by Hugo Huesca
As he walked down the corridors, he saw a couple of new tapestries around, made by human hands. He could tell the difference because they were simpler, but had more taste and no obscene depictions.
Is that music? Ed thought when he was near his quarters. The sound was coming from Alder’s room. Ed was about to shrug and go to bed when he caught a brief lyric which got his attention. Is he singing about…
And the Dungeon Lord defeated the Monster Nicolai in singular combat / and with great magic he cast overwhelming flames as Nicolai lay flat / and as the monster burned the Dungeon Lord said / “Hey, asshole, regenerate this!”
“Still needs some work,” Alder’s voice muttered.
Ed reached the Bard’s door and knocked twice. “Hey, may I come in?”
The music stopped. “It’s open!”
Alder was sitting on a comfortable red oak sofa covered in small pillows. He had a lute in his hands and seemed to be deep in thought. “You showed up at just the right time, Ed,” he told the Dungeon Lord.
“I heard you singing,” Ed said. It was the first time he’d heard the Bard compose a song, much less perform. “It was about Nicolai and me, wasn’t it? I thought Bards didn’t enjoy singing about ugly deeds.” There had been nothing glorious about what he had done to Nicolai. There had been no speeches exchanged, no clash of opposing philosophies. Only an execution. If Ed could forget all about it… but no, he very well knew he never would.
Alder met his gaze and made a gesture that was half apologetic and half understanding. “Look, all those glorious and epic affairs that stories tell you about? They probably were just as violent as your face-off before a Bard or two added a bit of spice to the tale.”
“Shouldn’t those kinds of stories be about the best of us?” Ed wondered aloud. He certainly didn’t consider what he had done to be song-worthy. Nor himself, for that matter. A better person may have spared Nicolai’s life.
“Perhaps I’m not the best Bard to answer that,” Alder said. “I never finished my training in Elaitra, you know? When I was a teenager, I took passage on a ship to visit the countryside. I wanted to be in an adventure. The ship sank. I was ‘rescued’ by slavers, who sold me to Kael—at the time, he found it amusing to have a Bard to tell his story. I never got around to it…” He attempted a few playful notes with his lute. “Actually, I haven’t written a song since then. It just… the inspiration never arrived. But not long after the wraith’s attack, I sat down, and… well, it just came to me. Funny thing is, I always thought I was just a Bard who didn’t have it in him to be a hero… but it wasn’t until after I helped you and Katalyn with the wraith that the inspiration came.”
“You saved our lives,” Ed pointed out. “As far as I’m concerned, you should write a song about yourself.” Between the two of them, Alder was the only one who had his hands clean of blood.
“That would be a very boring story,” Alder laughed. “’The Bard Alder ran a lot and screamed a lot…’ No, I much prefer my version. You were the one who had to make the hard choices. To be honest, most of the bardic tales I learned in Elaitra were so obsessed with presenting us a shiny, pretty tale with perfect rhymes that they forgot to make their stories about actual, real people.” He scratched his chin. “That’s the kind of tale I’d like to tell. I lack talent for pretty rhymes, but I may have a chance to sing about real people making hard choices. Trying to do good and sometimes stumbling along the way. To me, that’s what makes a good bardic song… well, maybe with a little artistic license. My one-liners are much better than yours.”
Ed could feel his black hand inside his pocket, itching under the bandages. It was true he wasn’t the same man that he had been when he’d first arrived in Ivalis. But that man had sworn never to use Dark powers like Murmur’s reach, and the man he was now hadn’t even hesitated, because his friends were in danger. He had furthered Murmur’s agenda without giving a single fuck.
“I’m not sure if I’m still a good man,” he said. “How could I know?”
Alder gave him a very strange look. “Like I said, maybe I’m not the best person to answer that question.” He pointed down at the carpeted floor. “How about you ask the good folk below? Those villagers sleeping safe and sound in the new homes you built them. The same people you risked your life for without hesitation, even when they hated your guts. The people who are now making friends with batblins and horned spiders, instead of killing them for experience points. You should ask them, Ed. Ask them if they think you’re a good man.”
EPILOGUE
That night, Ed was awakened by a sensation of incoming evil pouring forth into reality. Sulfur and ozone filled the air of his bedroom, and the darkness seemed to gain a solid consistency, like that of a beast about to pounce.
Ed tapped a small glyph next to his bed, and the magical torches illuminated the room in time for him to see a long, pale hand push open the empty air by the edge of his bed. A white face with no features but a wide smile showed past the wound in reality, black and beady eyes focused on Ed.
With spider-like movements, Kharon dropped into Ed’s bedroom.
“You again,” Ed stated.
“Did you expect someone else?” Kharon asked happily.
“No.”
“Then what’s with the welcome reception?” Kharon pointed at the dozen magical circles of all sizes that saturated the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room. They had been drawn with silver ore and infused with salt. A series of glyphs designed to counter necromantic energies had been drawn in the space left by the circles. Everything had a bit of silver in it—the torches, the bedsheets, the drawer, even Ed’s robe. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you just tried to trap me—the Boatman himself—when all I wanted to do was pay you a simple visit.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ed said. “It’s just an experiment with decoration. Can’t a Dungeon Lord have his whims?”
Kharon chuckled darkly, clearly not believing a word of it. “Next time have a legendary-ranked Cleric design the glyphs. Perhaps then I’ll be entertained for a couple seconds.” To prove his point, he did a little tap dance among the circles.
“Why are you here, Kharon?”
“Just making my rounds, visiting a few friends—”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Is that so?” Kharon’s smile grew by an inch. “You used my gifts, though. Did you enjoy the power of Murmur’s reach? I don’t doubt you’ve seen the sheer potential of rule-bending that the possession spell offers. And it let you save the lives of your beloved friends. And what about dear Katalyn, to whom I happily introduced you? Didn’t you enjoy her presence, albeit brief, at your bedside? That alone should make you consider me the best of friends!” The eldritch abomination chuckled and sat at the foot of Ed’s bed.
“First of all, fuck you. Second, my friends saved themselves. I only mopped things up. Third. You manipulated me. Again.”
“Did I?”
“You sent me to those catacombs so you could fulfill your pact with Torst. You wanted Katalyn alive so the wraith could drain her.” Ed stared daggers at the being in front of him. “And even before that, you used Torst, too. Sending him to kill that prince, sparking a war between Heiliges and Starevos… thousands died—”
“But why would the Dark ever do something like that?” Kharon looked like he was having the best of times.
“Fuck you again, don’t patronize me.” Ed said. Kharon showed him his palms, as if in surrender, and urged him to continue. “I’ve asked around. The war happened ten years ago. It had been during the height of Ivalis Online’s popularity back on Earth—the Lotian Dungeon Lords were getting their asses kicked by Heroes during that time period. I know it because I played those quests. Heiliges was preparing to deal Lotia the final blow.” Ed was mostly speculating, but Kharon nodded briefly to confirm it. “Lotia was in no position to survive a war against them. So the Dark distracted Heiliges…”
“One magnificent play by our beloved Murmur,” Kharon sai
d.
So far, Ed had kept his emotions in check, but seeing the Boatman so nonchalantly celebrate the deaths of so many innocent lives… he wanted to make Kharon squirm at least a bit. “Well, you broke your deal with Torst. He died, this time for good. He never got his immortality, and his daughter is alive. You failed, Kharon.”
“Indeed, indeed. Point for Lord Wright. I mean… Damn you, you meddling Dungeon Lord! Curse you, you ruined our plans, and so on!” Kharon had the gall of clapping cheerfully. Ed could feel his blood boiling. “You have a few details wrong, though. We didn’t break the pact with Torst. He had a chance of becoming a sentient wraith. He had Katalyn right there where he wanted her. He lost the battle against you and her, not us. The Dark gave him his chance, more than enough times—had he survived the assassination of the prince, we would’ve turned him into a vampire or something. Not our fault he was incompetent. What, do you think we can predict the future? All you’ve done was by your own volition. After the catacombs, you could’ve washed your hands of the whole ordeal. Nicolai? Bah. Abandon your dungeon, rebuild it somewhere else, and wait for the Inquisition to deal with him. Or summon a Dark demon and pay him to kill the man for you. You chose to stay. You chose to fight. How was I supposed to know you’d be batshit crazy enough to summon Alita’s holy fury on yourself to destroy Torst? Certainly you can’t expect the Dark contracts to predict all such eventualities. How would that be fair?”
Now the eldritch demigod is complaining about fairness. That’s it. I’m officially as insane as Lavy. But something about Kharon’s choice of words nagged at him. “I didn’t summon Alita’s fire on myself. The vial of holy water torched Torst.”
“Really?” asked Kharon. “Amazing. Only one question… had you seen holy water in action against undead before what happened to Torst?” Ed shook his head no. “Well, it might melt their face off. It might hurt them a lot. It might turn off their buffs, and auras, and so on. It might force them to materialize, or end their hypnotic charms. What it definitely does not do, though, is cast a divine-ranked banishment upon the poor undead sod. What, you thought a few prayers and some water and the Light gods are at your beck and call? Some gods they’d be!” Kharon laughed and patted his belly.
That laughter didn’t augur anything good. “But I know what I saw—”
“What you saw,” Kharon interrupted, “was Alita suddenly discovering the location of a Dungeon Lord in an open field, with a hand willingly covered in holy water. That doesn’t happen very often, you see. She had a clear shot. So she cast a banishment all the way from her Palace, targeted straight at your hand. Luckily for you, that hand was grasping a wraith, and poor Torst ate most of the damage… and gave you one hell of a scar to show the ladies.” The Boatman nodded in the direction of Ed’s left hand. “Sure, she missed. But now she knows you’re around… Which brings us full circle to the reason why I’m here.”
Goosebumps traveled through Ed’s back. She knows you’re around. She was the kind of goddess who purged first and asked questions later. “Oh, shit.”
“Indeed,” Kharon said. “The Heroes are returning to Starevos. Surely you aren’t eager to be in Lord Kael’s position, am I right? After all, what you did to him these new Heroes will surely do to you.” Kharon inched closer to Ed, beady black eyes shining evilly, a hint of a rotten tongue slithering behind his white smile. “So here I am, Ed. With an offer. Thanks to Heiliges mostly focusing on pacifying Starevos these last few years, the Lotian Dungeon Lords have recovered enough to offer a united front. They only need a leader, Ed. Someone with vision. A dash of new blood, with a different way of doing things. Someone who gets things done. What do you say? I’m offering you a promotion. Just say the word, and Murmur will put at your command all the remaining Dungeon Lords of the kingdom of Lotia, and all the resources of the Netherworld. Lead the forces of the Dark in the battle against the Light. Do it, and you won’t have to fear any mortal man ever again.” Kharon gently extended him his open hand in invitation.
Ed pondered the offer for as long as such a thing was warranted. “You mean, you want me to lead all those assholes who went around sacrificing children and then lost to a bunch of kids in their underwear thinking they were playing videogames? No, I’ll pass. I’m doing perfectly fine on my own.”
For a faint instant, Ed saw a hint of annoyance in Kharon’s expression. “Well, that’s just rude, at least think it over—”
“I am not working for you,” Ed told him. He traced an imaginary line in the air. “The Dark does its thing, the Light does its thing, the Haunt does its own thing. Stay in your lane, Kharon.”
“Or, what, you’ll draw some more magical circles in your room?”
Ed calmly pulled his drawer open and took out a small crystal vial filled with water. “Or I give you a hug and douse the both of us with holy water. I bet Alita would enjoy having a word with you, Boatman, more than she’d enjoy to take a shot at me.” He held the vial in between them, so that Kharon could take a good look at it.
“You’d die, Edward.”
“Try me, asshole. I still have one hand left.”
For a long time, neither of them said anything. Ed kept the vial there and held Kharon’s gaze.
Finally, the Boatman stood. He was shaking his head sadly. “You know what I like the most about you, Edward?” Kharon traced a circle and slowly ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. “You are a practical man. Surely, you’ll come to see reason. Hopefully before the Heroes kill everyone you know and love. In any case, I’ll respect your wishes. We won’t meet again until you’re ready.” He crawled back into the hellish landscape whence he came. When only his head remained in Ed’s bedroom, the Boatman turned to him one last time. “Although, I do wonder… what kind of Hero will the Light send against you? Everyone knows that Alita has a cruel sense of humor after all.”
And he left Ed alone with his thoughts. He remained sitting there, vial in hand, watching the faint glimmer of the magical circles.
“Whoever they are,” he said at last as he returned the vial to its drawer, “we’ll be waiting.”
IT WAS WELL past closing time, and the store was shrouded in darkness. The purple-and-pink motif of the walls and the shelves stacked neatly with assorted electronics gained a threatening shade at this hour. Ruined, of course, by the giant lasershark drawn on the floor of the store.
Only one man remained, passing the time in his office. The light of his high-end laptop gave his features a sickish tint, not helped at all by the slightly bent shape of his nose breaking the otherwise perfect symmetry of his face.
“Fucking boring,” the man whispered tiredly to himself as he downed another caffeinated soda. “The game is all the same these days.” On the screen of his laptop, a pixelated Rogue battled solo against an entire clan of trolls, killing them one by one as he hunted across the computer-generated series of tunnels.
It was a menial task, well beneath his level, but lately he had run into a string of bad luck. No matter how hard he tried, now he hadn’t been able to clear dungeons of Hard difficulties and upward.
The bad luck had begun right after that asshole, Eddie, had lost his fucking mind right here in Ryan’s office, months ago. Worst of all, that nutjob had managed to slip away from the incompetent police, and was now at large. Ryan doubted that Eddie would be insane enough to try to return to the Lasershark store, but just in case, his desk was now equipped with a loaded gun, and he had posted a reward for the ex-employee’s capture.
Anyway, the source of Ryan’s frustration tonight had nothing to do with Eddie. It was the fact that no matter how hard he tried, his Rogue just didn’t perform as well as it used to.
Ryan had hoped that without Eddie’s conflicting orders seeding confusion in the hunting party, they could finally move on to tougher challenges; yet the opposite had happened. In fact, they were doing worse.
“Must be Mark and Lisa’s fault. They just aren’t trying hard enough, the ungrateful fucks.”
On
the screen, a troll challenged his Rogue to a duel. Ryan realized that a smaller group of trolls was cowering behind the big one. “Nice try, ugly, but you ain’t hiding those experience points from me.” He shadow-stepped past the big troll and killed the smaller ones—who were so stupid they didn’t even try to attack him back—while the big troll tried and failed to get past the Rogue’s incredibly high dodge.
“Sure, sure, don’t worry, there’s enough Rylan Silverblade for you too,” Ryan said after he was done with the small ones. He used his create darkness power, activated his dark-sight, and sneak attacked the troll, all in a single second, his fingers flying across the macros of his keyboard in a blur.
The pixelated bodies of the trolls littered the screen. Rylan’s blade was enchanted with a fire spell, so they wouldn’t regenerate. There it is, Ryan thought as the experience points danced above his character’s head. Slowly, the bodies disappeared from the screen.
Ryan sighed. “This is boring.” But he wasn’t in the mood to risk a run against a high-level dungeon. At least, not around this part of Ivalis. What’s it called? Lotus? Lathis? Latice? Whatever. The dungeons were getting harder, and he hadn’t run into any of a decent lower difficulty so far. On the forums, the few remaining players were complaining about the same thing, so he was sure it wasn’t just him.
In a corner of the screen, a notification was demanding his attention. He clicked on it, to discover he had a new quest offer. “Well, well, well. Speak of the devil…” Ryan smiled triumphantly. The quest said:
The Militant Church has issued a command to all available Heroes to step into the nearest summoning portal to investigate the suspected presence of Dungeon Lords in the previously pacified province of Starevos. Have you missed fighting werewolves in the dark woods and facing vampires in the forgotten mansions of Galtia’s mountaintops? Battle awaits, adventurer, in Ivalis Online’s most recent Expansion: “A Return to Starevos.”