a seat of stone featuring a backrest just tall enough to be uncomfortable if one were to attempt to lean on it—this was an important feature if Dakkon wanted to have a chance to backstab the mage. The lone player was also staring ahead blankly, his focus clearly elsewhere, perhaps on forums or videos—this too favored a surprise attack.
Dakkon quickly doubled back to Lina and Merri, who were trailing behind at a safe distance. Neither were particularly adept at stealth.
“He’s just up ahead,” Dakkon said in a timbrous whisper. “I should be able to get the jump on him. He’s facing the door, but he’s distracted.”
“I’ve been mulling it over,” said Lina. “I think your plan might work.”
Merri nodded encouragingly.
“That fool in there hasn’t had enough time to learn any advanced techniques. What’s more, he wasn’t even a mage before his class change, so he should be spec’d all wrong for casting. I say, give it a shot,” said Lina in a supportive tone that nearly felt out of character to Dakkon.
When Dakkon turned back around, Merri clapped him on the back. A chill ran down his spine. Was it from the thrill of what he was about to try, or from the unnaturally chilly hand on his back?
Dakkon crept into the inner chamber where the fire mage sat, inattentive. He slowly circumnavigated the rubble along the walls to remain unseen and unheard. Heading straight toward the fire mage would have proven much simpler than the path he chose, but it carried the risk that the mage might catch a glimpse of his approach.
Minutes of slow movement and contemplated footsteps later, Dakkon was behind the wizard’s exposed back. Dakkon raised his dagger and simultaneously coated his body in frost—to hedge against any sort of retaliatory strike. Dakkon struck downwards, but just as the tip of his dagger threatened to break skin, Dakkon’s vision flashed orange as a barrier of flame protected the fire mage. The barrier erupted outwards in all directions, causing debris to fly toward every wall. Dakkon was likewise thrown back. The damage of the fire had been dampened to nearly nothing, but Dakkon’s barrier had no effect on the concussive force of the unexpected blast, nor his collision with the wall.
[Farrol has blasted you for 70 damage. Remaining HP 605/675]
[Farrol has burned you for 3 damage. Remaining HP 602/675]
[You have collided with a wall for 43 damage. Remaining HP 559/675]
Dakkon’s left arm had connected with the wall awkwardly. The resulting pain was demanding, but manageable.
The fire mage stood from his seat, outfitted in the leathers of his previous calling rather than the subtler cloth garments favored by most other arcane practitioners, and laughed at the intruder.
“You picked the wrong guy to rob, today!” his manic voice howled with jovial fervor. He clearly didn’t feel threatened by the situation. On the contrary, he seemed delighted. “Now that you’re here, you’ll have to entertain me!”
The mage held out two fingers pointing forward from his right hand.
“Bang,” he said as a firebolt shot forward at Dakkon and pegged him squarely in the chest.
[Farrol has burned you for 8 damage. Remaining HP 551/675]
Dakkon’s shielding, cold aura had absorbed most of the fire damage.
“Oh?” said the fire mage in surprise. He made three quick firing motions with his hand and three bolts flew at Dakkon. The first caught his shoulder, but Dakkon managed to move away before the others could hit their mark.
[Farrol has burned you for 22 damage. Remaining HP 529/675]
Dakkon needed to find some cover. His cold barrier was excellent at mitigating the damage of one stray bolt, but if multiple consecutive bolts struck him, his flimsy wall of cold would be blown away and he’d surely be roasted.
“No good?” taunted the power-drunk flame mage. “How about…” the mage trailed off as he raised his other hand and pointed two fingers forward. “Bang, bang,” he said slowly with a wicked smile.
The fire mage made quick firing motions with one hand and then the next, again and again, filling the space between him and his target with a stream of fireballs. Dakkon sprayed forward a fountain of water from his Dousebinders, missing the fireballs and landing harmlessly away from the mage who cackled at the spectacle.
Dakkon abandoned the first direction he ran by spinning backwards through the torrent of fire blasts and dashing to a more stable pile of rubble to hide behind.
[Farrol has burned you for 24 damage. Remaining HP 505/675]
[Farrol has burned you for 36 damage. Remaining HP 469/675]
Two fireballs collided with him during his maneuver, but the spinning motion allowed a different portion on his cold barrier to absorb each blast. As Dakkon reached the rubble he dove and rolled, shooting another jet of water which pooled near the fire mage’s feet. He wasn’t close to being on target, his aim was simply too poor. The tail end of Dakkon’s water jet collided with a fireball and both evaporated in an instant producing an impressive cloud of ste
am.
The steam fog would only provide momentary cover for Dakkon. He opened up his character sheet and frantically allocated 20 stat points into dexterity. He didn’t know how much longer he could manage. As soon as the steam had cleared enough to see, Dakkon shot another stream of water towards the mage who, from either caution or hubris, hadn’t moved a step.
“Got ya!” the mage yelled. His hands glowed white-hot. He was dowsed by the spray of water, but his hands did not dim nor darken. As the water soaked the mage and pooled at his feet, he channeled a large cone of flame out from his palms which engulfed the area where Dakkon sought refuge. The edgemaster’s cover did little for him in the face of such heavy firepower.
[Farrol has burned you for 23 damage. Remaining HP 446/675]
[Farrol has burned you for 42 damage. Remaining HP 404/675]
[Farrol has burned you for 68 damage. Remaining HP 336/675]
[Farrol has burned you for 93 damage. Remaining HP 243/675]
The mage’s flambéing would have quickly finished Dakkon off were it not for the booming thuds of Merri’s feet as he barreled toward the fire mage from behind. The mage spun to face his new challenger, roasting the incoming giant of a man with impunity.
Two steps into the column of flame, Merri’s makeshift armor fashioned from bark, leather cords, and sheets of layered ice melted rapidly, but his charge was unabated. The mage attempted to step back but was unable to move his legs, as he found the puddle at his feet frozen solid. Panicking, the mage threw everything he had into incinerating the man who bull-rushed him.
Dakkon, after freezing the ground, poured the rest of his mana into shielding Merri and gushed fourth water from his wraps with the intent to douse his large ally and their target alike.
As the water reached the fire mage, so did Merri’s charge. With a great maul from his shoulder, he swung to deliver the full force of his run, powerful arms, and considerable mass in one titanic payload. The maul connected like a batter at tee, with a volcanic *thunk* as the fire and water erupted, filling the room with steam.