Warlock: Reign of Blood

by Edwin McRae

  She considered this information for a long and tense moment while Mark braced himself for a, probably vain, attempt at dodging an arrow.

  You do not possess the skill of Arrow Dodging.

  Your success estimate is less than 1%

  Finally she spoke, and there was the faintest curl of a smile upon her lips. "That would explain you standing here, right as rain, missing the bloody great hole you should have in your neck."

  "I take it that's not something you see every day?"

  "I didn't actually see you."

  "Come back to life?"

  She nodded, and her right arm tensed, her bowstring creaking as she drew the arrow back just a little further, preparing to let loose. Mark raised his hands even higher.

  "Hold on, please, give me a chance to work this out."

  "I've got a better idea."

  "What?"

  "I’ll see for myself."

  Before the woman's fingers could release the bowstring, time slowed to a crawl.

  You have 11 Essence Points that will replenish each day at midnight.

  As a Level 2 Warlock, you currently have access to two spells. Others can be learned from magical tomes or may be unlocked as you level up.

  Terrifying Manifestation (Tier 1)

  Cause the target to have a terrifying vision.

  Tier 1 casting cost = 5 EP

  Second Skin (Tier 1)

  Forms a light magical barrier that envelopes the warlock’s body.

  Tier 1 casting cost = 5 EP

  Would you like to read the full descriptions for these spells?

  Whilst Mark would normally love to delve into the nitty-gritty of newfound spells, he decided against reading himself to death in this instance. Instead, he pointed at the archer and shouted “Terrifying Manifestation!”, hoping against hope that it would somehow prevent him from experiencing another skewering through the Adam's apple.

  He felt warming energy surge up his solar plexus, hum through his chest, tingle down his arm and leap from his now strangely gesticulating fingers. The woman let out a shrill scream, dropped her bow and arrow, and desperately shook her hands, trying to free them of some abomination that only she could see.

  He quickly scooped up her bow and arrow, in case the spell’s after effects made her start shooting first and screaming questions later. A few moments later, she lowered her hands and fixed him with a baleful glare.

  "What the fuck did you just do to me?"

  "Just an illusion. Like I said, I don't mean you any harm."

  To punctuate the point, he took a step forward and offered her the bow and arrow, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile onto his face. Had he looked in the mirror at that point, he would have seen just how rusty his smiling skills were. But it had the desired effect, and the woman warily took the bow and arrow from him, slotting the arrow back into her quiver rather than notching it.

  They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and Mark was finally able to take her in without the blinding effects of flight and fight. Her complexion was a rich caramel, her hair almost blue-black and tied into a ponytail by a simple piece of yarn. She had the physique of a climber or triathlete, and a slight weathering of her skin that corroborated her outdoorsy impression. Her clothes were a mixture of rough-spun wool and cotton, topped off with light, leather armor.

  "What's your name?" she asked.

  "Mark. And yours?"

  "Dayna."

  "With an 'i' or a 'y'?"

  "Y."

  "Then nice to meet you properly, Dayna with a 'y'. I'm glad you decided not to shoot me in the throat this time."

  "Well," she said with a thin smile, "shooting is still an option until I find out exactly who or what you are. Unless you’ve got anything to share on that front?"

  Now that events had calmed down a little, Mark thought for the first time about logging off. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before, but figured it must've had something to do with being distracted by people trying to kill him.

  "Give me a sec, Dayna, I'm just going to try something."

  Her eyes narrowed as she took a step back. There was an arrow nocked on her bow before Mark could even blink. He tried to ignore her and to concentrate on the task at hand. He tried to clear his mind, focus on the words, and will himself to disconnect from the game. Nothing. He tried again, mentally shouting the command. The silence that answered was deafening.

  Under normal circumstances a notification from User Support Services would appear telling him that "We apologise for any inconvenience but there has been a temporary error in the connection between our servers and your neural implant. We are working hard to resolve the issue and will let you know as soon as you are able to log out. Please accept our apologies and this gift of in-game currency."

  These were not normal circumstances. Mark felt an ache in his bowels, a burning at the back of his throat and an emptiness in his belly. Signs that indicated he was in serious trouble. But rather than succumb to hysteria, Mark did what he always did.

  "Shouldn't we go after them?"

  Dayna raised a thick, dark eyebrow. "I should, yes. I'm a ranger, it's what I do, and in Garland there's no-one else who can do it. But with you, I have no idea what should or shouldn't be done."

  "Well, I'm here, and I've already killed one of these reiver bastards."

  Mark nodded towards a couple of corpses, one lying on top of the other, an older woman and an older man, brutally butchered where they stood. There were other corpses lying in various states of bloodied mutilation, yet thankfully not as many as Mark would’ve expected. The reivers were more interested in enslavement than slaughter.

  "If you'll have me, I'd like to help you deal out some well-deserved justice."

  He watched and waited, hoping that she'd accept, hoping that she’d give him something to keep his mind off the fact that he was stranded here, in Garland, inside the VR environment of Reign of Blood. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he figured there was no point in standing around and freaking out about it. That path led into a smothering, grey numbness that he knew all too well.

  At last she nodded, pursed her lips and let out a sharp whistle. The answer came as a whinny and the steady pounding of two sets of horse hooves, his newly acquired midnight mare in the tow of a sleek, chestnut stallion. The stallion pulled up beside Dayna and she smoothly mounted up.

  Mark noticed the longsword and scabbard strapped across the back of Dayna’s saddle. Startled, he looked from Dayna’s sword to the one hanging from his belt. They were identical.

  “Dayna?”

  She followed his gaze to the sword tied to her saddle. “What? You weren’t using it.”

  “You looted me?”

  “It’s a well-forged blade. I know a blacksmith who should give me a decent price for it.”

  “What the hell did you do with my body?

  She shrugged. “Dragged it off the road and left it for the crows.”

  Mark searched Dayna’s hard eyes for any inkling that she was joking. She wasn’t.

  “Did you see what happened to it after that?

  “Crows eating corpses, that something you like to watch?”

  “I just wanted to know if my body, well…” He wasn’t sure how to explain. In previous versions of Reign of Blood, bodies faded away quite quickly, leaving any salvageable items behind them.

  “Didn’t see a thing.”

  “Right. You just rode off with my sword.”

  “You were dead. Dead men don’t get to own anything.”

  “Hello?” He pointed at his uninjured neck. “Not dead?”

  "You will be if you waste any more of my fucking time," she answered sharply. Without looking at him, she set off at a trot along the wagon tracks.

  Mark mounted the mare and with a soft “giddyup” set off after Dayna. He allowed himself a smile, just a little one, as a notification appeared before his eyes.

  You have received the "Slaver’s Way" quest. />
  You must accompany Dayna and discover where the reiver slavers have taken the captured villagers. Whether Dayna lives or dies, this quest can still be completed.

  Good, Mark thought to himself, at least it's not an escort mission. Right now, he wasn’t feeling all that enthusiastic about keeping Dayna alive.

  3

  Vari winced as she peeled the bloodied cloth back from the ragged gash in her side. If she didn’t do something about it soon, the wound would turn septic and she’d yet to learn the spell for cleansing infection out of blood. She craned her neck around the edge of her hiding place, to ensure that the coast was clear, that the inquisitors had truly gone, and then applied herself to the only healing spell her depleted EP reserves could afford.

  The words came as a whisper. The raw energy flowed from her chest, down through the veins of her arm, and into her palm. It radiated over the open cut, pulling the edges together, melding the flesh beneath, until nothing remained but dried blood and smooth olive skin.

  You have expended the last of your Essence Points.

  You will be unable to cast further spells until your essence has replenished at midnight.

  Vari frowned at the notification. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she lived until nightfall, let alone midnight. Her other option was to try and gain 25 more experience points so she could reach Level 3 and have her essence points replenished that way. She probably had more chance of living until midnight.

  Your Mend Flesh spell has increased to Tier 2.

  Tier 2 casting cost = 10 EP

  Tier 2: Physical contact is no longer necessary between figurist and target. Can be cast at a distance of 3 meters. Healing and damage effects are also increased by 20%.

  Despite everything that had happened today, Vari felt her mood lift a little. She was growing stronger, hour by hour, day by day. Could she grow strong enough to continue hiding from the inquisitors? Could she grow powerful enough to avoid the fate that had overtaken so many before her?

  The visions would always haunt her. Contorted flesh, twisted bones, blazing eyes incinerating without care, teeth tearing and consuming without hunger. She vowed that she would destroy herself, then and there, whispering her promise into the mud and dirt that concealed her. She vowed that she would never let them make her into one of them, nor would she be the one to commit the act. And she followed it with a wish, that she would live to see everything they believed in, all of their condemnation, all of their vile hypocrisies, burned before their bleeding eyes.

  Slowly, wearily, she pulled herself out of the filth and searched the trees, peering into shadows that might still hide those that pursued her so mercilessly. The inquisitors had their tricks, becoming the shades and the whispers, the moments between attention, the humming and ringing in the silence. Yet nothing stirred, nothing leapt out to shackle her, to punish her for daring to be something other than a "reiver".

  She struck out into the forest, staying close to the thickest patches of vegetation, weaving, sometimes doubling back, yet patiently moving forward, away from reiver territory and towards the only hope that she now had. Garland. Would they offer her sanctuary? Would they execute her on sight? Either way, it would be better than what she faced if she went "home".

  Yet even if she did make it, even if she was welcomed with open arms, she knew the respite would only be temporary. The reivers were coming for Garland, just like the inquisitors were coming for her, and perhaps there was nothing anyone could do about it. Or perhaps she could do something. There was really only one way to find out.

  She paused to drink from a stream, luxuriating in the cool, clean water as it soaked her parched throat, and washed away the blood and grime from her face. It was through wet fingers as she scooped up one last palmful of water, that she saw them. Two riders, a brown-skinned woman and a pale-skinned man, both armed and armored, and both riding into an ambush.

  Reiver warriors. Five of them, concealed in the bushes on either side of the road, three on her side, two on the other. The riders were Garlanders, judging by their garb. She had to warn them, help them, but how? She’d used her last scrap of essence to heal the wound in her side. Still, she had one last trick up her sleeve, quite literally strapped to the inside of her forearm. A little something she’d stolen from the laboratory and saved for the right moment.

  She tugged the thin glass vial from the straps about her arm and gave it a quick shake, enlivening the contents until it sparkled with the eldritch malice she knew it contained. Her throw would have to be a good one, landing just behind the closest reivers, but far enough away from the riders that they wouldn't fall to its effects. It wouldn't do to kill her new allies before she'd even had a chance to meet them.

  She waited, the sweat of tension dripping in rivulets down her back, threatening to sting her eyes with salt. And then, when she could see that the soldiers were just about to pounce, she lobbed the vial, watched it arc through the air, and smash itself to splinters upon a tree trunk just shy of the nearest reiver.

  The effect was both sudden and decisive. The explosion reduced the trunk to lethal shrapnel that cut the first reiver into ribbons, dropped the second as a splinter buried itself deep in his eye, and sent the third reeling backwards to knock himself senseless against a knob of rock and root.

  You have killed two Level 2 Reiver Warriors and incapacitated a third.

  Your XP Reward = 50 XP

  Congratulations!

  You have reached Level 3 in the Figurist class.

  You have been awarded 2 Attribute points to apply to your core stats.

  The horses reared up, almost throwing their riders, who managed to stay mounted by tightly hugging their frightened animals' necks.

  Vari threw both Attribute Points into Spirit then cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted as loud as her lungs and throat could manage, in case the explosion had somehow deafened those she wished to hail.

  "On your left!"

  Howling with rage, the remaining reiver warriors charged out of the undergrowth, maces raised. One bore down on the woman who calmly nocked an arrow into a longbow. The arrow streaked from bow to reiver, slamming into his face just under the rim of his helmet. He crashed to the ground.

  Meanwhile, the other reiver dragged the protesting man from his saddle before he managed to draw his sword. The two rolled across the ground, the reiver ending up on top. Vari gritted her teeth with fearful anticipation as the warrior raised his mace, ready to pound the man into a pulp.

  “Second Skin!” shouted the Garlander.

  Wary, the reiver warrior paused for a moment, and when nothing seemed to have happened, he brought his mace down onto the man’s bare face. Vari winced in anticipation, bracing herself for the sickening crunch of a skull caving in, but to both her and the warrior’s surprise, a delicate shield of light shattered a mere finger’s width from the Garlander’s nose.

  The Garlander bucked his hips upwards, launching the startled reiver into the dirt. Before the warrior regained his feet, the Garlander's sword clanged against his helmet, sending it flying into the trees. Vari saw the warrior shake his head, trying to gather his wits for a counter-attack, but the man pressed his advantage, sweeping his sword around in a vicious arc that severed the top off the reiver's skull. The warrior dropped to his knees, and as he toppled forward, Vari saw his red-stained brain slide free from its bony casing and flop like a dead slug into the grass.

  She let out a long breath, and looked from the fallen warrior into the blue eyes of the man who stood over him. Out of the corner of her eye, Vari saw the woman dismount and raise her bow, a nocked arrow pointed in Vari’s direction. But the man shook his head and spoke something more softly than Vari could hear. Vari watched with relief as the woman lowered her bow and then waved for her to approach.

  With trembling steps, she crossed the short distance between them, her hands raised in supplication. The woman watched, impassive, as if still weighing up whether or not to kill her, while the ma
n folded his arms and waited with a faint smile on his lean face. It was him that spoke first.

  "You're a reiver?"

  Vari shook her head. "Of their empire, not their blood, not their ways." She pressed a quivering hand to her chest. "My name is Vari, and I seek sanctuary…in Garland."

  The man shook his head, seemingly mystified, and turned to look at the woman with the bow. "What do you think, Dayna? She's followed us home. Can we keep her?"

  The woman scowled. "First you, Mark, and now this one. My day is fast filling up with people who don't belong in it."

  "She did just kinda save our lives." He gestured towards the three bodies on Vari's side of the road. "And in quite an impressive manner." He turned back to Vari. “How did you do that?” His face then clouded with concern and he took an instinctive step backwards. “Don’t answer that, if you don’t want to. I was just curious, but…”

  He was clearly worried that, by angering her, he was at risk of meeting the same fate. Vari smiled to put him at ease and inclined her head, acknowledging his compliment.

  “It was a concoction. The ingredients are quite rare, and I had only that one dosage.”

  The man smiled a little wider in return, his blue eyes growing a little kinder. “Exploding potion? Well, it certainly cured our ills.” He gestured at the dead reivers. “Not so much theirs though.”

  As if answering him, the farthest of the fallen let out a low, tortured moan. His legs were twisted at unnatural angles, the bones snapped by the impact of the blast, but his arms remained intact and he was trying to lever himself up into a sitting position. Vari felt her expression darken as she drew a curved dagger from the sash around her waist. Dayna had an arrowhead leveled at her before the blade had even cleared the cloth.

  “Think very carefully about what you’re planning to do with that knife.”