by James Hunter
Abby slid up beside me and pulled my hand into hers, giving it a tight squeeze of reassurance as we fell silent, watching the remainder of the fight. It wouldn’t be long. Jo and Lowyth’s forces had already broken the defensive ranks, and there were only a handful of Vogthar left, all of them fighting wildly without any real thought or reason.
The most curious thing of all, though, was not what was happening on the battlefield, but what was happening off of it. I couldn’t help but notice just how close Jo-Dan and the Spider Queen were standing together. Shoulder to shoulder. Sharing occasional smiles, though they tried to hide it. Well, she was smiling at any rate. It was impossible to tell with him since he had no face. Were they? Were they together maybe? No, surely not. Yet, the way Lowyth looked at Jo was hard to ignore. There was definitely fondness there. The mental image of the two of them together was rather horrifying to contemplate, so I firmly pushed it away and decided that was absolutely none of my business.
I cleared my throat as the last of the Vogthar fell, carved down by the weathered black battle-axe of a Revenant Knight.
“So, what was it you were hoping to show us?” I asked.
“A moment,” Lowyth replied, raising a finger.
Up ahead a man emerged from the bowels of the dungeon.
He was a Murk Elf, though one I’d never seen before. He wore brown leathers, heavily stained with black blood, and a green cloak; a wicked looking compound bow rode his back. His skin was the color of gray suede, his eyes like chunks of polished carnelians—bloodred in the center, surrounded by a lighter touch of orange. In one hand he carried a brutal single-edged blade, the metal pitted though the edge looked razor sharp, and in the other hand he carried a head, trailing gore from a bloody stump.
Super gross, even for V.G.O.
The man looked normal enough, but there was something subtly off about him that made my skin crawl. I knew Abby felt the same because she tensed up beside me, hand clenching down as though she were bodily resisting the urge not to set this guy on fire.
The assembled mobs parted for the Murk Elf with the bloody head as though he were some kind of royalty, but in an act which threw me completely off balance, I watched as the newcomer dropped into a deep bow, acknowledging both Jo-Dan and Lowyth.
“My king and queen,” he stated simply before rising and offering a curt bob of the head toward me and Abby.
“Warden Nil,” Lowyth acknowledged the hunter. “I assume this is the creature?”
“It is.” He dropped the head on the ground with a meaty thump. The head belonged to a monster larger than a man, though it didn’t really look like any Vog-Boss I’d seen before. The turquoise scales, beady black eyes, and jagged gator-like teeth could’ve fit on any of the Troglodytes scattered throughout this region. “He put up an admirable fight, but I retrieved the stone.” He reached into his cloak, which kicked softly in the breeze, and pulled out a distorted green gem shot through with jags of black lightning—just like the trees all around the woods.
“Unfortunately, it’s beyond saving.” He paused, scratching thoughtfully at his chin with curved black claws. “More bad news, they’re multiplying too fast for us to keep up with. We were straddling the edge, but after last night?” He frowned. “I’d say, at this rate, we have three weeks before the infection has metastasized and we lose Cernunnos entirely. And that’s a generous estimate.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Could be sooner.”
“Thanks, Nil,” Jo-Dan said, voice somber. “Please, go mop it up. Make sure none of them get away.”
“They never do,” the Warden said with a grin, his face roiling and shifting slightly, his mouth stretching to reveal a maw with too many teeth. “I’ll see that it’s done properly.” In a flash, the horror-show mouth was gone, back to what could pass for a normal Murk Elf. “Jack, Abby,” he said, offering us one more perfunctory nod and a wink before turning sharply and disappearing back down into the dungeon, this time followed by a stream of dungeon mobs, all trailing behind him like a war band.
“So this is why you called us out here?” Abby said. Her tone was tight, and I knew her well enough to know there was an undercurrent of anger or, at the very least, frustration lingering beneath her calm exterior. “Last night was a late one. Yunnam got hit hard. This could’ve waited, yeah? It’s not like we don’t already know about the Vogthar-dungeon situation. I mean, sixteen dungeons falling is bad news, but I feel like that’s something you could’ve sent over in a PM.”
“No. See, that’s the thing. It couldn’t wait,” Jo-Dan said. “I called you out here because you need to see this. I’ve been harping on this for a while, but I feel like no one’s really getting it. Three times a week I come in and give my report to the War Council—more dungeons gone, more Vogthar strongholds—and you guys all nod your heads like you understand, but then you don’t do anything.”
“Hey, that’s not fair—”
He lifted his hands, silencing me with the gesture. “I know it’s complicated, and I’m not blaming you personally, okay? Because, here’s the thing, I get it. Me and Low”—he gestured toward the Spider Queen—“we’re monsters. To you guys and all the other heroes, it’s like no big deal or whatever. It’s like, okay so there are less spiders and more Vogs... Fine. Cool. Monsters are monsters. But that’s not true at all. And I think you guys fundamentally don’t understand what is happening here or how bad things have gotten in the past month.”
“The monster realm is a delicate ecosystem, troublesome fly,” the Spider Queen crooned. “We have been doing everything to stop their spread, but it’s not enough. My kind prefers to wait. To set a trap. To lure our enemies in where we are strongest before acting. But Thanatos is too strong. We can’t bide our time, nestled deep in our webs. Especially not after the losses we sustained last night. If we tarry any longer, we will fall. And once we do, you will, too. They will overwhelm you. If that happens, the Dread Overmind will be unstoppable.”
I faltered, unsure what to say.
Beside me, Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. So maybe I’m legit not understanding this. I get that the dungeons are dying, replaced by the Vogthar. That sucks for us because it means more Vogs and more entry points for them to invade Eldgard from, but why does it matter to you? Big picture, I mean.”
Jo-Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone’s heard about you guys going up against the Lich Priest in the Realm of Order, right?” He started to pace as he spoke, bone wings swaying behind him as he moved. “That was important because it protected Sophia. Everyone seems to understand that. But for some reason everyone is overlooking this threat even though it’s exactly the same. Sure, it might not be one big threat like the Lich Priest, but the outcome will be the same. See, Cernunnos has his own realm, too. The Monstrous Realm.
“The Monstrous Realm is actually just one giant tree. A world tree—an enormous dungeon—and it overlaps with the Material Realm. Every single dungeon in Eldgard is a root, all connecting back to Cernunnos’ tree. I don’t know how much you know about trees, but if the roots get diseased, the tree eventually dies. That’s science. I mean, just look around at this forest. Everything everywhere is rotting. The same thing is happening to Cernunnos. The more dungeons that fall, the more power he loses in this realm and the more power Thanatos gains. Plus, there’s something else...”
Jo faltered, pulling back the robe of his sleeve, showing off the pale flesh below.
Pale flesh riddled with jagged black lightning bolts.
“He’s almost won, Jack. There’s a tipping point to this kinda thing. He doesn’t need to kill all of us to take control. Just enough to tip the balance and infect the world tree. Once he does that, regular mobs will start changing. Our master won’t be Cernunnos anymore, it’ll be Thanatos. Poor Hokima?” He nudged the decapitated head with the toe of his boot. “This was him. A few days ago, he was one of us—worked in the mob to suppress the spread. As of this morning, he serves Thanatos. Or did, until Nil chopped off his head
and stole his core. But if you two don’t stop Thanatos now, the rest of us will end up just like Hokima. Try to imagine how well the Alliance will fare when Lowyth is coming after you. Or me. It’s a fight you can’t win. This is endgame content, guys. Time to put up or shut up.”
<<<>>>
Quest Update: The Road to War
While investigating a new Vogthar dungeon incursion in the Tanglewood, you have been informed by Joseph the Gravemonger that the Realm of Cernunnos is under dire threat. A deadly corruption is spreading among the dungeons and grows worse with each dungeon that falls to the Vogthar. Unless you stop Thanatos and his malignant forces, the Monstrous Realm will be permanently lost to the power of the Dread Overmind!
Quest Class: Rare, Alliance-Based
Quest Difficulty: Infernal
Success: Sway the War Council to your cause and launch the assault against Morsheim before it’s too late! If that isn’t possible, launch the attack yourself within three days. Time is of the essence.
Failure: Fail to launch an invasion against Morsheim within three days. WARNING: The consequences for failure are dire!
Reward: 20,000 EXP; +100 to Renown; Guidance of Sophia: Although Sophia will not be able to accompany you physically into Morsheim, she will aid you and all those who rally to your cause by dispatching strategic quests, which may just tip the balance in your war effort.
Hopefully this will get those dimwits to pull their heads out of their collective asses.
<<<>>>
I dismissed the update, staring instead at Jo’s corrupted arm and those creeping bolts of black lightning spreading toward his heart. Jo-Dan was a friend, and if we didn’t help him he was going to die. Or, worse... be corrupted. Enslaved to Thanatos’ will and forced to fight against everything he believed in. And that? That wasn’t going to happen.
“You have my word, Jo,” I said, the words sticking in my throat. “I’m going to make this right. Or die trying.”
Now all I had to do was convince every major noble in Eldgard to go along with the invasion. Killing Thanatos would probably be the easier of the two battles.
War Council
“ORDER!” OTTO BARKED, slapping his calloused green hands against the dark wood conference table in the center of Darkshard’s command room. The skull-sized emerald set into the center of the command table—which bore an uncanny resemblance to the stone I’d seen Nil pull from his cloak just a few hours before—smoldered to life, amplifying his voice and carrying it across the room. “I said order!” he hollered again, and this time it seemed to do the trick, cutting through the fervent murmurs like a scalpel through twine.
Not entirely surprising. As a skilled Battle Warden, former emissary of the Òrdugh an Garda Anam—the Order of the Soulbound—and the current magistrate of the Risi capital of Glome Corrie, Abby’s NPC companion was a hard man to ignore. Especially when it looked like he was going to punch you through a wall. The fact that Arcona loomed behind him, arms crossed, glaring daggers at anyone who even thought about disrupting the peace, also helped things along.
“Thank you, everyone,” Abby said, finally speaking as the assembled generals, faction officers, foreign diplomats, and snooty nobles fell silent. “I know everyone is on edge after the attacks last night—”
“You are damned right we are!” a pompous Imperial senator named Caius Munatius Petronax interjected, his face flushed above his pristine white toga, which was secured at the shoulder with a heavy golden clasp. “It is bad form. You and the emperor both”—he sent a withering look toward Osmark—“assured us this wretched swamp would be safe. Safe! It was against my better judgment to take rooms in this gods forsaken place, and last night only proved just how right I was and just how incompetent you all are! Rest assured I shall file a full report with the Senate as soon as this meeting is finished.”
Caius was a native, not a Traveler, and like so many of the Imperial senators and nobles, he held a deep grudge against the Dokkalfar for wars fought and lost well before our arrival in Eldgard. He never failed to remind us of his hard-fought prejudices by being a total pain in the ass at every possible turn. He also held thinly veiled contempt for Osmark because he was an outsider and not a true Viridian Citizen. If Caius weren’t the senior-ranked senator in New Viridia, I would’ve had him thrown out on his ear weeks ago.
But there were other ways to get a point across, and Sophia had implored me to use every means to convince these people. And, after talking with Jo, I was inclined to agree with the Overmind.
I caught the man’s eye while he raged and offered him a grim smile before pulling free Mad God’s Fury, the hammer burning with golden light and raw power. Most people didn’t really know what had happened down in the Doom Forge, except for the fact that I’d somehow defeated an Aspect of the Divine and stolen a weapon capable of killing a god. Even fewer people knew that the Doom-Forged weapon of legend was actually the key hanging around my neck—an omission I didn’t correct since the hammer was far more intimidating to the casual observer. I set the beefy weapon down on the conference table with a metallic thunk.
“Well, that’s... I should say...” Caius sputtered, the color leaking out of his face.
“Excellent,” Abby continued. “Now, as I was saying, I know everyone is on edge after last night, so if we could keep the outbursts to a minimum and all take our seats, that would be great.” Her tone was frosty enough to chill a beer mug.
There was a round of disgruntled mutters, accompanied by a barrage of sharp looks and the shuffling of feet as the visitors slowly took their seats. And honestly, even that didn’t go smoothly. The Darkshard Command Center was a massive room with a vaulted ceiling, an enormous marble fireplace, and dark stone walls covered in thick tapestries... but it was also designed for a single faction, and the central table held enough room for twenty members, tops, and that was when we packed folks in like sardines.
Our War Council, however, was triple that number, so I’d had to spend nearly five thousand of the Keep’s Point Allotment to extend one wall, installing three rows of stadium-style seating. Everyone wanted a place at the central command table, of course, but that honor—if it could be called that—was reserved for faction heads, major city magistrates, actual kings, or other high-blooded royalty. The fact that both Cutter and Amara got seats probably galled people like Senator Caius to no end since he was relegated to the nose-bleed section all the way in the back.
Even more so, since Cutter was currently lying facedown, head on arms, snoring softly. I’d never been prouder of the man in my life.
I took my own place beside Abby, prime real estate that allowed me to view everyone at the table and all the additional folks gathering in the stands. I noticed that there were a lot of very unfriendly faces staring back at me. The original Crimson Alliance members, like Anton Black, Vlad, Chief Kolle, General Caldwell, Li Xiu, and a handful of others, offered me friendly, reassuring smiles. We’ve got your back, Jack, those looks said in no uncertain terms. Others, though, were more firmly on the fences and much tougher to read. Most of those, I noted, were among Osmark’s followers.
Erin Gallo, an Imperial Accipiter who had a tiny city way out east in the Barren Sands. Chiara Bolinger, who ran Wyrdtide with an iron fist. Alice Smythe and Elizabeth Schuler each offered me tight-lipped smiles. Hank Carter, an American steel magnate who hated Osmark, might side with me just to spite the tech billionaire, but his quicksilver temper could put us at odds just as easily. I frowned at Abubakar Mubarak, an olive-skinned Hvitalfar who ran a sizeable Dawn Elf city north of Alaunhylles called Ulysloma. The City of Petals.
Back IRL, before the cataclysm, Abubakar had been an Egyptian arms dealer who could’ve given Carrera a run for his money in the Worst-Human-on-Earth category. The guy was a living, walking war crime. The fact that I needed his support made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Osmark had felt when first reaching out to this same group of toxic souls during the early days when h
e was still trying to get V.G.O. up and off the ground before Astraea hit.
I shook my head at just how much things had changed. How much I’d changed. True, I needed Abubakar in my corner, but hopefully I wouldn’t need to make nearly as many compromises as Osmark had.
As for the tech billionaire himself, he and Sandra took their seats just to my right. All eyes, even the most unfriendly in the room, followed his every movement. Weighing. Judging. Evaluating. I had no idea what dirt Osmark had on these people, but they belonged to him heart and soul. Hopefully he would side with me on this issue, but I had no guarantees. As far as I knew, he and I were still on good terms—relatively speaking—but he’d been ducking me as effectively as Sophia had. A lot was riding on him, and he was a wild card.
The rest of the crowd was a far more varied lot.
We had representatives from each of the six named Dokkalfar tribes, a couple of Legion generals, the three members of the Accipiter Merchant Trimerite—a regal-looking woman and two older gentlemen with sleek beards—and a contingent of Dwarven diplomats. That group was spearheaded by none other than the stumpy Captain Raginolf, who’d been instrumental in helping us gain access to Stone Reach and finishing the Doom Forge quest line. Since our escapades beneath the city, Raginolf had been reinstated as the Arch Merkismathr of the Stone Reach Guard Corps, then assigned to assist us in the war effort.
Thank God.
Raginolf was a powerful friend, and if any of the foreign diplomats were firmly in our corner, it was him. He was gruff, grouchy, and as prickly as a disgruntled porcupine, but after completing my last quest, I was practically a living saint in his book. The Dwarves were a particularly pious people, and wielding the weapon of a god put me just a hair beneath most Aspects, it seemed.
Both the head of the Smugglers Union, Maylor “Four-Teeth” Fane, and the Gentlemen’s Gentleman were present, and sitting right next to Sir Brandon Berrick, no less. As the former Seneschal of the Inquisitors’ Harrowick Chapter Hall and the recently promoted High Commander of the Inquisitors, I was sure there was no love lost between Berrick and his thiefly counterparts. A fact painfully evident by all the dirty looks Berrick kept casting at both Gavin and, for reasons I could only begin to guess at, Cutter. Not that Cutter noticed, since he was still half asleep on the table. War certainly made some interesting bedfellows.