Warlock: Reign of Blood

by Edwin McRae

“Above ground, north wall.”

  “And it’s hurting you?”

  “A great deal, yes.”

  “I’ll get up there, see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a click and a groan, a portion of the bookshelves swung open, revealing a passageway lit with silver patterning. As Mark moved towards it, part of the floor opened up to his right, a small trapdoor giving way to a shallow wooden compartment. Inside sat a suit of chainmail armor, an elegant longsword and sheath, and four bottles of liquid, each of a different hue.

  Mark’s grin widened so much that his cheeks ached.

  “An emergency cache established by the last warlock to walk these halls of mine,” explained Citadel.

  Mark dropped his noob sword, removed his noob leathers, and quickly suited up.

  Garridar’s Ironhide

  35% reduction to damage caused by hits to torso.

  20% reduction in damage to arms.

  25% chance to prevent total damage.

  10% Fire Resistance.

  10% Cold Resistance.

  “One must grow a thick skin to survive this harsh world.” - Garridar Stoneye

  Garridar’s Punishment

  20% bonus to base sword damage.

  10% chance of inducing internal hemorrhaging in an organic enemy.

  “Without punishment, the wrong will never care to be right.” - Garridar Stoneye

  Mark wasn’t so sure about Stoneye’s rather bleak philosophy, but his sword felt damned good in Mark’s hand. And when stacked with his Swordplay ability and Arcane Edge spell, Garridar’s longsword was certainly going to deal out some punishment.

  He sheathed the blade and turned his attention to the bottles of liquid.

  “Potions?”

  “Yes, although there are two concoctions there that I wouldn’t advise you to embibe.”

  “Only to be used on others?”

  “Exactly. Please, take them and store them carefully.”

  Mark did as he was told, tucking the four small bottles into the leather loops on his sword belt. The grey liquid looked similar to wallpaper paste, the blue had that too-bright hue of a sports drink, the deep brown one reminded him of cola, and the light green one of a wheatgrass drink he’d tried during one of his rare health kicks.

  “The brown one is a Potion of Spiritual Sustenance. It will restore your Essence Points to full. The green one is a Potion of Visceral Reparation. It will restore your Health Points to full. Don’t drink the other two.”

  “They’re dangerous?”

  “The blue is for the fire. Glacial Mist. The grey is called Calcifying Vapors. Smash and run while your enemies choke and petrify. Quite literally.”

  “Petrify? Like turn to stone?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Not if you’re on the receiving end.”

  “True.” He gazed longingly at the other potions. “But rather handy when I have twenty-nine reivers to deal with.”

  “Actually, twenty-five. Four have stopped moving. And there’s a great deal more movement up there than usual. I think, perhaps, the rescue has started without you.”

  “Right... on my way.”

  13

  A portion of stone wall rumbled open to reveal a stables. Mark took a deep breath, checked his gear one more time, stepped out into the stables and scanned the place for opponents.

  Half a dozen nervous horses stamped and snorted, their large eyes flickering with reflected flame. Then he spotted the reivers, two of them, tucked up amongst the hay in one of the empty bays. A couple of burly, tattooed men, spooning and snoring. They stank of booze which explained why they hadn’t heard Mark come in or noticed the burning wall across the courtyard.

  Mark had never considered himself a cold-blooded killer, but then again, he’d played enough assassin games in his time to grow accustomed to taking out an enemy before they had a chance to fight back. He drew his sword, slowly and quietly, as he decided which man to kill first. He picked the man being spooned by the other, as his dead weight would pin his lover’s arm, delaying any retaliation. Mark thrust the point of his sword into the first man’s throat, noting with grim satisfaction that his improved Swordplay ability, combined with the sharper edge of Garridar’s Punishment, ensured a brutally smooth stroke. His victim’s eyes fluttered open as his snores turned to choking gurgles. His partner stirred but didn’t wake, making it easy for Mark to repeat the process.

  You have killed two Level 2 Reiver Warriors.

  Your XP Reward = 40 XP

  Progress to Level 5 = 182/200

  At least, thought Mark, the poor bastards died before they realized what was going on. That’s if, as AIs, they have the ability to realize anything beyond “Identify player. Kill player.”

  Then again, judging by Vari and Dayna, and even Citadel, Reign of Blood had undergone a major AI upgrade. He had to remind himself that they were just constructions of code, not flesh and blood. They were simply assessing the variables, selecting the appropriate behavioral response, and expressing it through set-piece dialogues and animations. There was no “thinking” or “feeling” going on. Yet as reasonable as that sounded, something about it just didn’t sit right with Mark. He felt like he was missing something. Something big.

  Mark forced himself back into “the now”. He was in the process of cleaning his sword with some hay when he heard the rumbling of a wagon. He spun about just in time to see horses and a cartful of Garland villagers hurtle by the open doors of the stables. Vari was at the reins and Dayna was perched on top of the cart’s cage, her bow bent and ready to fire up at someone he couldn’t see from this angle. Someone directly above him.

  Vari glanced in his direction for the barest of moments and their eyes met. Her eyes widened and her lips made an astonished ‘O’, and then she was gone. Mark rushed to the doorway to get a better view, and was just in time to follow Dayna’s arrow to her target, the reiver captain up on a catwalk overhanging the stables. He watched the captain turn on the balls of his feet, taking the arrow in the shoulder rather than in the chest.

  Mark looked back to the wagon and watched for a moment as it disappeared out through Citadel's main gates.

  You have failed the “Slavers Bane” quest.

  Ten of the captives are alive and free, but you were not instrumental in their rescue.

  While he was a little disappointed that he’d missed the opportunity to play ‘hero’, Mark felt relieved that Vari, Dayna and the villagers were now clear of Citadel and on their way to safety. All things considered, the results outweighed any loss of potential experi-

  “Mark?”

  Citadel’s voice was right next to his ear again.

  “Shit, Sid! What?!” He barely managed to keep his voice down to a harsh whisper.

  “I felt the wagon leave.”

  “Yes, my friends and the captives have escaped.”

  “But you’re still going to put out that fire, correct?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you’re prepared to free your ancestral home from those who would exploit it for their own purposes? They’ve been trying to find their way into the lower levels for weeks now, you know.”

  Mark ticked the rewards off in his head. A wealth of spells in the library, more gear and potions to be found, and a sentient fortress to have as his stronghold. All up, it was a pretty difficult offer to turn down.

  “Even if I have to die and respawn twenty times, I’ll clean your innards of reivers, Sid.”

  Mark cringed at his own choice of words. He’d made himself sound like a laxative. Whether it was the pain he was in, or simply good grace, Citadel refrained from comment. Instead, a cheerful notification popped up in Mark’s field of view.

  You have received the “Welcome Home, Warlock” quest.

  This quest has two objectives that must completed.

  1. Extinguish the fire that threatens to consume Citadel.

  2. Clear Citadel of all
reiver slavers.

  Above the stables, close to where the captain had joined Mark’s private club of ‘people who’ve survived being shot by Dayna’, he heard the clanging of an alarm bell and a hoarse female voice hollering “Fire!”.

  Secure for now in his hiding place, Mark watched as reivers spilled from various makeshift shelters, took up pails, and formed a bucket chain from the well near the gate to the burning north wall. In their haste, they splashed as much water on their boots as they did on the wall, although enough made it to the inferno to at least stop it from spreading. All up, eleven scouts and four warriors had turned out to fight the blaze, and Mark realized, with steel-edged excitement, that the unwitting reivers may have just made his new quest significantly easier to achieve.

  “Sid?”

  “The reivers seem to be putting the fire out for you, Mark, albeit at an agonizing pace.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “Was that meant to be encouraging?”

  “I mean...oh, nevermind. Now, Glacial Mist, will that put out the fire and freeze any water in the vicinity?”

  “Should do.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yes, it will be. Stand well back.”

  “I will. What’s the radius of effect on Calcifying Vapor?”

  “Without accounting for wind drift, approximately five meters.”

  “Okay, thanks. I think I have a plan.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Mark took the bottle of Glacial Mist in his hand and hoped that his high school cricket training was about to pay off. He could really have done with one of those handy, arched UI arrows that displayed where a lobbed object would likely fall, but none appeared, so Mark took a deep breath, let it out slowly as he drew back his arm, and then brought it snapping forward in a smooth fielder’s throw.

  End over end, the bottle turned in the air before descending about a meter short of where Mark had been aiming. He’d hoped to hit the base of the wall. Instead, the bottle smashed against the bald, thorn-inked skull of a reiver near the front of the bucket chain. The bottle exploded like a snow globe filled with dynamite, sending a glittering cloud of icicles in every direction. The reiver’s head snap-froze so quickly that it shattered into sickening shards of red, white and grey. His stiff body crashed to the ground as the freezing cloud continued to billow outward, engulfing flames and reivers alike.

  The fire guttered and died, and while the Glacial Mist dissipated rapidly after that, its freezing effect followed the water, an icy chain reaction all the way back to the well. The reivers howled, firstly in shock at the cold, and secondly in frustration as the water about their feet froze rock-solid, locking them all in place.

  Part 1 of the “Welcome Home, Warlock” quest completed.

  Mark had only a few moments to act before the ice would thaw, freeing the reivers from their ‘ice-chains’. He held his second bottle in his palm, double-checked that it was filled with grey glue, not cola, and lobbed it into the center of the bucket line. The bottle exploded as it impacted the flagstones of the courtyard, releasing its viscous payload. Slate-grey smoke wafted in thick waves from the gooey morass, shrouding the reivers on either side. It crept outwards until it had enveloped every one of them.

  Howling and shouting turned to screams, the chorus of terror quieting, one voice at a time, as the petrifying effect took its toll. Before the last scream had died away, Mark was on the move, sprinting along the southern wall, headed for the wooden steps that would carry him up to the catwalk above.

  “Thank you, Mark, thank you!” Citadel’s voice buzzed like a fly around his head.

  “Not now, Sid!”

  “Sorry. Carry on.”

  Mark intended to carry on, before the horror of what he’d just done caught up with him and brought him to a shivering, puking halt.

  You have slain eleven Level 1 Reiver Scouts and four Level 2 Reiver Warriors.

  Your XP reward = 190 XP

  Progress to Level 6 = 372/500

  Congratulations!

  You have reached Level 5 in the Warlock class.

  You gain two attribute points and now have access to Level 5 Warlock spells.

  He didn’t feel like being congratulated. Fifteen people, turned to stone. No, he corrected himself as he bounded up the steps. Fifteen AI, not people. While the most logical part of Mark’s brain nodded sagely in agreement, the rest of his brain twitched in disgust. They sure as hell screamed like people.

  Spell Selection

  As a Level 5 Warlock you have 5 magical spells available for selection.

  You have 3 spell slots remaining.

  Doppelganger (Cast cost = 6 EP)

  Cunning Linguist (Cast cost = 7 EP)

  Forge Anew (Cast cost = 7 EP)

  Lurking Inferno (Cast cost = 8 EP)

  Brain Leash (Cast cost = 8 EP)

  Alternatively, you may wish to save your spell slots for ‘found’ spells.

  He didn’t have time to select new spells. If he hesitated now, the surviving reivers would find and overwhelm him. He needed to act.

  The first of the eight remaining reivers met Mark at the top of the stairs. She was a slender young woman whose dyed hair was as ruby red as the angry acne welts along her chin. She held a hatchet in her left hand, a buckler strapped to her right, and as she raised the hatchet to bury it in Mark’s head, Mark could see a second reiver close behind her, a man just as thin and wiry as his counterpart. His weapon combo was a sword and dagger.

  Mark judged the distance between the hatchet woman and dagger man, and shouted “Terrifying Manifestation!” It was a bit of a mouthful to get out in a hurry, and Mark had to parry the woman’s hatchet with his sword while he was doing it, but the effects took hold as soon as he uttered the last syllable.

  Your Terrifying Manifestation spell has increased to Tier 2.

  Tier 2: Your “Terrifying Manifestation” spell may now affect up to four victims at once.

  The woman shrieked and stumbled backwards, straight into the man’s dagger, her weight driving the blade through her leather armor and deep into her back. She coughed blood down her chin and slumped onto the boards of the catwalk. The man stared down at her, wide-eyed. Mark made the most of his shock.

  “Arcane Edge!” he roared as he raised his sword and brought it sweeping down onto the reiver’s swordarm. Honed by magic, Garridar’s Punishment sliced through flesh and bone, cleaving the limb clean away. The man looked to his severed arm and then at Mark, blinking dumbly like a toddler woken in the night. Mark’s sword reached his head before the pain did, removing it from the stricken man’s shoulders.

  You have slain two Level 1 Reiver Scouts.

  XP reward = 20 XP

  Progress to Level 6 = 392/500

  Mark took a moment to use his attribute points, 1 to Body and 1 to Spirit.

  Body: 14

  HP: 70

  Spirit: 14

  EP: 53

  He then stepped over the bodies of the fallen, straight into the path of a speeding arrow fired from down in the courtyard by a shaggy-bearded archer. The missile caught him in the thigh. Hot-white pain drilled through his leg, and Mark’s health bar flickered into view in the corner of his eye.

  The Reiver Scout has damaged you for 25 HP!

  HP: 45/70

  Through gritted teeth, he whispered “Avalar’s Leech” and pointed at the archer. The man dropped the arrow he’d been notching and stared with confusion at his suddenly trembling hand.

  With a roar of pain-driven fury, Mark wrenched the arrow out of his leg just as his health bar started to creep upwards. The blood that Mark had expected to pour from the wound didn’t come, and down in the courtyard, the archer sank to his knees and vomited onto the flagstones.

  Mark nodded with grim satisfaction and returned his attention to the catwalk, and the sound of boots pounding on wood. Three reivers were coming at him hard, armor rattling, maces raised in mailed fists. On this narrow platform, Mark could fight them one
by one, or…

  He backed off to the edge of the steps, then watched and waited as the reivers, seeing his precarious position, picked up their pace, turning their run into a charge. Mark held his ground until he could almost smell the first man’s garlic-chicken breath, and then whispered “Ethereal Flesh”.

  One moment he was there, balanced at the apex of the staircase, and then he was gone, a wraith of mist through which the reivers ploughed at full speed.

  The first toppled down the steps, his neck snapping with an audible crack. The second fell through the already weakened wood in a shower of splinters. He landed on his side, shattering an arm and a leg upon the stones. His cries of agony were silenced as his comrade, the largest of the three, landed on his head with the combined weight of muscle, fat and chainmail. Apart from his fellow soldier’s head, the big reiver’s landing pad included his own mace. The spikes drove into his portly gut, puncturing armor and entrails alike. He wailed and groaned as he clutched his belly, and Mark promised himself that, if he survived this final battle, he’d put the poor guy out of his misery.

  Mark materialized on the catwalk and approached his final opponents, the wounded captain and a platinum-haired warrior woman. He was forced to walk with a slight limp, his leg only partially healed while the archer below twitched upon the flagstones, blue-faced and grey-haired, making a toast to Mark’s good health with the last drops of his life.

  Avalar’s Leech has healed you for 10 HP.

  HP: 55/70

  Warlock and Reiver Captain eyed each other. Even though Mark had slaughtered all bar one of the man’s entire garrison, he saw no fear in the officer’s eyes. Though he winced as he moved, his shoulder wound clearly causing him pain, the captain’s gaze was steady and clear. He wasn’t cowering, he was calculating.