by J. A. Hunter
I placed a hand on the woman’s neck, checking for her pulse. It was there, but reedy and erratic—always a bad sign. “Can you hear me?” I asked, reaching up and gently slapping at her cheek. “Hello, can you hear me?”
She sputtered for a moment longer, then turned her head, fixing me with rheumy, clouded eyes. “You stopped for me,” she said breathlessly. “Why? This is a bad place. An evil place. Why risk your escape, your survival, for an old woman?”
“Well …” I stumbled, caught off guard. I wrestled to come up with a good answer, but there wasn’t one. At least not a logical one. “Because I couldn’t just walk by,” I finally finished weakly. “It seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.”
She regarded me, her cataract-covered eyes boring in, holding me firmly in their steely grip. The strange spell was broken as she fell into a fit of violent coughing, her body tensing as frothy blood dribbled from between her pale lips. “Very well,” she said as the coughing fit subsided. “Regardless of your reasons, I thank you for your generosity, traveler. I fear your efforts are too late for me. The black priest of Serth-Rog has been thorough in his work, and I won’t leave this place. Not alive. Perhaps, though, you would do an old woman a final mercy?”
She reached a shaky, arthritic hand toward her throat and pulled out a leather-corded necklace from beneath her stained and tattered shirt. A strange bronze talisman the size of a quarter hung from the end of the necklace. The coin burned with a subtle, shadowy light—emanating from the image of a raven gouged into the metal. “Please help me,” she said with a grimace as she worked to sit. “Help me get it off.”
As gently as I could, I used one hand to lift her and the other to slide the leather strap over her head, ruffling brittle hair. I dropped the necklace into her wrinkled palm.
“This”—she held up a shaky hand, the talisman dangling from the leather strap—“is a sacred artifact of my people. The mark of a Maa-Tál. Please return it to the chief of my clan, Kolle of the Ak-Hani. Of all the six named tribes, my people are the wariest of outsiders, but you are one of us—even if you are of the Lost Tribe—and with my talisman around your neck … well, they will spare you.” Despite her reassurance, she didn’t actually sound all that sure they would spare me. “Take them the talisman and tell them what you saw here. What the black priests of Serth-Rog are doing. What they did to me.”
“I’d be happy to let them know,” I replied, “but I don’t have a clue what they’re doing here. Can you tell me anything that might help? Why these people captured me? What they want? Why they’re doing these awful experiments?”
She smiled sadly, her eyes fluttering closed, her breathing labored again. She shook her head, the effort clearly a terrible strain. I bent over and urgently checked for a pulse again. I found it—barely there and fading fast.
“In truth,” she wheezed, visibly fighting to open her eyes, “I cannot say what designs Serth-Rog has, because I do not know. But his intentions are truly insidious, this much is plain. Perhaps, if my people know about this place, about the experiments, they will be able to discover Serth-Rog’s purpose. Put an end to the abominations being committed against all the people of Eldgard. Please, do this for me. Take the talisman.” She thrust it toward me, the metal coin bobbing from the tremor in her hand. A prompt followed:
Quest Alert: Plight of the Maa-Tál
Help a dying Murk Elf Shaman by delivering her sacred talisman to Chief Kolle of the Ak-Hani clan in the Storme Marshes. Deliver the news concerning the shaman’s untimely fate as well as the experiments of the black priests of Serth-Rog.
Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based
Quest Difficulty: Moderate
Success: Deliver the Talisman and survive Chief Kolle
Failure: Fail to deliver the Talisman or be killed by Chief Kolle
Reward: Class Change; Unique, Scalable Item; 15,000 EXP
Accept: Yes/No?
My jaw almost hit the floor. This was one heck of a quest for a level one player to get fresh out of the gate. In most MMOs I’d previously played, the only quests you got early on were common, generic quests that revolved around killing rats, running pointless errands, or gathering asinine amounts of ingredients for various NPCs. And the rewards for those quests were just as generic and boring. Marginal experience bumps, some common items, and access to other, slightly harder quests.
The quest the old Murk Elf had offered me was an absolute home run compared to the normal lot. I accepted immediately and grabbed the talisman from the woman’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she murmured, smacking her lips, working moisture into the dry skin. I selected the talisman and saw it offered a few bonuses: +5 to Spirit, +1% Spirit Regeneration, +5% to Shadow-Based Skills. I wasn’t sure what Shadow-Based skills were at this point, but I knew this amulet was bound to be better than any of the loot Cutter was turning up in the back room—certainly worth more than a gold mark, which is what I would’ve received for killing the Murk Shaman.
I felt a flash of hot joy—my act of kindness had already paid major dividends.
“My time is short,” the old woman rasped, blinking her eyes open, complete exhaustion evident in every line of her frail body. “But let me offer you one more parting gift—a final thanks for your mercy. Within you, boy, is the Shadow-Spark.”
Her hand lashed out, uncannily quick, and latched onto my arm. “I’ll awaken it inside of you.” Her fingers pressed down into my skin like drill bits, her flesh growing cool, then downright cold. Arctic, even. Icy power soaked through my skin, into my bones, and spread through my body like wildfire. Running along my nerve endings, my body shivering, my teeth clattering in response.
SEVEN:
Loot
The chilly energy grew painful, and my flesh cried out in protest as my head began to ache, to pound. Then, in a flash, the hurt was gone, snatching the bone-searing cold with it. The woman’s hand dropped away, her muscles slack, her face lifeless, her eyes clouded with death. I glanced down—on my forearm was a black handprint, branded directly onto my skin like a tattoo. Another new notification popped up, drawing my gaze away from my burned flesh:
Ability: Shadow-Spark
Only a handful of Eldgard’s natives possess the inborn Shadow-Spark needed to harness the ancient power of the Umbra. Fewer still have that inborn talent unlocked. With Shadow-Spark unlocked, you now have the ability to draw on the Umbra and learn a restricted class of Shadow-based skills.
Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 1
Cost: None
Effect: Umbra unlocked. All Shadow-based skill stats are increased by 3% per Shadow-Spark level.
I read and reread the notification, then dismissed the screen and pulled up the in-game wiki. This couldn’t be normal, could it? I quickly scoured logs and forums, rapidly scanning heading after heading, but so far the information available was severely limited. Not totally surprising, since the game had only been online for a handful of days, and the material world was also on the edge of an extinction-level event. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that Osmark Technologies might be suppressing info in a bid to prevent metagamers from taking an unhealthy advantage of the apocalyptic situation.
The scrape of boots over stone floated in from the secret room, and I immediately dismissed the notification before quickly slipping the woman’s talisman around my neck, tucking it beneath the rough fabric of my simple tunic. As helpful as Cutter had been so far, he seemed like the type of person that’d knife me in the back if he thought it would benefit him. He strode out of the narrow opening a minute later, a big grin splitting his face. A wooden shield lay across his forearms, and piled on top were weapons and gear.
He scooted through the doorway and set the precariously balanced pile of loot on a nearby worktable, then let out a groan of relief. He turned, his eyes tracing over the body of the dead woman. “Didn’t work out so well, eh?” he said with a nod to the Murk Elf. “I tried to tell you, kindness is a surefire
path to being destitute and dead. But cheer up, friend.” He turned and swept out an arm toward the pile with a flourish. “Maybe your venture in altruism turned out to be an utter pile of rubbish, but I hit pay dirt. Almost didn’t find this stuff. Someone stored it in a chest behind a false wall, but I am damned good at what I do.
“Now obviously,” he continued, regarding me through squinted eyes, “I’m not going to let you claim everything, what with you being a do-gooder dupe, but I’ll let you select a weapon and some armor.”
“Gee, how generous of you,” I replied offhandedly, heading over to the pile.
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a sniff. “Literally. In truth, I’m not doing it to be generous. If you’re equipped, there’s a better chance you’ll make it out alive, which means there’s a better chance I’ll make it out alive.” He tapped at his temple. “Remember, I’m always thinking of number one.”
I grunted noncommittally, otherwise ignoring him, and accessed the gear pile, which immediately brought up my inventory screen on the right and a list of lootable items on the left.
The pile of gear on the table looked deceptively small, especially considering the gigantic number and range of items I could choose from. There was something for just about everyone: bows and arrows, blunt-headed maces and spiked flails, swords and daggers in an assortment of flavors, plus armor. Everything from fur-lined leathers to rusted scale mail. None of it was good, just the crude junk beginners usually got, but it was better than running around weaponless and in tattered linens.
“We don’t have all day,” Cutter said, folding his arms. “Those guards are gonna come back, and it’d be best if we were equipped and long gone by then. Personally, I’d suggest a pair of daggers and some light leather armor. The very best for sneaking and backstabbing, but that’s just me. Which is to say, someone who is smart, capable, and much better looking than you. But you pick whatever you want, friend. You do you, as I always say.”
I regarded the weapons for another second.
True, light armor and daggers would be great for a thief, but the more time I spent with Cutter, the less I thought I’d enjoy his profession. Besides, the idea of taking on one of those massive halberd-wielding [Lesser Fiends] with the equivalent of a kitchen knife wasn’t comforting. My hand hovered over a single-handed bastard sword; the sword was the epic-fantasy weapon. The weapon of heroes. Of knights and warriors. I didn’t know much about Viridian Gate Online, but I knew there’d be some awfully cool swords later on in the game.
Guaranteed.
I frowned and finally decided against it—swords took skill to use, and that was something I didn’t have. Instead, I picked up a one-handed warhammer with a meaty, blunt face on one side and a cruel spike on the other. The warhammer looked brutal and rather straightforward: smash the blunt end into someone’s skull. Not much skill involved in that.
Exactly my speed.
Next, I selected a simple wooden buckler the size of a large pizza, which slipped over my left forearm with leather straps. Not much of a defense, really, but if one of those guards came swinging for me, I wanted something to shelter behind. For a heartbeat, I considering picking the heavy armor for the same reason—better protection in case I got hit—but eventually opted for light brigandine armor with a pair of worn leather boots and a shoddy black cloak. So far, the Stealth ability seemed pretty beneficial, plus in light armor I’d have a much better chance of outmaneuvering and outrunning a big, lumbering opponent in battle.
I certainly wasn’t above running if that’s what it came down to.
Cutter looked at me quizzically, gaze flickering between the light leather armor and the heavy warhammer and shield. “Yep. You’re an odd one, alright,” he declared. “First that thing with the old woman, now this. Are you sure I can’t talk you into something …” He trailed off, lips pressing into a tight, judgmental line. “A little more practical?”
“I’m good,” I said, equipping the items in my inventory screen. “Now let’s move. I want some answers, and I want to get out of this nightmare factory.”
“Fine.” He shrugged and ambled over to the table, retrieving the rest of the gear, then donned leather armor similar to mine. “But if you die horribly, don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
We both dropped into Stealth and headed out of the secret room, pausing momentarily at the entrance to the circular room with the large pool of water at its center. Once we were certain there wasn’t a guard patrol in the immediate vicinity, we stole forward, clinging to the shadows and hugging the wall, which turned out to be a smart move. As we neared one of the two sandstone hallways leading away, a fat black tentacle, studded with barbed hooks, broke the surface with a ripple, before dropping back into the black waters.
Cutter and I moved just a skosh quicker after that.
We took turn after winding turn—stopping twice to hide from roving patrols—and eventually found ourselves crouched in the entryway of a rectangular room. On the far side was an exit. Probably. I couldn’t be sure without getting closer, but I’d played enough MMORPGs to know a freestanding portal shimmering with cerulean light had to be important. Unfortunately, the room between me and freedom looked to be a guard barracks. Massive beds of wood and straw lined both walls with crudely made footlockers waiting at the end of each.
Worse, the room was occupied.
EIGHT:
Brawl
A trio of guards—Lesser Fiends identical to the menacing goat-hoofed creatures we’d seen on patrol several times—milled about.
Two sported heavy mail shirts and held beefy poleaxes topped with wicked, curved axe heads, which looked equally well suited for blocking an incoming blade or goring an enemy, spilling ropes of intestine to the ground. I blanched at the thought of going up against those monsters, even if this was only a game. The third guard lingered in the back, near the portal. Instead of mail, this one wore rough-stitched robes, a deep cowl drawn up around its inhuman visage. It held a short bronze dagger in one hand and a gnarled staff in the other.
A spellcaster of one variety or other, then.
As formidable as the two poleaxe-wielding creatures looked, I knew the sorcerer in the back was the biggest threat. If we could get to him, he’d probably go down quickly, but at a distance he’d lay down some serious firepower. Maybe literally, if he had access to any flame skills.
“Ready for a brawl?” Cutter whispered, his mouth inches from my ear.
“Can’t we just sneak around them or something?” I asked, quiet as I could manage.
He squinted and rubbed at his chin. “Naw. We need to take this lot. No way around it. So how do you want to play it?”
I stared at the scene. With the heavy beds lining the walls, it would be awfully tough to slip past the poleaxe sentries and take out the caster first … Unless, of course, I caused a distraction, opening the way for Cutter to make a move.
“This is what I think we should do,” I said, leaning into him and outlining my plan. He nodded along in agreement, but a seed of worry bloomed in my chest as I spoke, my eyes unwaveringly fixed on the Lesser Fiends in the next room. I sort of liked Cutter, but I didn’t trust him. Not even a little. My plan might work, but only if Cutter didn’t leave me high and dry.
And he might leave me high and dry. He’d said as much earlier on.
I stamped down that doubt, because really there was no other way. He would come through for me or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t … Well, I guess I’d find out what dying in Viridian Gate Online was like. “Sound like a plan?” I finally finished, an edge of uncertainty in my voice.
He nodded, slipped a long black-bladed dagger from a sheath at his waist, then shot me a wink as he crept forward, disappearing after he was a few feet away. I had to admit, that Stealth ability was pretty incredible. Because he was a friendly, a ghostly blue glow outlined his moving form, showing me his location, but that was all I saw. He angled right and padded in as close as he could get to the guards,
before slipping between a pair of heavy beds and shifting into a low crouch. Ready. Waiting.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, readjusted my grip on the warhammer, then stole into the room, likewise cloaked in Stealth. I inched closer to the guards, step by stressful step, whispering a silent prayer that this all went well. I was about four feet from the nearest guard when I saw the blurred form of Cutter stand—there was a subtle flash of movement, followed by the resounding clang of metal on stone. Both of the hulking, mail-clad figures before me turned to investigate—only to find a cheap knife lying in the center of the room.
Sleight of hand at its finest.
I leapt forward while both guards had their backs turned, lashing out with the hammer, aiming right for the side of a misshapen skull. The heavy face of my weapon slammed into an unprotected temple, clipping the guard on the right with a sickening crack. I’d played a little baseball back in high school and that crack sounded just like a Louisville slugger slamming into a well-placed fastball.
The Lesser Fiend staggered left, a harsh bark escaping its throat as it dropped its poleaxe and groped at its head—trying to stem the sudden flood of rancid black blood. It looked badly wounded, but it wasn’t dead, which is what I’d been hoping for. I raised the hammer again, preparing for an adrenaline-fueled follow-up strike—only to have a stupid notification flash in front of me, obscuring my field of view:
Skill: Backstab
Those who rely on the backstab skill know fighting fair is highly overrated. Dead is dead, and a blade from the shadows is often far more effective than a sword blow to a well-prepared opponent.
Skill Type/Level: Active / Level 1
Cost: 20 Stamina
Effect: A brutal backstab attack can be activated while an adventurer is in Stealth. 5x normal damage with a knife; 3x normal damage with all other weapons.