Absalom’s Trials

by J. D. L. Rosell

  I shrugged. “Sure. How do we do it then?”

  Sarai was already scooting closer. A bit taken aback and not totally comfortable with her, I backed up myself, trying to make it look as casual as possible. She surprised me by leaning forward and catching me around the waist and holding me close. I swallowed at how close her deep violet eyes were to mine.

  “How else would the Goddess of Adoration change a man,” she breathed, “but through an act of love?”

  I froze. All I could picture was Farelle's hurt expression if she found out. And I didn't know if we even had an exclusive arrangement. “Uh…”

  Just as suddenly as she'd grabbed me, she released me with a laugh. “Relax! Boy, you're uptight. What kind of ritual would that be?”

  “Er…”

  “It's much simpler than that. All I do is lay one hand on you, like this—” She stood comically far from me, like preteens at their first dance, then leaned forward to place her hand on my shoulder.

  “Then I ask for Isvalla’s blessing for this task.” She closed her eyes and with her free hand donned her veil again. “Isvalla, let your will be done for this man, Marrow the Catalyst. If he is truly meant to engage in the Trial of Devotion, may you change his form from Human to Devalyn. Please, mistress, I implore you to send your blessing or your condemnation.”

  We stood there in our awkward position for a moment, then two. Sarai shifted her feet closer so she could stand up straight. Her eyes were lifted upward, and as a minute passed by, one of them started twitching.

  I scratched at my ear. “Strange. I was just talking to her—”

  The transformation hit me like a lightning bolt. Electricity coursed through my veins, and my muscles went rigid. My skin felt like it was coming off in sheets like a snake shedding its slough. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. My vision went hazy for a moment, then returned as the rigidity left me. I collapsed to the hard floor.

  Dazed, I raised a hand before my eyes. I still wore the same armor as before, but my hand… it wasn't mine. My Human hand had looked stubby and crude compared to these long, nimble fingers. I wiggled them, and could already tell how easily they'd thread a needle or play a lute. My limbs felt similarly elongated, and somehow I felt lighter, too, like my bones had hollowed. My ears were another change; I had far more control over them, and I couldn't help but twitch them as I felt the pointy tips. I grinned. It had worked — I was Devalyn!

  You have changed your race! You are now Devalyn, also known as an autumn elf. Descended from the same line of elves as the Valyn, the Devalyn are a people fallen from grace who have become nomads and occupants of places across the Everlands. Many claim they cannot be trusted, and the proliferation of thieves, rogues, and other nefarious figures among their kind would seem to support this. However, many notable clerics, mages, and craftsmen of the trades requiring fine precision have also come from this race.

  The racial features of Devalyn are:

  • +2 Dexterity, Perception, and Intellect

  • -2 Strength, Vitality, and Fortitude

  • +10% XP bonus for Nimble skills

  • -10% XP penalty for Forging skills

  • Trait: Twilight Lurker - +10% XP gain during pre-dawn and dusk hours.

  • Trait: Autumn Eyes - Vision in low light is increased to up to 20 meters

  • Penalty: Bird Bones - +5% chance if breaking a bone when receiving an injury

  • Penalty: Mistrusted People - For some races, -5% initial alignment and -10% effectiveness of charisma bonuses

  It was a mixed bag, trading races. It made sense. Unless the developers wanted all the higher-level players becoming races other than Human, they had to provide plenty of good with the bad. However, I would have bet that most players would opt to trade races if it made sense for their build. After all, if equal Human and Devalyn rogues were matched up against each other, the Devalyn would certainly win. In some ways, being an autumn elf was suited to my play style. Still, I guessed there'd be ones even better, preferably with some boosts to belief as well as dexterity.

  “Well?” Sarai asked. She'd undone her veil again and knelt next to me, watching carefully.

  I stood, feeling a new quickness to my body. “It's great!”

  The priestess’ face broke out into a wide smile. “Good. I never know with Humans how they’ll take the transition.”

  I flexed my fists. I felt a bit weaker, but I could handle that. “So I'm not the first you've transformed.”

  “Hardly. Though the first for this purpose. The previous Champion came here before I'd begun my apprenticeship.”

  That got me to look up. “Previous Champion?” Once again, this guardian was mentioned. I didn't tell her that Absalom was only recently born, and how unlikely it was that he’d already had a Champion. Though, come to think of it, I didn't know a whole lot about the godling’s origins. When had he actually been formed? How long had he lurked within the code of games? Had he existed even before The Everlands?

  “How could there not?” Sarai’s brow crinkled. “The gods are eternal.”

  “Had you heard of Absalom before you knew of these trials?” I pressed.

  Her mouth opened to answer, then she paused, looking confused. It lasted only a moment before she smoothed her expression. “Of course. How could there be a Champion for anyone else?”

  I thought I knew what was going on here. The gods, or perhaps Abe alone, were rewriting the history of the Everlands as we went along, no doubt so they could build him up as the king among gods they were grooming him to become. As for this previous Champion, I'd be interested to find out more about whose footsteps I was supposed to be filling.

  “Fine. Now I need to get to the quest.”

  She bowed with mock graciousness. “Then let us be off.”

  “You're coming with?”

  “Yes. But only to observe. And perhaps tease, should anything occasion it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, suit yourself. Just don't cramp my style.”

  She arched an eyebrow, but I was already walking past and back out the temple doors. With one last look back, I stepped back through the magic doorway and out into the night.

  Shivering at the transition for a moment, I recovered and set off at a brisk walk back down to the town. How I was going to pull off making a race of people who, by all accounts, were little above animals or savages, worship a goddess they couldn't see or touch, I didn't know. But I knew one thing: I had to meet them where they were, in the mud and muck. You can't raise up anything unless you lift from the bottom.

  “Can you tell me anything of the Fralishk, or am I not allowed to ask?” I said to Sarai, who had caught up and walked a step behind.

  “That I can grant,” she said with a mischievous smile. “As I said, they're a primitive sort of people, but they do have their peculiar strengths. They're notorious for being able to hold their liquor, and pride themselves on it. I suppose they gain their resilience from eating trash. They also enjoy bouts of wrestling, but I wouldn't recommend trying it. They don't scruple at using tooth and nail during them as well as their tails, and many don't come out of their scraps alive. On the softer side of things, knitting is quite the pastime even among young Fralishk, and expert knitters often hold prominent positions within their community.”

  One piece of bad news after another. None of those particularly fit my talents. “What about magic? Can I go in and dazzle them with a few spells?”

  Sarai flashed an amused smile. “You think I wouldn't have done that already if it were that simple? No, they strongly mistrust magic. If you were to use any, I'm quite sure you'd have a long way to go before you gained their trust again, if you ever did.”

  From bad to worse. I ground my teeth. Considering how I’d hardly invested in resistance, the drinking game was out. That meant I either risked dying or I went through the long grind of leveling up a crafting skill I had no interest in. It didn’t take long to make up my mind. “Can you hold my stuff? I don't want to
get anything bloody.”

  The priestess just shook her head, smiling. “In true Champion fashion, you're going for the brashest choice. Your grave, I suppose. Yes, I'll be happy to hold your stuff — and keep it when you don't come back.”

  “But if I do come back,” I pressed, “you'll return it?”

  “Of course.” I didn't trust that twinkle in her eye, but what other choice did I have? There was a definite possibility of me failing here, and I preferred to have her keep it rather than a hundred Fralishk divide it among themselves. “Alright, quick detour then. This will be way more than you can carry.”

  “Truly? You carry little on your person, so I—” But she stopped mid-sentence as I started producing all the items from my inventory, my arms growing fuller and fuller as they flashed into existence.

  I raised an eyebrow at her over my piled arms. “You sure about that?”

  She shook her head. “That is exactly the sort of thing you shouldn't do around the Fralishk. Even I'm a bit freaked out.”

  I grinned. “You ain't seen nothing yet.”

  Sarai led me back up to the temple, and I shoveled all of my possessions into a chest in the antechamber at the back of the sanctuary. I even took off the stuff I was wearing, opting to go shirtless and wearing only a pair of plain trousers. Sarai said most Fralishk wrestled in little clothing, and she guessed it was a requirement. No need to risk my good armor in any case. The priestess made sure to look me up and down with a coy smile, but I ignored her as I locked the chest up. I do have to say, though, that when I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror mounted in the room, I was impressed with my figure as well. Apparently, character appearance changed with the improvement in stats. While I certainly wasn't buff, my added strength and agility showed even as a Devalyn. I could get used to looking this fit.

  My possessions secure, we made our way back down to Urandal. I tried getting more out of the priestess about the wrestling bouts, but she said she'd never had much interest in them and didn't have much more to add. Just to make sure, I checked the quest prompt to see if it had any more information for me, but it remained the same. I was on my own figuring this one out.

  When we reached the edge of town, Sarai stopped. “I leave you here, Catalyst. Good luck to you. Win or lose, it was a pleasure knowing you, especially since I now have everything you own in my possession.”

  “For now. Which way should I go?”

  “The tall round building there. The fighting pit is within.” Then she smiled and turned away.

  I sighed. There was nothing for it but to walk into town.

  It was brisk without a shirt on, so I hurried toward the arena, though I wasn't too eager to get on with the wrestling. None of my combat skills would be applicable, nor would I be able to use spells or channels. If I'd opted for Barkskin, I would have at least had some armor, so long as it went unnoticed. Even Leprechaun's Luck would have been useful. But no, I just had to go for the wrong channel. I sighed. I'd just have to see how strong these Fralishk were.

  I didn't see any of the creatures on the way there. It was nearing dawn though, so if they were day-time beings, they'd soon rise. Additionally, it was twilight — a good time to be an autumn elf, considering I received a boost in experience. It was time to get this fight underway.

  Reaching the arena, I knocked twice and was immediately admitted. The Fralishk that had opened it startled, but not nearly as much as others had before. Perhaps they were more used to the Devalyn than Humans, or maybe I was less intimidating without all my gear on.

  Curious if anything had changed, I examined the creature for its stats, and received better results this time:

  Fralishk Bouncer (Lvl 18) - He’s just trying to keep things orderly in the pit. Try something funny though, and he’ll lay you low. “Don’t even think about that crotch-shot!”

  That was a higher level than I'd expected, not to mention a bit of an intimidating title. Still, I had to keep in mind levels were relative to the creature. A level 24 tarantula would still lose out to a level 5 crag troll if that unlikely match were ever made. Hopefully these Fralishk were more on the wimpy side of the scale.

  The Fralishk bouncer looked me up and down. “What you want?” he growled at me.

  “Hello.” I pointed to my chest. “I'm here to wrestle.” I pointed at him. “And show all you that I'm the best wrestler.” Straightforward and simple — that was the way to deliver it.

  The bouncer grunted and stepped aside. “Just starting. You be someone's breakfast, Hair-less.”

  “Or they’ll be mine.”

  The bouncer grunted again.

  I crouched to enter through the low doorway. A smelly passage greeted me, but it ended shortly and opened up into a surprisingly large room. It rose two stories high and the beginning of the light of day filtered in through cracks in the ceiling. Torches lit most of the place, precariously mounted in the walls so that an accidental bump looked like it could set the whole place on fire. A pit had been carved out of the floor, and a crude cage was built up from it. Around this pit lounged a dozen Fralishk, all of who looked up at me as I entered.

  “New meat,” the bouncer announced from behind me. “Anyone hungry?”

  The small crowd broke out into shrill sounds that I guessed was laughter.

  “I am,” I said calmly. “Who's the appetizer?” Now that I'd surrendered to the necessity of this, faking confidence came easier.

  They laughed again, but not as loudly. Hopefully I had them wondering if my bravado was warranted.

  The bouncer shoved me forward. “Down into pit! No fight outside cage.”

  I glared at him, but did as he demanded. A narrow gate hung open on the closest side of the cage with a rickety ladder leading down onto the arena floor. I saw now that the pit floor was dirt pocketed from the many fights it had held. I'd have to step carefully and work it to my advantage, especially as the shadows layering the pit floor strained even my Devalyn vision.

  Walking between the jeering Fralishk, I entered through the gate and hopped down to the arena floor six feet below, taking a bit of a hit to my stamina in the process, but still moving quickly to the other side so I wouldn’t get jumped. Just in time — my opponent leaped in immediately after me, snarling and gnashing its huge rat-like incisors.

  I dropped into a fighting stance and examined his stats.

  Fralishk Beater (Lvl 20) - A well-practiced pugilist with fists, claws, and teeth. Fierce if he believes he has the upper-hand, but will flee when facing an intimidating foe. “Fight, drink, or weave? It no matter, we fight after!”

  It wasn't looking good. If he had any training in hand-to-hand combat — and the odds were he would — I was in for a world of hurt.

  “What are the rules?” I shouted to the assembled audience.

  They laughed shrilly again. “Win! Only rule!” one shouted back.

  I'd expected as much, but it didn't make it easier to hear. I sighed and put up my fists. “Let's go,” I said to my opponent.

  He didn't wait for another word, but launched himself at me, clawed fingers and toes reaching out to me. I tried dodging, but the Fralishk caught me on one arm, tearing red streaks through my skin and slashing my health by 20 points. I lashed out, thinking to make use of the opportunity, but he was faster than I anticipated. Already he whipped a fist into my face, breaking my nose and pitching me backward in the process. Blood streamed into my mouth as I fell flat on my back.

  I kicked and punched blindly as I tried to get up, but the Fralishk knocked aside my blows and pinned me with a foot. Then he proceeded to pummel me, once, twice, three times in the head. My health dropped to 40%, then 20%, then inched toward 0. I stopped struggling at the end. I had no waiting level up to save me this time. I lay there and let the last blow send me into darkness.

  4

  Anything But Weaving

  You have died.

  All your items remain at the location of your death. You or any other player may retrieve them at any
time.

  You are also weakened by your resurrection. While weakened, you receive a -15% penalty to all attributes and meters, which will cease at the end of 1 hour. This penalty will become more severe with subsequent deaths.

  Next time, don’t suck, Marrow.

  There was no blissful awakening this time upon respawning. As I sat up, gasping and shivering, I remembered every punch that had pulverized my face. I felt my nose and lips just to be sure they were intact and almost cried with relief. But though I was whole again, it didn’t make the memories any less horrific.

  “Did you… use the resurrection shrine? Isvalla above, you did!”

  I pulled my face away from my hands and looked up at the voice. Sarai stood at the edge of the resurrection shrine looking at me with blank astonishment. Gone was the coy mockery. I guess that was one good thing to come out of this.

  “Yup.” I slowly rose to my feet. “I respawn when I die.”

  “You… respawn? When you — are you saying this isn't the first time?” Her voice became shriller with each word.

  I looked at her curiously. “This really surprises you? I mean, you did just change me into another race.”

  “But this… this must truly mean you're the Champion, in spirit if not in name yet.”

  I shifted my feet uncomfortably, and not just because of her misplaced conclusions. I was nearly naked and the constant wind was freezing. “I can explain more, but how about we go get some clothes for me?”

  She blinked and nodded. “Right. Back to your stuff.”

  We entered the temple and went to the chest where I'd stashed my stuff. I was glad I had decided not to wear my armor, but I wasn't about to get myself beat up again if I could help it. I put everything on.

  Checking my stats, I noticed something other than the death penalty was there.