The Monolith

by Stephen Roark

  In its place was a strange mechanism made from two shafts of metal, some kind of gears and a claw-like set of pincers at its end. They were slid into two holes on a long piece of hot steel that he was working.

  “Alastor Cook, eh?” he replied, nodding slowly. He looked away and brought the hammer down another few times. It looked like he was working on a sword of some kind, but it was a long way from completion. “Quite a man…quite a man…”

  “You can say that again,” I smirked. The image of Alastor’s frail body lying in the bath of wine would be forever imprinted in my mind. “But, yeah…he said the plague was over and you could come back to town.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  The Smith hammered a few more blows, then turned his back to me. He wore a thick leather apron with no shirt underneath. “And what did Sluck tell you about me?”

  His question caught me off guard. My conversation with Sluck had been so clandestine and strange that I just assumed he didn’t know anything about the decaying hunchback.

  “He—he told me to beware the pale man,” I admitted. Although his back was to me, I thought the Smith was smiling. With a great stabbing motion, he thrust the glowing slab of steel into a bath of water. An explosion of steam enveloped him, for a moment obscuring him from sight.

  “Did he now…?” the man said, his voice quiet and deep. “Is that all?”

  The steam shifted and dispersed, and the Smith reappeared. This time he was facing me, and the piece of glowing metal he’d been working on was looking more and more like a weapon. His expression was unreadable.

  “No,” I replied. “He said I should kill you.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “That you had a Mortal Slab and that it was very valuable.”

  The man’s lips twisted into a knowing smile and he nodded. “Well, he’s not lying there! But, can I assume, that by you telling me this, you’re not here to fight me?”

  “You can.” I nodded. “I’m here to bring you back to town. Alastor says you can upgrade weapons, and there are more of us back at the Weeping Hills who could use your skills.”

  “Quite a selfless act,” the man remarked, setting the steel aside. “That Mortal Slab could set you far ahead of the pack.”

  “It could,” I agreed. “But…I dunno. Things have changed in this world. People will need you.”

  I thought I saw a hint of approval in the Smith’s eyes, but it was gone quickly. He strode across the cavern workshop and snatched a tall mug from a wooden work bench. Resting his strange “hand” on the wall, he gulped down whatever was inside in one long gulp. Wiping his lips, he looked back at me.

  “You need new garb,” he remarked. “What’s that pithy shit you’re wearing now?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Just starter gear. God awful, I know.”

  He took a step forward then stopped, his eyes on my cloak. “You’ve met Rathborne.”

  “You know Rathborne?” I asked with interest.

  The Smith chuckled. “Hardly a soul in Duskmourne doesn’t know that old killer. Most feared Seeker I’ve ever known—and he gave you his cloak…”

  His voice trailed off as he stared at me, stroking his beard as though sizing me up. “Just so happens I’ve got somethin’ in my trunk might just please ya.”

  “Sounds like what you say to someone before springing a trap on them,” I chuckled.

  “No trap,” he replied, kicking the lock on a sturdy wooden trunk wrapped with bands of iron. The lid sprung open and he reached inside. He removed something: a tunic made of dark leather with double brass buttons, a pair of high-ankle leather boots and a pair of dark blue cloth pants. He handed them to me, and as I took them, I heard the happy sound of items entering my inventory.

  “Oh, don’t forget these,” he smiled, passing me a pair of gloves, which appeared to be made of strands of wrapped leather.

  I opened my inventory and inspected what he’d given me.

  Young Seeker’s Tunic

  Armor: 220

  Fire: 180

  Frost: 180

  Electric: 180

  Acid: 180

  Frenzy: 180

  I equipped it quickly, watching as my Basic Cloth Shirt replaced its icon in my inventory.

  Young Seeker’s Pants

  Armor: 210

  Fire: 160

  Frost: 160

  Electric: 160

  Acid: 160

  Frenzy: 160

  On went the pants, replacing my Basic Wool Trousers. The cloth felt like wool and ballooned out ever so slightly above the knee, making them quite easy to move in.

  Young Seeker’s Boots

  Armor: 190

  Fire: 150

  Frost: 150

  Electric: 150

  Acid: 150

  Frenzy: 150

  The boots came high up on the ankle, stopping just below the knee, and felt rugged but light. There was something regal about them too, like they were something a nobleman might wear. Last on the list was the gloves.

  Young Seeker’s Gloves

  Armor: 120

  Fire: 90

  Frost: 90

  Electric: 90

  Acid: 90

  Frenzy: 90

  “How do I look?” I asked the Smith, raising my arms and eyebrows.

  “Well you ain’t ready for a dinner party,” he replied. “’Less of course you’re there to kill someone.”

  “Well, good.” I smiled. “I don’t see myself at any dinner parties any time soon. Thank you—by the way—what’s your name?”

  “Wilhelm,” the Smithy replied. “Wilhelm Crimfog. Technical junior, but who wants to be called junior, eh?”

  It occurred to me that I could have just inspected him, but the game was so immersive, and its NPCs so real, that I hadn’t had the thought until after speaking to him. Introducing myself normally simply felt like the right thing to do.

  “Nice to meet you,” I told him—and meant it.

  “Don’t waste that now,” he warned me, pointing his metal arm at my newly acquired garb. “Plenty a Seeker would care to have it.”

  “Why don’t I escort you back to town?” I asked him. “See how those Flesh Starved Dogs like me now?”

  “Escort?” Wilhelm scoffed. “What do I look like to you, son? A washerwoman?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that—”

  “I can find my own way back to the Hills,” he replied, scooping another glass full of water, or wine, from a swollen wooden barrel. “Besides, I gotta pack all this shit up. What I could use though, is a mule and a wagon.”

  “Okay…” I replied. “Where do I get one of those?”

  “There’s a sick little camp just north of here on the other side of the hill,” he replied, gesturing up behind him. “Few groups of them crazy villagers took the town’s only surviving mule and a cart when they fled from the plague. Didn’t work out for ‘em of course. How’s about you go get it back for me? Can you handle that, boy?”

  Now this must be a quest! I thought with excitement. I nodded and raised my axe. “Sure can.”

  Wilhelm nodded and I saw a tiny flash in the top corner of my vision. “Appreciate that, boy. I’ll get all this packed up for the trip back.”

  Enormous golden letters burst into existence in front of me.

  New Task!

  Grinning, I opened my character sheet to find a new tab entitled “Tasks.” I selected it with two fingers to find a single task listed.

  A Cart for Wilhelm—Wilhelm needs a cart and a mule to get his smithing supplies back to the Weeping Hills. According to him, there’s a pack of villagers to the north with just the thing. Find the mule and the cart and return to Wilhelm.

  No indication of what the reward was…

  Smiling, I closed my character sheet. Wilhelm was already stacking bars of raw metal and tools onto one of his workbenches. I shouldered my axe and gave him a mock salute.

  “Back in no time,” I told
him. I thought I saw him throw me a thumbs up as I stepped out of the cave, but maybe I was just imagining things.

  18

  The Cart and the Mule

  “Those with much trust are those destined for the grave.”

  —Ines the Black

  As it turned out, “north of here,” as Wilhelm had described it, meant making my way over a pretty substantial hill of mostly rock. A tall escarpment of deep grey stone lay ahead of me, and at first I thought I’d have to find a way around, but after slashing down a row of pretty nasty thorn bushes, I discovered what must have been the cart path used by the villagers when they’d fled the Weeping Hills.

  The rain had stopped while I was inside, and I walked the hump of earth between the tracks, making my way up the crag to a clearing on the ridge overlooking a shallow basin where the villagers had made camp. There were two groups, both clustered around campfires cooking something. Between them, I spotted the mule, his eyes half closed as if trying to sleep, and the cart behind him, still linked by two thick leather straps that reached to a harness fastened around him.

  The villagers were far enough away from each other that I could probably take them one group at a time, but as I took my first steps down towards them, something moved at the far end of the hollow. A player, wielding a Bloodletter, leapt into action, driving his blade into the back of the closest villager.

  The damage was good, but not enough. I glanced at him and saw that he was out of his league.

  Dorrin—Level 2

  One-on-one would be a different story, but a group of three was surely going to make a mess of him, and as the first of them spun and bashed his mug with the blunt end of a shovel, and I saw his health drop by a third, I knew I was right.

  Idiot, I thought, as the overzealous Seeker swung wildly, fighting desperately to fend off the incoming blows. But the camps had to be cleared out anyway, so why not help him?

  Planting my foot on a jagged butte of stone protruding from the ground, I vaulted down the slope towards him. He was dangerously low as I reached the group, but had managed to get one of the villagers to half health. I sank my axe into its exposed back, dealing a massive blow that finished it off.

  Dorrin grunted in obvious surprise as the corrupted man fell to his knees and began to disappear. Collecting his Quintessence, I sidestepped a torch aimed at my head and slashed out twice in quick succession, filling my Rally bar to half.

  45-51

  I Shadowstepped to get behind him as he flailed wildly with a pitchfork, and drove my axe tip into his back.

  68

  “Heal!” I shouted to Dorrin as the villager spun around to face me. The poor idiot scrambled with a vial of Soothing Syrup, dropped it, then pulled out another.

  The next attack from my axe was just right, and I watched as his legs halved just below the knee, spraying blood across the rocky ground.

  MASSIVE!

  110

  “Holy shit!” Dorrin exclaimed, his words stumbling over the syrup slinking down his throat.

  I was shocked myself. I’d never seen such gruesome damage before. Maybe because I was now level 3 and they were only level 2? Or was it simply a function of scoring a random massive?

  There was no time to think. As the villager fell, I struck his chest, slamming him down into the ground and finishing him off. He cried out and my rally bar swelled with purpose.

  I knew the final villager would be attacking me from behind, aiming at my back with his torch, but Shadowstep was on cooldown still. I doubted I had time to get out of the way, but I tried anyway. To my surprise, I actually managed to avoid the attack, but it didn’t matter—something worse was happening.

  Somehow, the other camp of Corrupted Villagers had been triggered, and four of them were racing towards us, weapons held high, faces twisted in rage. The mule bucked and whimpered as they passed, causing the cart to rattle and shake.

  I slashed up and out ferociously, cutting the closest villager with a full bar of Rally.

  125

  Then back down across the arm wielding his torch.

  119

  “I got him!” Dorrin shouted, plunging his Bloodletter into the man’s back. I couldn’t see the damage he dealt, but it wasn’t near as good as mine. But then again, it didn’t have to be. He took off half of what was remaining, and I caught the man beneath his jaw to finish him off. He cried out and fell, but before I could spin around to face the second incoming group, I felt a set of three spikes bore into my side.

  39

  My health dropped, my Rally bar vanished and pain flared where I thought my kidneys would be, and my foot caught a branch, sending me toppling over. I raised my axe to deflect the incoming attack, but it wasn’t enough. Two of the villagers stabbed down at me, one with a pitchfork and one with a pickaxe. Both blows found their mark.

  41—57

  A third of my health was gone, and the villagers were still at full health. Dorrin was just standing there looking stupid as the entire group focused on me.

  “Do something!” I roared, lashing out at a pair of ankles beside me. The damage wasn’t great, but it was enough to take the man’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard and grunted as his breath escaped his lungs.

  A shovel cracked my skull and sent me spinning. I rolled, taking advantage of the extra momentum, and popped the cork on a vial of Soothing Syrup. My health was approaching half and I still had to take out the entire group, and relying on Dorrin to carry the fight was something only a fool would do.

  But as I raised the tiny glass bottle to my lips, a frenzied scream rang out and a torch blunted my hand, causing the elixir to splash to the ground.

  “Don’t worry!” Dorrin screamed. “I got this!”

  Before the villager could follow up with a direct attack, Dorrin slashed the backs of his legs with his rapier. It was decent damage, but the twisted man simply spun around and swatted him away like a fly. Dorrin hit the ground hard, sending his legs toppling up over his head and yanking him into an awkward roll.

  I needed to heal, but there was no time. Three attacks rained down on me at once, all connecting, decimating my health bar. I glanced at it, and saw only 87 health remained.

  They’re going to kill you! I thought as the three raised up with blows that would certainly finish me off. Is this how you’re going to go out? To a bunch of Level 2 villagers? What would Rathborne think?

  Shadowstep was up, and I used it. Wraithing into blackness, I passed right through my attackers and solidified on the other side. I heard an audible gasp from Dorrin as I brought my axe down like I was chopping wood. There was no time. If I didn’t handle this group immediately, I’d be dead. Just a couple of hits and I was finished.

  Tearing my blade loose of the villager’s flesh, I swept out with a wide cleaving attack that chattered across all four of them like a saw blade skipping through rough wood.

  55—49—48—54

  My Rally bar flexed and with the next hit, flared. Dorrin drove his Bloodletter into an exposed ankle, sending one of the men toppling towards me. My axe caught his neck as he fell, combining our momentums into a devastating attack.

  Massive!

  270

  The villager’s head came right off and struck his comrade high on the cheek.

  “Oh, sick!” Dorrin cried out as I leapt aside of a pitchfork and stabbed out, driving my attacker back. A shovel was coming straight down at me, and I lifted my Blunderbuss and fired.

  Doooommmmm!

  The riposte sounded as my slugs caught him in the face. I didn’t even hesitate as my axe sparked crimson, but drove it straight into his guts. Combined with my full rally, the blow was enough to almost finish him, and when Dorrin pierced him from behind with the sharp tip of his sword, the villager let out a sickly cry, gurgled blood and fell forward.

  Two left! I thought triumphantly. My health was still low, and I was desperate for some syrup, but there was no time. A torch was plunging towards me. I slapped it aside,
catching the villager’s wrist with my blade.

  51

  Dorrin leapt into the air and brought his sword down in a piercing attack that caught the corrupted man in the side of his neck. It must have caught an artery, and blood sprayed like it had been sprayed from a syringe. His attack did about as much as mine, and I followed up with two quick blows to his chest.

  78—82

  He had about a third left, but I couldn’t finish him off. I had to throw myself to the ground to avoid the last villager’s attack. Taking any damage would be catastrophic. Not only was I dangerously low on health, but I needed my Rally bar if we were going to win.

  I tried to riposte, but mistimed it, and his pitch fork embedded itself in my chest, tearing away half of my remaining HP.

  44 left. I grimaced as he yanked the three-pointed tips from my flesh. My own blood spilled onto the ground before me, and a sick feeling ran through my stomach. Dropping my Blunderbuss, I took a two-handed grip on my axe and raised it above my head to deflect the next blow. Then, I drove the handle up and caught the man in the chin, temporarily staggering him.

  Behind him, Dorrin was doing his best with the other one, whose health was all but gone.

  He’s got him, I thought as I rolled and Shadowstepped behind my attacker.

  Driving the spear end of my axe into his back, I charged forward and slammed him into a tree.

  88

  The villager cried out and swung wildly over his shoulder with his pitchfork. I sidestepped, choked down on my axe and raised it back with both hands. The cursed man tried to spin around, but it was too late. I brought my axe down with everything I had, swinging like I was going for a home run.

  Massive!

  290

  My blade passed straight through him, carving him in half and embedding itself in the trunk of the tree. Blood poured as his final death wail caught in his throat. His body fell in two pieces. Behind me, I heard Dorrin’s foe die as well.