by Kevin Murphy
Savior clearly wasn’t bound by any form of social constraint or construct—he made friends with whomever he chose to and acted however he pleased. The world was lucky he had such a pleasant disposition, or he’d prove to be one hell of a troublemaker. It was thanks to Arden that the two had met. Like Brett, Arden was the son of a wealthy, overbearing parent—a dangerous cocktail which often meant a difficult childhood. Arden’s father, however, wasn’t nearly as controlling as Brett’s own. Though they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Brett and Arden were kindred spirits. If it weren’t for Arden, Brett would probably still be living in an unrelenting world of looming deadlines, constant study, and unending obligation. His friends and Chronicle had given him a chance to do things differently—a chance to live another life.
Brett still felt wrong about Arden’s untimely death, but Savior hardly seemed to care. Arden hadn’t contacted Brett from the outside world yet, either. He was probably still fuming mad about the whole situation given how time passed like molasses on the other side.
“How many people are we expecting to fight this time, again?” Brett asked.
“Boss says eight,” Savior replied excitedly. “We’ll all get one—I expect the big guy’ll get two.”
Brett’s lips tightened into an unamused line in protest of his friend’s choice of words. Savior had been calling Suresh ‘boss’ for the last day and didn’t seem to notice—or mind—Brett’s looks of disapproval.
“That’s quite a few,” said Brett, leaving alone the topic of why Suresh should automatically get the extra kill. “Think we’ll lose anyone this time?”
“We haven’t so far—why start now?” said Savior with a nonchalant shrug. He was forgetting Arden, of course. It was beginning to seem that, to Savior, the death of his friend at Suresh’s hands was of no great consequence.
The large, brown head of a horse overtook Brett from his left side, causing him to freeze up for but an instant. Suresh tugged at the reins of his steed so that he’d cut off Brett’s stride.
“Stick to the back,” Suresh commanded, simply.
Brett wanted to protest, but for the first time when speaking to anyone other than his controlling father, he couldn’t seem to find his words. After two additional seconds under Suresh’s cold gaze, the large man turned his horse forward and walked ahead.
Brett felt immediately ashamed. Why hadn’t he had anything to say? Suresh’s order was starkly different from how they normally did things. Typically, Brett was on the front lines. Even if he’d lost his leadership position elsewhere, he was one of the stronger fighters. People still listened to him in the stream of battle.
“Don’t look so flustered,” Savior said. “There are eight dudes up ahead. He probably just wants those of us with a sigil to show up after the situation is under control. If we died, we’d be left behind. It sounds like he’s just got our best interests in mind.”
Savior’s words stung Brett, but he wasn’t wrong. Suresh wouldn’t hesitate to leave either of them behind if they died, just like they’d all left Arden. Sticking with the safety of the pack and collecting more and more tournament points was the most rational option. Still, Brett felt a little betrayed by the idea his friend might leave him. He expected that Arden probably felt the same way about him.
One thing Brett was certain of, though, was that—despite whatever his friend might think—Suresh didn’t have anyone else’s best interest in mind. There had to be some other reason his usurper chose to pull him from the front lines. Maybe he just didn’t like the last bit of control Brett still held onto and was trying to pry it away from him—or maybe Suresh wanted him to act out of line so that the others wouldn’t bat an eye when the large man decided to kill him and claim his tournament points for himself.
“I’m no fool,” thought Brett. “I’ll be damned if it ends like this.”
Despite his sentiment, Brett obeyed.
\\\
Through training in the tunnels, Dakkon had reached another personal milestone. 15 levels in his fire evoker class gave him the next rank in his ‘Mastery’ skill. He was growing stronger. Now he could use all of his classes at 90-percent power. His skills still wouldn’t have quite the same zing as a player who focused on a single class, but he was catching up—and when he did get to full power, he’d have four times the number of skills. As in all other things, the bulk of progress was won through hard work on his own time. The finished results which others saw were forged through unsung toil.
Reaching level 15 in fire evoker also unlocked a brand new skill: Mold Flame.
|+Mold Flame: Continuous training with fire reveals that it can be tamed. Having achieved a greater understanding, this skill allows you to alter the shape of your flame.
Dakkon wasn’t sure what to make of his newest skill, but he certainly wouldn’t be overlooking it. If he’d learned one thing for certain, it was that strength often came from unlikely places.
It wasn’t entirely his own time that he’d been using, though. Dakkon had insisted upon a few extra minutes of waiting for the ‘water to accumulate’ as he ground out the last little bit of needed experience. Because of that, the others were not-so-patiently waiting.
“Done stewing yet?” Melee asked while tapping her foot.
“Just got done!” Dakkon said excitedly as he balled both fists, making ridiculous mock-guns with his fingers, then fired two little streams of water forward to demonstrate his recovery.
“Careful,” yawned Roth. “We wouldn’t want to have to wait another six hours.”
“Be honest, you wanted the time to learn and get the hang of your new skill,” said Dakkon.
“The first hour was all I needed to learn it, and I had the hang of it a few minutes after that,” griped Roth. “The other four hours and 57 minutes were all you.”
Shrugging as if there was nothing to be done about it, Dakkon turned to Melee. “You want to have a crack at that ice wall?”
Melee swung her already-unstrapped giant sword up onto her right shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I never would, but that’s a pretty thick wall,” Dakkon said with a grin.
Despite Dakkon’s efforts to build an unbreakable fortification, and regardless of the limited room Melee had to swing her sword in the smaller tunnel, Melee bashed her way through the wall in just shy of two minutes.
For the first minute, Dakkon smiled proudly at his creation and by the second Cline had placed a consolatory hand just below his neck and said, “It was probably just weakened by the six hours of melting.”
Though Dakkon was tempted to rebuild the wall for Melee to try again, that would have to wait. They had a game dungeon to escape from.
The other end of the smaller tunnel forked left toward the boulder that had trapped them, and right to the unnatural crystal cave where dirt busied the walls like pox marks. The freezing came a little faster and easier for Dakkon, but they moved forward slowly as he sealed each and every patch of dirt that they found.
As they gradually traversed around the corridor reminiscent of a wheel’s rim—complete with its intersecting spoke-like tunnels—they began to loosen up. They didn’t hear anything. There had been a lingering, fetid odor which had put them on edge, but eventually the dirt patches thinned, and the foul aroma was left behind them.
Soon after the last of the little, erratically-placed stone globes disappeared from the walls, they found a familiar bisecting tunnel. Rather than take a right or press forward and chance running into another surprise boss fight, Dakkon’s group decided to take a left which should lead them back to the central area that they’d explored. From what they’d determined, unexplored areas of the tunnels should’ve proved simple enough to navigate in theory, but the party was still relieved when they found their way back to the center room where a cold, wet rope encircled a toppled ice totem. Now all they had to do was climb.
Eager to put his new toy to use, Cline spun for momentum and expertly hooked the end of his portable st
aircase on a lip of crystal some five meters above—to the surprise of all. Dakkon was sure the feat would’ve taken him at least a dozen tries. Though sturdy, the chain was uncharacteristically lightweight, with a bit of additional heft on either clawed end. When Cline pulled it tight each link of chain sighed as it dropped a previously-unseen, metallic-gray post downward that halted once it made contact with the ground below. The Stairs of Stijgen was only six meters in length, so the staircase that Cline made to ascend five meters upward was impressively steep. Still, the path seemed traversable, and once Cline had excitedly made the journey upwards the others followed one by one.
Cline lifted the end of his staircase and the fist-sized posts retracted rapidly. The sudden weight of the chain—even as light as it was—threatened to pull Cline back down to the floor below. Though being left grasping onto a dangling chain was a peculiarity which should prove easy to offset in the future, Cline was grateful for Roth’s stabilizing hand during the Stairs of Stijgen’s first practical application.
The slanted path where they stood was barely familiar, as they’d only seen it while tumbling downward immediately after the floor they were walking on had surprised them by turning into giant spiders. Not rolling and sliding on this attempt, the party could ascend carefully, using Cline’s magical catwalk again to pull themselves into the tunnel above.
There were no signs of life as the party made its way back to the entrance. There were no dirt patches that needed covering to slow them. When they finally arrived at the geode-like room to which they’d first dropped in, even the core crawlers that had moved to bar their passage were gone. Above them, after one last climb, they’d be a short walk away from Klith.
When they finally returned to the upper level of the mines where the adult population of Klith had previously been gathered, they found it empty save for a single sentry who had managed to neglect his nightly duties by falling asleep on a thick, fur blanket he’d brought along for his watch.
The group walked up the crystal-cut staircase and emerged into the center of Klith. The buildings facing them from all sides may have seemed unnerving before, but—in that fleeting moment—they were a welcome change from the monotony of crystal tunnels beneath the city.
A brief congress of the party was called to determine what needed to be done. No one wanted to wait for dawn or go house-to-house trying to figure out which one belonged to the old lady who’d given them their quest—especially since there had been no promise of a reward. The town’s atmosphere was unsettling during the day and had become more so at night. Everyone wanted to be finished with the place.
Still, they had completed the village elder’s quest. The least they could do was hand in her late husband’s gear. They walked up to Osword’s father’s house and general store, where they had bought their supplies, and rapped on the door a few times. After a bit of clamor from the other side, they were pleased to see it was Osword who opened the front door to greet them.
“It’s the middle of the bloody night!” hollered Osword, with a pick slung over his shoulder and no apparent care for who he might be waking from neighboring houses. “What do you want!”
“Sorry, Osword,” Dakkon said while raising his hands. “We were just about to head out of town, but Merelda had requested that we retrieve a few items for her.”
Osword’s tired, hard expression softened a bit when he heard the old woman’s name.
“Would you give these to her? That or tell us where she lives?” Dakkon asked, holding out the former city head’s sword and cloak clasp.
“Ah,” said Osword, recognizing the items for what they were. “No need to go waking anyone else up.” The fire had escaped his voice. He reached for the items and hefted them reverently. “I’ll make sure she gets these.”
“Great—” Dakkon began to say goodbye, then remembered the ruined state of his ally’s short sword. “Say, Osword, do you have a spare weapon we could buy off of you? Roth’s sword didn’t survive the mines.”
“Hm? Ah,” Osword said absentmindedly. He was tired, but he also seemed to be recalling fond memories of the man whose items he now held. “Sure. Take this,” Osword said as he handed over his own pick.
“Thank you, Osword,” Roth said, slapping the larger man on the shoulder.
“Night.”
“Thanks, Os.”
“See ya, Osword.”
“Later, big guy,” the others said in turn.
“Safe travels, you lot,” Osword said and bowed his head. As the party walked away from the house, they could hear the large man close his door—sure to return to his interrupted sleep.
[You have completed a quest: Something to Hold on To]
Dakkon opened up his quest journal’s and clicked on the ‘completed’ tab:
|————
|Completed Quests — ( Active Quests )
|————
|-Something to Hold on To:
|You have returned the belongings of Jacob, the founder
|and respected leader of Klith, to his widow, Merelda.
|You should seek out the unofficial head of Klith, Merelda,
|to claim your reward.
|Promised rewards:
| - None
|
|+Madness of Geh`hen
|+Get the Goatmen
|+Of Mice and Mam
While they’d completed Merelda’s quest, there didn’t seem to be any good reason to bother finding her before the party set out. If Merelda had had anything of real value, Dakkon figured that it would’ve already been put towards helping the village. So, it seemed, either the group would receive something at the detriment of the village, or what they received wouldn’t be worth their time. Heroically leaving in the middle of the night without seeking out a reward, however, had a draw of its own. It couldn’t hurt to spread a few rumors which might one day become good will.
As they walked toward the North, Cline froze after barely hearing what sounded like the faint giggle of a young child hidden somewhere amongst the shadows. Curling his upper lip with distaste Cline said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 15: The Long Road
Just before noon of the following day, the party took a break in high spirits. They were merry and talkative once the sun rose. They’d just finished up a quest, escaped a dungeon of sorts, and received new skills and gear to show for it. Everyone was eager to play with their new toys.
“C’mon, Dakkon,” said Roth. “Let me give you a few thwacks with Echostrike so we can see what it’s like on a real target.”
“Hmmm. Tempting,” said Dakkon. “I’m in… on the condition that I get to stab you somewhere with my new dagger.”
Roth faltered only for a moment, his enthusiasm more resolute than some mere poison-packed flesh wound. “All right, stab me!”
“Geez, guys,” said Mina. “No stabbing each other! Seriously! It sets a bad precedent.”
“I’d have to agree,” Cline said with wide eyes that darted over to Melee for even more support.
“Don’t look at me,” Melee said. “I’d whip out some popcorn if I had it.”
“Ah, no fair,” said Roth. “Mina gets to float around and turn into a tree. I want to hit someone.”
“Woah now,” said Melee. “There’s a good point. You haven’t turned into a tree yet.” Melee raised her eyebrows with excitement as she addressed Mina. “I didn’t give you that dusty old book for no reason. The sun’s out! Photosynthesize!”
Mina squinted at Melee for a moment before she sighed. “All right. But if we’re going to test it then we’d better do it right… We haven’t eaten yet, so I’m not regenerating right now—but, I am at full health and mana. I’ll need to take some damage to see just how good this regeneration is.”
Mina bent down and placed a hand on Jinx’s neck, then whispered something in the wolf’s right ear. Her pet walked away into the shade of a tree and laid itself down. Then, Mina began casting simple spells to drain her mana. She stared at
Roth blankly for a moment before she said, “Well?”
“Well, what?” asked Roth. “Wait, you want me to hit you? In front of Jinx?”
“Someone has to,” said Mina. “You’ve got a new skill to try, and I’d honestly rather the force be blunt. Dakkon’s got daggers, Cline has arrows, and Amelie has a sword so big she could split me in half, so you’re my best choice.” Mina stopped casting momentarily to shoot Roth a big thumbs-up.
Roth looked a little uneasy.
“What’s wrong?” asked Melee with a big grin. “Weren’t you just begging to hit Dakkon?”
“Ah,” said Roth. “Never mind the untested skill, I’d really rather not leave my healer with a lasting desire for payback—or attack a wolf’s master.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Dakkon, causing Cline to crack a boyish grin.
“Hit me with Echostrike to around 50 percent,” Mina instructed. “Once I go tree form, we’ll see how slowly I mend up. I’ll let you know when to hit me in tree form, so we can test out the damage reduction.”
“Ah, Echostrike only has a 10 second duration right now, then I’ll have to wait a few minutes before I can go again,” said Roth.
“Well, whatever,” said Mina. “Maybe it’ll take two tries. All right, then, hit me.”
Roth tilted his head as he shrugged and raised his weapons. His body gained a subtle white outline as thin tendrils of energy rose from his arms, pick, and mace.
Roth swung his mace at Mina’s arm, a visible white blob of force trailing behind it. As he struck Mina, her hit points dipped, and her body shuddered. Immediately afterwards, her HP dropped further, and she was shaken again.
Judging the damage that he’d dealt to be insufficient, Roth reared back and swung twice more, far harder than the first time. Mina took the following four impacts with a defiant grin on her face, but everyone could see that it hurt.