by James Hunter
Roark set a dripping bowl on the stack of clean dishware.
“Thanks again for the offer, mate, but I’ll have to pass. I think I just...” He dug another dirty dish out of the cauldron and began scrubbing, taking a second to search for the right words. “In the mountains where I was born, every year, there’s a season of heavy, unpredictable snows. You might be trapped inside your house for days or weeks waiting for them to pass. At first it’s pleasant, being unable to get out, having an excuse to avoid the next strategic assassination or working to collapse the Ustars’ hold on another city. A complete hold on all responsibility. After a while, however, even the small things in your home begin to feel enormous, crushing. Like the very walls are closing in on you.”
Kaz nodded sympathetically. “Dungeon fever.”
“Dungeon fever?”
“Oh yes.” Kaz crushed a handful of fresh herbs, then carefully stirred them into the simmering pot. Their aroma quickly suffused the kitchen, mixing with the mouthwatering tang of the garlic. “Some mobs catch it fearfully bad, when they grow tired of their home dungeon and feel as if they cannot live without feasting their eyes on something new. Those who come down with the worst cases often leave to roam the Wilds forever.” Then the Mighty Thursr’s eyes bulged out, and he dropped the ladle with a clatter. He rounded on Roark with panic etched into the lines of his face, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Roark is not thinking of leaving to roam the Wilds forever, is he?”
“Of course not.” Roark pried the Mighty Gourmet’s enormous paws from the meat of his shoulders. “I just need to get out for a bit, clear my thoughts. A day trip. A quest. Anything, as long as it’s outside the Cruel Citadel.”
Kaz’s stricken expression transformed into a wide, excited grin. “Kaz has just the thing! Deep in the pages of A Life Remembered and Re-Tasted: A Gry Feliri Memoire Vol. IV, Kaz read of a secret recipe page stolen from a lost cookbook of the greatest man in flavor. It took Kaz many minor step-quests and leveling up of his Cartography Trade Skill, but Kaz finally traced the location of the lost recipe to the cave of a Greater Hellstrike Jackal. They are vicious, unreasoning creatures that live only to kill. Kaz hasn’t gone because the creature is a level 62. Kaz cannot kill it on his own, but if Roark wants to go on an adventure outside the dungeon...”
As Kaz’s thought tapered off, parchment filled Roark’s vision.
╠═╦╬╧╪
The Lost Recipe of Gry Feliri
You have deciphered the code left in the A Life Remembered and Re-Tasted: A Gry Feliri Memoire Vol. IV, learned of the once-fabled tome and its stolen secret recipe page, tracked hearsay and whispers of the stolen page through the ages, and learned the final resting place of the page’s ill-fated last owner, but you’re not through yet! All that remains is to venture deep into Five-Alarm Cave, residence of the fiery and furious Greater Hellstrike Jackal, and recover the secret recipe from the body of the adventurous—and quite dead—chef.
Objective: Retrieve the secret recipe page from Five-Alarm Cave without dying
Reward: Gry Feliri’s Lost Recipe, 15,000 Experience, 1 Unknown Gourmet Specific Item
Failure: Fail to find Gry Feliri’s Lost Recipe or die before retrieving the Lost Recipe from Five-Alarm Cave.
Penalty: Locked forever from Gry Feliri’s Lost Recipe
Restrictions: None
Accept quest? Yes/No
╠═╦╬╧╪
For Roark, whether to accept was hardly even a question. Should he stay trapped in this dungeon for another moment or pit his fighting skills against a mob almost twice his level? He accepted enthusiastically. This quest was exactly what he needed. A little time away, a few good, clean kills with no ulterior motives or strategic significance. Even if it meant he wouldn’t level at all, he could use the challenge.
“That sounds perfect,” Roark said, turning back to Kaz. As he and Kaz had never faced something that powerful alone in its home territory, a couple of heroes who likely had experience with Hellstrike Jackals might come in handy. “Perhaps we should see whether PwnrBwner and Randy wish to come along, as well.”
Kaz clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his huge feet. “Kaz will make a mountain of Saber Boar Bacon to take along as a healthy snack! Heroes adore bacon!”
While Kaz bustled off to inform Mai, Roark opened his personal grimoire and sent off a message to the Arboreal Herald and High Combat Cleric, detailing the quest.
Randy’s reply appeared within seconds.
Sure, I could use a win today. I’ll log in and be right over.
-Randy Shoemaker
It took a few minutes longer before PwnrBwner responded. As usual, it was filled with his low-class, overly dramatic language and hardly made any sense.
This is all your fault you son of a bitch! These dickweeds keep mercing me the second I step in. FUUUUUCK!!!
Roark rolled his eyes. Whatever new blame PwnrBwner was assigning to him, the Cleric could do with a primer in punctuation and spelling, not to mention a healthy dose of stoicism.
I take it you’re not coming, then? Roark sent back, hoping the sarcasm wasn’t too subtle for the hero’s underdeveloped language sensibilities to pick up on.
In place of a reply, a notification popped up:
PwnrBwner_OG’s status is currently set to Inactive. He will receive your message when he logs in again or respawns. Thank you!
With a shrug, Roark set off to gather up the things they would need for Kaz’s quest.
Home at Last
AS SOON AS RANDY GOT back to his apartment for the night, he went straight for his Voyage haptic feedback suit and Unity Framework Omnidirectional Treadmill—with the Miles and Miles upgrade for twice the stimulation of IRL with a fraction of the wear on the joints—and logged in to Hearthworld.
As soon as he heard the fanfare of the trumpets, it was like a weight rolled off his shoulders. The whole day had been one panic attack after another, but he could relax now. He was back in a world where everything made sense. Every action had an appropriately scaled consequence. Input equaled output, work equaled reward, and the harder the task, the greater the payout. In Hearthworld, when someone saw him, they didn’t sneer at him for being a scrawny nerd. They respected his power and skills. They saw his level and stats and could appreciate how much work he’d put in to get there.
A stiff breeze riffled through Randy’s hair, bringing with it the scent of charred meats and fresh spring grass. Nowhere near as powerful as the sensations in the POD Deep Dive capsules back in FrontFlip’s VIP lounge, but nothing to sneeze at, either. The Voyage wasn’t the best possible haptic feedback suit on the market, but it was darn close.
“Welcome, Randy Shoemaker!” the familiar voiceover boomed. “The battle awaits! Which character would you like to select?”
Randy selected his level 40 Arboreal Herald. It was one of his favorite builds, sort of a flying Druid class, but with stealth and DPS for days, along with a bevy of cool spells that he actually knew how to work in-game. Just to prove it to himself, he skipped the cutscene and turned invisible the second he spawned at his private Hearthworld estate.
“Glad to see it works somewhere,” he muttered under his breath.
He pulled up his interface and flipped to his Quests page, quickly checking and rechecking the details of the one Roark had sent him.
Five-Alarm Cave—that was on the southwestern side of the Hearth. The volcano was like a breeding sanctuary for Fire-type mobs, so their party would need plenty of fire resistance.
The cave system was bossed by a Greater Hellstrike Jackal. Yikes.
Randy’s Arboreal Herald didn’t have any OP character specific spells Fire types were vulnerable to, but on the plus side, the Jackal and other Fire-type creatures wouldn’t be able to defend against Roark and the other Trolls’ Infernal magic. Newbs who hadn’t done much reading of the WikiLores and FAQs surrounding Hearthworld’s magic system usually got tripped up on that point. They waltzed in, spells blazing,
blasting Fire types with Ice Javelins and Frostbite spells, wondering why it was hardly touching the burning mobs. With a little time and research, though, it was really pretty simple to figure out what everything’s weakness was—all you had to do was memorize the Primal Creation Wheel.
The more information you had the better, that was Randy’s motto. It was part of what gave him such a leg up on most competition in the game.
He searched his weapons and armor displays until he found a Legendary Urumi of Bitter Darkness, an Infernal artifact he’d recovered during a solo raid last year, and traded out his customary Twin Whipping Leaf Swords. He wasn’t huge on physical combat, not when he could use his pseudo-druidic Earth magic instead, but plant-based attacks weren’t going to be wise against a flaming Greater Hellstrike Jackal.
With that in his Inventory, Randy found a few shields and gauntlets with Fire Resistance for Roark and the others and packed those as well, just in case nobody else had gear equipped with that enchantment. Last of all, he stocked up on Health potions and AoE mass-heal scrolls, then opened a portal scroll.
Shimmering violet light surrounded him as he stepped through, and a cool breeze skittered across his face. He grinned at the simple elegance of the portal’s craftsmanship. He hadn’t been part of the fast-travel design team, but they’d managed to create an experience that was both relaxing and fun. It was quality coding.
With hardly any lag at all, he stepped out into the eternal darkness and swirling ground fog that surrounded the Cruel Citadel.
As always, seeing the crumbled ruins of the walls brought him a brief rush of warm nostalgia. This whole section of the map was a lowbie area—or it had been when he first started playing years ago—and the Citadel had been one of the very first places he’d gone to farm gold and grind out levels. Even back then he had almost always soloed, both because it was faster to level up if you didn’t have to share the XP and because he didn’t have any friends to ask him to join their raids. Still, though, seeing the Cruel Citadel always made him feel like he was returning to visit some happy childhood home.
The rusty iron portcullis at the far end of the wall screeched to life, cranking up and out of the way to allow Roark and Kaz through. Mac, an enormous, spike-shelled Young Turtle Dragon, waddled along beside the Dungeon Lord like a loyal hound.
Randy chuckled softly to himself. If he’d caught sight of the demonic-looking, ghostly pale Jotnar Infernali and hulking blue-black Thursr Knight striding out of the mists toward him back when he first started playing Hearthworld, he would’ve soiled his Light Armor from sheer terror.
He probably still would’ve, if the approaching monsters hadn’t been his only friends.
That made Randy’s smile slip a little. What did it say about him that his only friends were ones and zeroes?
Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. Kaz had definitely started life as code, but something about Roark’s arrival—maybe an interdimensional virus, Randy thought, not for the first time—had brought the Mighty Gourmet and every other mob that came into contact with Roark to sentience.
“Randy.” Roark grabbed Randy’s forearm in one of those manly hero-clasps he used to see on old reruns of Hercules. A gesture that showed Roark considered him an equal, even respected him.
Sure, that was because Randy hadn’t bothered to correct the Griefer’s assumption that an Admin was some sort of servant to the gods of Hearthworld, but still. It meant a lot considering the closest Randy usually got to a handshake was the last-second hair swipe and a gleeful “too slow!” Usually courtesy of Danny, who was closer to an outright foe than a friend.
“Glad you were able to join us for this,” Roark said, nodding to him.
“No problem,” Randy replied. He pulled out a few of the shields and pieces of armor. “I brought some Fire-Resistant gear in case you guys need any.”
“Thank you.” Roark took a pair of Dragonskin Gauntlets, then tossed a Tail of the Lava Kelpie Cloak to Kaz.
For the first time since Randy had met him, the Mighty Gourmet appeared distracted and pensive. He pulled on the cloak absently, fastening it in place with enormous, blunt fingers, clearly lost in his own thoughts.
Randy glanced around. “Is PwnrBwner meeting us there?”
“I don’t think so,” Roark said. “He’s been messaging me erratically since we last spoke, but not much of it makes sense.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know,” the Dungeon Lord admitted, shrugging. “He’s furious, and he blames me. That’s about as much as I’ve been able to establish.” Then Roark’s gaze sharpened, and he looked at Randy. “Whatever’s happening, it began right after he told me that strange things had happened to him while outside Hearthworld. You haven’t begun experiencing any side effects since becoming my Greater Vassal, have you?”
Randy’s ears pricked up. He recognized a carefully vague question when he heard one. Roark was trying to gather anecdotal data without influencing Randy’s answer.
Then he realized just what Roark’s question implied.
“Okay, wow.” Randy reached up to adjust his glasses out of habit before remembering that his Arboreal Herald didn’t wear any. “Did PwnrBwner turn invisible, too? Does becoming a Greater Vassal bestow us with real-world magical abilities?”
Roark paused, a curious look flashing across his face. “Invisibility,” he muttered softly under his breath. “Fascinating.” He fell quiet for a moment. “It seems PwnrBwner was able to conjure a Clerical shield in your dimension,” he finally said. “You became invisible?”
“Oh, right, I probably should’ve led with that,” Randy said. “During work today, my body disappeared. I and at least two of my coworkers were unable to see my body or observe my movements for a short period of time. Sorry, I didn’t keep track of how long. Less than a minute, I’d estimate. I was able to reproduce the results once, but I didn’t have time to try for a third time.”
“Kaz doesn’t wish to be rude,” the Mighty Gourmet said, stepping between them, a worried frown creasing his enormous face. “Normally, he would love to hear Randy and Roark talk about”—Kaz waved one huge clawed hand and spent a second grasping for words, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation, but didn’t want to hurt their feelings by saying so—“things. But there is a lost page of Gry Feliri’s cookbook in a cave far away, just waiting for any Gourmet who might happen by to pick it up, and it is such a very long trek from the Cruel Citadel to Five-Alarm Cave.”
Roark cracked a smile and nodded. “Point taken. We can talk on the way.”
After a quick check of the Maps page, they struck out toward the far distant column of volcanic smoke in the southern sky. Kaz’s eagerness was immediately apparent, as even the Griefer’s long strides hardly kept up with the enormous Knight once they were moving. Every few steps, Randy used his wings for a quick boost so he could remain at their side.
“Your hypothesis is that these sudden manifestations of magical abilities are the direct result of becoming a Greater Vassal?” Randy asked Roark.
“It was PwnrBwner’s theory,” the Jotnar said, “but I think he could be correct. As the second case, you seem to confirm it.”
“I don’t know.” Randy took another wing-propelled hop as he started to fall behind. “Two people is such a small sample size. Not enough to prove anything. You don’t have any sort of instructions or guidelines about what to expect when you make someone a Greater Vassal?”
“Nothing,” Roark said, swiping a clawed hand through his shaggy hair. “I have an inkling of how it affects the creatures of this world. Kaz was my first Greater Vassal, and he’s one of the more intelligent and loyal followers I have. I’ve also used it on Mac, Zyra, Griff, and Ick—to name a few. Each and every one has far outpaced the rest of the creatures in Hearthworld. You and PwnrBwner are the first heroes I’ve used the Stone on, though, so I have no idea what the bloody effects might be.” His lips pulled into a tight line as he glanced down.
&nb
sp; “The more I use the World Stone Pendant,” the Dungeon Lord muttered, “the more I realize how little I know about it. The good news is that if the World Stone is allowing you and PwnrBwner to use your Hearthworld magick in your dimension, then I should be able to take the same magical powers I possess here back with me when I eventually return to Traisbin. I’ll be able to use them against the Tyrant King.”
Randy sighed. “I hate to keep raining on your parade like this, but you don’t have any way to prove that until you’ve actually returned to your dimension and tested it. It’s possible that your pendant only allows our abilities to manifest on Earth.” Remembering that Roark’s people called their planet Earth, too, Randy shrugged. “I mean, our Earth—that is to say, in our dimension. It could do something completely different in your dimension.”
For several paces, Roark was silent. Randy stared down at the boggy ground. He felt bad for smashing the Griefer’s hopes for a new weapon.
“Sorry,” he offered in a small voice.
“No,” Roark said. “I appreciate your pragmatism. Listen to this and tell me what you make of it: Traisbin is governed by a set of unbreakable rules or laws that make up the fabric of the universe. Similar to Hearthworld’s rules, but nearly all of these rules are well known to us. Spells must be written to be cast. That’s absolute. At least, it was until twenty-odd years ago, when Marek began his rise to supremacy.”
Roark lifted the World Stone Pendant out of his leather armor and stared down at the glittering topaz gem set into its face.
“Using this, the Tyrant King cast spells without a drop of ink. It should have been impossible. It violates the very laws of our universe. Just as I understand using magick violates the laws of your universe.” He looked askance at Randy, eyes burning with barely contained exhilaration. “Suppose Marek was the first to test the interdimensional capabilities of the World Stone. Suppose he carried magick from another unknown dimension to Traisbin, and that was what gave him such impossible powers.”