by James Hunter
I shuffled over to the wall and plopped down, pressing my back against the cool stone as I rubbed my palms into my eye sockets, trying to release a growing stress headache. Of course that’s how it had happened. How could I have been so stupid to forget about Nasim bar Ruwayd, the undercover sleeper agent Sophia had told me to be on the lookout for? Nasim’s connection with Serth-Rog gave him a compelling reason to want me dead, especially after my encounter with Gentleman Georgie. Obviously, he’d have jumped at any chance to prevent me from getting whatever info he was hiding about Serth-Rog’s operations.
But with all the things on my mind—Osmark, Death-Head mode, uniting the Storme Marshes, running an entire faction—I’d forgotten about him. And my mistake had almost gotten us killed, not Amara.
I looked up at her and shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said with a grimace. “I shouldn’t have assumed the worst—Cutter’s right, you’re better than that. And I should’ve known it. I guess what they say about assuming is true.” For a long beat, I looked down, not wanting to meet her gaze, afraid I would find anger, rage, or even worse, disappointment waiting there. At last, though, I looked up and found her with the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. She rolled her eyes, cocked her head to one side, and planted her hands on her hips.
“Sometimes you’re a fool, Grim Jack. But only sometimes. Given the circumstances, it was not an unreasonable conclusion. And everyone is entitled to a lapse in judgment on occasion.” She paused, her eyes darting toward Cutter—just a flash—then her face was flat and unreadable once more. “It is forgiven. A thing of water and bridges. Now, stop sulking about like an unruly child. The Storme Marshes won’t unite themselves.”
Her words stung, but only a little since she was right—no matter how I felt at the moment, we had a job to do and a mission to complete. Resigned, I gained my feet, running my hands along my trousers as I surveyed the bloody carnage. “Yeah. Alright. Let’s clean this place up. Get everything you can: weapons, armor, bone fragments, books, whatever.” I paused, deeply troubled by how this had turned out. “At least something good can come out of this mess,” I murmured under my breath, gaze lingering on the headless Priestess. “I’ll personally search her and Nasim.”
Reluctantly, the crew scattered, picking over the corpses as I turned my attention to Nasim—the Serth-Rog sleeper agent responsible for this debacle. From what I’d been able to figure out, he’d been one of the lieutenants in the Winged Disciples, and his gear certainly reflected it. He didn’t have much in terms of armor—just priestly garments and soft leather boots—but his weapon and jewelry were nothing to scoff at. He carried a scaling Dragon Bone Dagger with +25 points of Fire Damage, a +15 Spirit boost, and an Intelligence bonus equal to .5 x Character Level.
Crazy good, though not for me. He did, however, have an enchanted cloak which offered some wicked abilities right up my alley:
∞∞∞
Disciple’s Holy Cowl
Armor Type: Medium; Heavy Cloth
Class: Rare; Blessed
Base Defense: 15
Primary Effects:
+5 Vitality Bonus
+8 Spirit Bonus
+8 Intelligence Bonus
Secondary Set Effects:
Increases effectiveness of all Aura spells/abilities by 10%.
For the devout, a simple cloak can be imbued with faith powerful enough to turn even the sharpest blade.
∞∞∞
I swapped that out with my Cloak of Web-Walking without a thought.
The real prize, however, was a slim leather-bound journal identical to the one I’d taken off Gentleman Georgie. I pulled it free from Nasim’s corpse and flipped absently through the pages. Well, nearly identical. Interestingly, this notebook was not filled with names, but with locations. And not random locations, but the locations of dungeons. At least, I assumed they were dungeons. With names like Blackbog Hallow, The Burning Labyrinth, The Spectral Vault, and Dread Bat Burrow, there was no other plausible explanation.
Yep, this was definitely what Sophia had sent me for. A popup appeared a second later in confirmation:
∞∞∞
Quest Alert: Unholy Mystery
Congratulations, Jack! You located Nasim bar Ruwayd—though you very nearly screwed the pooch. The leather-bound journal you found confirms Nasim’s status as a doppelganger and agent of Serth-Rog, and by proxy Thanatos. The fact that these are clearly dungeon locations is deeply troubling, though it does explain why I’ve been out of the loop. Dungeons are the province of my sister Enyo. I’m not sure what this all means, but it can’t be good. Keep your eyes open, Jack, and I’ll be in touch.
∞∞∞
I read over the quest alert in mild bafflement—I’d never received a notice quite like that. Yet another reminder of Sophia’s power and influence over the in-game world. I shook away the unsettling thoughts and headed over to the Priestess, whose brutalized body lay close by. I knelt down beside her, my stomach churning and seething at the sight of the gory mess, and placed one hand on her leg. I wasn’t religious—my dad had been a Christmas and Easter Christian, my mom a non-practicing Catholic—but I muttered a prayer anyway. Just a quick Hail Mary, Full of Grace to send her off to whatever came next.
Deep down, I knew there probably wasn’t anything next for her—she’d been an NPC, after all, and now she was a string of deleted code—but secretly, I hoped there was something more.
Then, with a sad sigh, I accessed her inventory.
She had a load of good gear—robes, rings, ceremonial daggers—but my conscience nipped at me like an ornery puppy hungry for attention. This was wrong, and looting these people felt gross. Evil, even. But it also felt like a crime to just leave the stuff to rot away; this gear could literally be the difference between life and death for someone else. So, as much as I regretted it, I pocketed her stash of items, followed by the Jade Lord’s Belt. With the unsettling deed done, I stood and put some distance between me and the body, examining the new set piece with avid fascination:
∞∞∞
Belt of the Jade Lord
Armor Type: Medium; Belt
Class: Ancient Artifact; Set Item
Base Defense: 33
Primary Effects:
Strength Bonus = .5 x Character Level
Constitution Bonus = .5 x Character Level
15% Resistance to Slashing Damage
Secondary Set Effects:
+10 to all Resistances per set piece worn
All Spell Costs are reduced by 20% (2 pieces)
+1 to Class Specific Skills (3 pieces)
The Belt of the Jade Lord is an ancient symbol of authority and power, forged from the bones and soul of Arzokh—one of the last great Dragons of the North.
∞∞∞
Like the Crown of the Jade Lord, the belt was a truly incredible find: extraordinarily better than my current Belt of Agility with its pitiful +7 Dexterity Bonus. With reverent, trembling hands, I slipped the belt on, fastening it in place with a soft click. New power—vitality and restless energy—ripped through me as though I’d just chugged a whole pot of coffee. Despite the awful circumstances, and the grisly scene surrounding me, I couldn’t help but pull up my interface and toggle over to my Character screen. My avatar appeared—lean build, dusky gunmetal gray skin, glossy raven-black hair—next to my stat screen:
Satisfied, I closed the screen, which is when I noticed the jade light bleeding from the belt around my waist, drifting up and twirling in the air. Everyone stared, transfixed, at the spectacular light display, their eyes tracking the hypnotizing and sinuous movements. In a handful of heartbeats, the lazy cloud of light coalesced into a picture: a meadow of electric-green grass, ringed by a series of gray stone archways, nestled in a magical forest. Seven sprawling chairs, heavy wooden things edged in gold, sat in the clearing.
The Sacred Glade, home to the Dark Conclave.
As I watched, a brilliant portal of opalescent light appeared between one of the stone a
rches, and then, in a blink, the glade was gone and a new landscape appeared. Everything was hazy and indistinct, blurred and distorted in every direction, as though I wasn’t meant to see this. Not yet. One image was clear, however: the enormous dragon, larger than a semitruck, crouched on the ground. The Sky Maiden, Arzokh. Even more disconcerting was the thing she wore around her redwood-sized neck: a golden chain with an amulet cobbled together from yellowing bone and chips of jade.
The last set item. Of course.
The Amulet of the Jade Lord was inside the Twilight Lands, where the Jade Lord was being held captive. The real problem, though, was I needed to have all three set items in my possession to render the Sky Maiden mortal, but she had the last set item. Which meant I’d need to travel to the Twilight Lands and figure out how to get the amulet off the neck of a bloodthirsty, indestructible dragon without her noticing. As if this ridiculous quest weren’t hard enough already.
The swirling light faded and died, immediately replaced by another quest update:
∞∞∞
Quest Update: Path of the Jade Lord
Congratulations! You’ve retrieved the Belt of the Jade Lord from the Citadel of Arzokh and discovered the location of the last set item, the Amulet of the Jade Lord. Unfortunately, the Amulet is in the Twilight Lands and currently in the possession of the Sky Maiden, Arzokh. Travel to the Sacred Glade of the Dark Conclave, use the Horn of the Ancients to access the Twilight Lands and steal the Amulet from Arzokh. Once you have all three Artifacts in your possession, destroy the Sky Maiden and free the Jade Lord and his brothers from their imprisonment in the Twilight Acropolis.
Quest Class: Ultra-Rare, Secret
Quest Difficulty: Death-Head
Success: Capture the Amulet of the Jade Lord, destroy Arzokh, and free the Jade Lord.
Failure: This is a Death-Head Quest; if you die at any point before completing the objective, you automatically fail and the quest chain will forever be closed to you!
Reward: The Set of the Jade Lord; the Blessing of the Jade Lord; 40,000 EXP.
∞∞∞
I read and reread it at least a dozen times.
What a complete and total nightmare.
Finally, I closed the quest update—looking at it wouldn’t make things any better and we were burning daylight. Hastily, I filled in the rest of the party on the new quest objective and the formidable complications standing in our way to victory. Needless to say, we departed the Citadel via the port-stone as a very somber group, more than ready for this grueling quest to finally be over. Thankfully, the port-stone didn’t drop us back in the abandoned tunnels but rather teleported us directly to an alley near the Knobby Knee.
I saw Ekrin through the window as we trudged by; from the sadness lining her face, it was obvious she knew exactly what had transpired down in the Citadel. The gore covering our armor—splashes of red and bits of bone—told the story better than words ever could. I turned away from her accusing stare, and led us away from the ramshackle opium den as the sun sunk lower and lower into the horizon. Time to get back to Yunnam and figure out how we were going to do this thing, and with only a little over a day left.
TWENTY-SIX:
Tomestide
We stepped through a shimmering portal, courtesy of the Mystica Ordo of Ankara, and into Yunnam proper at twilight. A swirl of dark purples, sprinkled with pinpricks of diamond light, pressed down on us as the last glimmers of golden daylight faded. Ankara, with its gleaming crystal towers and colorful markets, had been beautiful, but it was nice to be back in Yunnam. In some small way, it felt like coming home. The rest of the party shuffled out, bloody, dirt-streaked faces downcast in defeat.
Obviously, the butchery back at the Citadel was still weighing heavily on everyone.
“Well,” Cutter said, breaking the contemplative silence, “I know we’re on a bit of a time crunch, but I say we break, eh? Get cleaned up at the bathhouse, grab something to eat, then reconvene at the Keep? Let the chief know about the new developments, then come up with a plan?”
“I’m on board with that,” Forge said, followed by a round of muted, half-hearted agreement. “I mean I know we got the mission to take care of, but I smell like the inside of a sweaty ass crack.” He lifted one powerful arm and took a sniff at his pit, face wrinkling in distaste. “I’m making myself sick, to be honest.”
Abby stole a sidelong glance, then scooted a little further away from the former Texan. “For once,” she said, arms folded across her chest, “I think you actually have a good idea, Cutter. Let’s say”—she paused, eyes going hazy as she pulled up her interface—“an hour in the Control Center. Does that work for everyone?”
Another round of muted approval followed.
I was on the verge of answering when something pinged in my ear, a new personal message. I held up a finger, just give me a sec, pulled up my user interface, and scrolled over to my inbox. Whatever I’d been about to say died on my lips as I read the subject head: It’s not too late to stop this … The sender was none other than Robert Osmark. Goosebumps broke out along my arms and neck as an army of butterflies flipped, soared, and swooped in the pit of my stomach. Deep down, I’d known it would come to this sooner or later—I’d just expected later.
Like after I had the entire Storme Marshes backing me, maybe.
“You alright, friend?” Cutter asked, genuine concern flashing across his features.
I shook my head, feeling genuinely ill as I pulled up the message.
∞∞∞
Personal Message:
Jack,
I’m disappointed in the way you’ve decided to play things. I thought we had an understanding after our last conversation, even if we didn’t see eye to eye on every detail. Apparently, however, I was mistaken. Although I don’t know the exact details of this quest you’re currently pursuing, I’ve been informed by Enyo that it has the potential to change the game. If you finish it, you’ll control the entire Storme Marshes—or so I’m told—which is an unacceptable outcome for the Empire. For my business associates and me.
From my understanding, though, it’s not too late to stop this, Jack. Not too late to do the reasonable thing. You’re on the edge of a cliff, however, and once you jump, there’s no way back to the top of the mountain. Any chance we formerly had at a working relationship vanishes. But I don’t want things to go that way, as I said last time. I like you. For that reason, I think we should meet in person before you make a decision you can’t take back.
There’s something you need to see before you leap to a very unfortunate fate.
To that end, I’ve attached a single-use port-scroll, which will bring you to a small town called Tomestide on the West Viridian side of the continent. You’ll see there’s also a return scroll, which will instantly port you to your respawn location. You have my word as a businessman that you’ll be safe, treated well, and allowed to leave whenever you decide. I’m being generous here, Jack, and if you choose not to take me up on the offer, there will be severe, irrevocable consequences.
Best Regards,
Robert Osmark, High Emperor of the Viridian Empire
∞∞∞
I read and reread the message as everyone stood around me in a circle, a mixture of concern and fear waltzing across their faces.
“Jack, what’s happening?” Abby asked, barely controlled panic in her voice. “You’re freaking everyone out.”
Finally, I dismissed the PM and glanced up, feeling jittery and nervous all the way down to my toes. “I just got a message from Osmark,” I said, my voice dull and flat. “He knows about the Jade Lord quest. Not everything, but enough to understand the implications and to be pissed about them. He sent over a one-off port-scroll. He wants to have a face-to-face with me in some town called Tomestide.”
“In West Viridia?” Cutter asked incredulously, hands planted defiantly on hips. “The man’s bloody mad is what he is. Why would he think you’d ever be stupid enough to go, eh?”
I pressed my lips into a tight line and glanced away.
“Wait a bloody minute, you’re not thinking about going, are you?”
“Oh, my God,” Abby said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “He is. He’s legitimately considering it.” She reached up and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “This is a terrible idea, Jack. Osmark’s a snake—you can’t trust him. Seriously. I’ve met him before, so I know how charming he can be, but it’s all a show. One big act. As soon as it’s convenient, he’ll kill you. He’ll kill all of us. I know you don’t want to fight him, but please,” she said, face softening in genuine concern, “don’t do this.”
“Jack,” Vlad said, skirting around the others until he stood directly in front of me. “Abby, she is right. It is likely a trap. If you go, what is to stop him from killing you on the spot? Or worse, imprisoning you?” He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and stared me in the eyes. “In Russia, such underhanded tactics are standard practice. This is a bad idea, I think. Foolhardy. All risk, no value.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong,” I said, shrugging his hand off. “The value is in preventing a war. Osmark might be dead set against us, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. At least not all bad.” My mind flashed to the corpse of the Priestess laid out on the ground, her skin blackened, her head and shoulder blown away. That was what war looked like—maybe not for players, but certainly for countless NPCs. I shuddered involuntarily. I was fine with grinding monsters into the dust, the gamer in me loved that, but killing NPCs and players was something else entirely. “And, if he wants to talk, then maybe there’s still a chance to end this all peacefully.”
“But, Jack—” Abby started, holding up a hand.
“No,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I’m doing this.” I pulled the scroll—a piece of faded white parchment, bound with red ribbon—from my inventory. “This is my quest, and at the end of the day, I’m responsible for how things turn out. If I can avoid a war, I will.” I broke the seal with my thumb and unrolled the sheet. A shimmering portal, like a rainbow given life, formed in front of me. “Rest, wash, tell the chief what happened, and get ready to leave for the Conclave. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”