by James Hunter
I ripped my weapon free and thoughtlessly brought my left gauntlet—studded along the outside edge with small blades—down onto the creature’s head with an audible crack. An ugly, disturbing noise. I spun away, blasting a nearby Terror in the ribs with an Umbra Bolt, which punched a hole into its side with a critical hit, revealing a gut filled with churning purple and inky fingers of shadowy power. Cutter appeared almost out of nowhere, driving his twin daggers through the top of the creature’s skull, killing it where it stood.
The Umbra Bog countdown clock was quickly ticking down to zero, and we still had an awful lot of these things to kill. I did a quick count: five left. I wheeled around again, bolting forward and caving in another head with Savage Blow, which took a large bite out of my available Stamina. A second after landing the devastating hit, my spell—holding the Terrors in traction—dissipated in a puff of sooty smoke, unleashing the rest of the beasts. I tried to trigger my Shadow Stride ability, hoping to duck out before things got too crazy, but received an unfortunate combat prompt a second later:
<<<>>>
Shadow Stride failed! Since you are already in the Shadowverse, you cannot currently activate this ability!
<<<>>>
I blinked the notification away as something barreled into my gut, bony shoulders digging into my ribs and throwing me hard to one side. I stumbled and reeled from the unexpected attack, but somehow managed to keep my feet. I tried to spin right, to confront the thing that’d just hit me, but a set of jaws crunched down on my left forearm, pinning me in place. I glanced down at the creature latched onto my arm like a giant leech and saw a set of angry purple eyes staring back at me.
Its gaze seemed to paralyze me, to trap me and hold me in place. I felt a twinge of connection—one kindred soul recognizing another. I didn’t know what was happening, but I sensed I was now in a battle of wills, one I didn’t want to lose. I stared at the beast, refusing to blink as its teeth dug deeper into my skin.
“Down!” Amara bellowed from behind me, her words a whip-crack of command.
But I refused to back down; instead, I stood there motionless. A second later, the Void Terror gnawing on my arm fell away, its mouth suddenly slack, its eyes glazed over in death. An arrow, topped by a row of bristly black feathers, protruded from its neck. More arrows whooshed around me, wooden shafts peppering the remaining creatures. I stared on in utter amazement as the Terrors around me dropped like flies, each killed by a perfect, meticulous shot.
Not a single arrow failed to find its mark.
In next to no time, the few creatures that’d survived Cutter’s and my brutal assault all lay in heaps. Dead. Wow. Archers were such an underrated class. I glanced over one shoulder and saw Cutter—liberally coated in scratches, bite marks, and blood—appraising Amara with an approving grin.
She planted her bow on the ground, leaning casually on the weapon, and returned his grin with a faint, barely-there smile. That’s right, the look said, I’m totally badass.
“’Bout time you showed up,” Cutter finally offered, giving his daggers a fanciful twirl before stashing them in a pair of leather sheaths. “Leave us to do all the heavy lifting, eh?”
She offered him a flat, unamused stare. “If you two are done fooling around,” she replied casually, as if she hadn’t just pwned five Void Terrors, “then let us gather what we came for and go.” She paused, then shivered. “This place is unnatural.”
FOUR: Ore Grind
We made our way deeper into the complex, all of us sticking close together even though that wasn’t really the best tactical strategy. With our current lineup, Cutter should’ve been scouting, I should’ve been playing as an impromptu tank, and Amara should’ve been trailing at the rear, firing arrows while I drew aggro.
That’s what we should’ve done, but didn’t.
The place was just too creepy, and no one wanted to be alone. Not even Amara, though she’d never actually admit it. The upper portion of the tunnel had been nothing but a crude hole, boring straight into the heart of the earth, but the Shadowverse-side of the shaft quickly changed: Intricate archways of dark stone, carved with artful, neon-blue runes, began to dot the passageway at regular intervals. Hallways and rooms—filled with heavy stone tables, chairs, shelves, and deadly traps—started cropping up, along with the occasional dissected corpse.
Clearly, this mine had once belonged to an advanced civilization, but that civilization had long since moved on or died out.
And then, there were the Void Terrors to contend with.
We’d been attacked four more times after that first battle royal; the creatures would leap from the shadows when least expected, ambushing us with brutal, economic efficiency. Even worse, the various Void Terrors were all different. Not a single one resembled the strange wolf-like creatures we’d first encountered. Some were tiny. Some were huge. A few had tentacles. Others sported wings or tearing, insectile claws—sometimes both. All were horrific, though, and I was confident they’d fuel my nightmares for days and weeks to come.
The huge variety of new creatures also offered a slew of unique challenges, since each type had its own deadly array of special attacks, which often left us bleeding on the floor. The Terrors were absolutely miserable, and other than Void Terror Claws and Shadowverse Salts, they provided no loot and only marginal EXP. This was the worst kind of grind.
“There’s another room up on the left,” Cutter whispered, jabbing a finger toward a dark doorway. We angled left and crept to a stop, carefully pressing ourselves up against the wall, just to one side of the entryway, with Cutter nearest the door. He stole a quick look at me and Amara, then dropped into Stealth, vanishing into a faint blur. I held my breath in anticipation as he stole forward on silent feet—there wasn’t even a whisper to mark his steps. He took a quick glance around the corner, then darted into the room, vanishing from view. I dropped into a crouch myself, activating Stealth as I waited for Cutter to draw out whatever new threat lay in the room beyond.
His head popped around the corner a second later, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got another deposit,” he said, sweeping an arm out behind him. “Big one, too.”
I exhaled in relief and edged forward, slipping through the doorway and into the boxy room beyond. A small stone shelf ran along the right wall, holding a few useless trinkets—rusted flasks, plates, and silverware from a different era. A pair of bulky stone chairs, high backed with thick armrests, sat off to the left. My eyes immediately swept past them, halting on an outcropping of dark quartz jutting from the far wall. We’d hit pay dirt. So far, we’d only run across one other deposit, which had netted me three pounds of ore—next to nothing considering I needed a hundred to complete the chief’s quest.
This vein, though, with its jagged spikes protruding like porcupine quills, was at least ten times the size of that last one. Maybe more.
“Alright,” I said, swapping out my warhammer for a crude pickaxe Amara had so kindly provided me with. “We should probably settle in. We could be here for a minute.”
“I’ll set a ward,” Amara offered tersely, moving over to the entrance, then dropping to her haunches as she began to fish a variety of items from her bag: a bronze dagger, a pouch filled with yellow salts, and a little flask, which glowed with a hazy opalescent light. As a Huntress, she could set a variety of traps and wards that would either catch or kill any unfriendlies foolish enough to cross her deadly workmanship.
“And I’ll get lunch,” Cutter offered, heading over to one of the bulky chairs and plopping down with a groan.
I left them to their work—or non-work in Cutter’s case—as I headed over and laid into the vein. I hefted the pickaxe and threw my body into each strike as I carved away a few meager slivers of stone at a time; chips of rock flew through the air as the ring of steel echoed around us. Over and over again, I smashed at the ore. Attacking it from different angles. Looking for crevices or weak spots to exploit. And, when nothing else seemed to do the trick, I used brute f
orce and a heathy dose of elbow grease. I worked and worked, until my muscles burned from the exertion and sweat coated my face and chest in a slick sheen.
It took nearly an hour of grueling, backbreaking effort to clear half the vein, which earned me a lousy twenty-five pounds of Raw Darkshard Ore. But, as a bonus, I also earned a new profession:
<<<>>>
Gathering Profession: Mining
Mining allows the player to gather a wide array of raw minerals from ore veins scattered all around Eldgard and West Viridia. Mining is one of five gathering professions—Mining, Foraging, Logging, Hunting, Farming—which any class and race can access. Gathering Professions allow players to accumulate resources, which can then be used by Crafting Professions to manufacture a huge variety of items, ranging from potions to armor and weapons.
There are eight primary Crafting Professions: Cooking, Enchanting, Alchemy, Tailoring and Leatherwork, Engineering, Merchant-Craft, Blacksmithing, and Lapidary (Jeweler). All Professions, both Gathering and Crafting, can be unlocked and leveled through practice and use, but any specialized skills or abilities within a given profession must be unlocked with Proficiency Points. All specialized profession skills can be upgraded a total of seven times (Initiate, Novice, Adept, Journeyman, Specialist, Master, Grandmaster).
Gathering Ability Type/Level: Passive / Level 1 (Initiate)
Cost: N/A
Effect 1: Extract 5% more material from all ore veins.
Effect 2: Extracting material requires 8% less effort, reducing overall stamina drain while actively mining and cutting the time necessary to exhaust a vein.
Effect 3: Randomly spawn a gem (diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald, jade, turquoise, lapis lazuli, pearl, beryl, topaz, opal, moonstone, sunstone, bloodstone) while mining. Spawn Chance = (.001 x Luck)
<<<>>>
I read over the notification—partly because I was interested and partly because I desperately needed a breather—then pulled up my Crafting Skill Tree. Each of the primary professions ran along the bottom of my vision, and each, in turn, had a branching skill tree with a variety of neat abilities that could be unlocked with Proficiency Points. With my measly level one in Mining, there weren’t any skills available to me—not that I was really interested in specializing in this profession, anyway—but at higher levels, there were all kinds of cool extras:
Skills to drastically reduce mining time, increase vein size, or increase gem drop rate. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were specialized skills that went far beyond simple ore gathering: there was a whole branch dedicated to Battle-Mining, which allowed specialists to destroy walls, tunnel under fortified positions, and deploy alchemic “blasting charges” to raze buildings. Basically, a demolition class.
“Stop slacking,” Cutter yelled at me. “No one wants to be here all day, friend. So, how’s about you get back to work, eh?”
I turned and glowered at him, my eyes narrowed in annoyance. Amara was standing sentry by the door, guarding our backs, but Cutter was lounging, carefree, in one of the chairs. He had a small campfire burning merrily in front of him while he warmed his hands and nibbled on a skewer of roasted spider meat—gross sounding, but surprisingly tasty.
“It’d go faster if you helped,” I replied, fishing a piece of rough cloth from my pocket and dabbing at the perspiration on my forehead.
He grimaced, scrunched his nose in distaste, then shook his head. “Naw,” he replied. “Mining’s not really my thing. Seems beneath me, I suppose.” He paused and regarded me gravely. “It’s perfect for you, though.”
“And what is your thing?” Amara asked, the words dripping venom. “In the week you’ve been in Yunnam, I’ve seen you eat heaps of food you didn’t gather, drink gallons of mead you didn’t brew, and sleep while everyone else worked. So”—she paused, planting hands on hips in clear disapproval—“what exactly is it you’re good at?”
“First, I’m not sure I like your tone,” Cutter said with a sniff. “And second, I’ve already told you what I’m good at: thieving. If you need a lock picked, a trap disarmed, a bloated bureaucrat robbed blind, or someone shanked in the kidney … well, then I’m your man. I also offer questionable advice and dubious moral support. Anything else”—he shrugged noncommittally—“is sorta outside of my wheelhouse.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug look flashing across his features as he took another bite of roasted spider.
Amara offered a sharp retort, but I put the bickering pair from mind, turning my attention back to the ore vein.
Despite being a lazy jerk, Cutter was right: this vein wasn’t going to mine itself, and I didn’t want to spend any more time down here than absolutely necessary. Eventually, Cutter and Amara’s arguing faded into background noise as I lost myself to the rhythm and repetition of mining. Lift, slam, pull. Lift, slam, pull. Lift, slam, pull. Wash, rinse, and repeat over and over again. After almost another hour, I polished off the remining twenty-five pounds of ore and stowed my pick, before grabbing a drink from my pouch and taking a quick lunch break.
Cutter had generously left a few spits of skewered spider for me warming by the fire, and though the meat was questionable, the taste was extraordinary and immediately eased my tender muscles:
<<<>>>
Buffs Added
Spider Meat: Restore 55 HP over 21 seconds; increase Health Regen by 12%, duration 5 minutes.
Well-Fed: Base Constitution increased by (2) points; duration 20 minutes.
<<<>>>
I ate in silence—the dark atmosphere of the place was weighing down on everyone, sucking away what little joy there was—then washed the meal down with a cool bottle of Broken Dagger Mead. Finally, with my belly full, I checked my inventory. We’d been at this for hours and I had just over half the material I needed to fulfill the quest. With a sigh and a muted groan, I gained my feet and pulled my warhammer free, ready to venture out into the world again. “Guess we better keep moving,” I said, edging toward the entryway and glancing out into the dark hallway beyond. “I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
FIVE: Ancient Tome
It was another four hours, six Void Terror skirmishes, and three smaller ore deposits later—putting me at ninety pounds Raw Darkshard Ore—when we rounded a snaking corner and found ourselves at a dead end. The tunnel went no further, but there was an elaborately carved archway, decorated with swirling script in an unreadable language, on the left.
Most of the rooms we’d explored so far had been tiny things—not much bigger than a bedroom—and largely devoid of furnishings or other items that might’ve given us some insight into what this strange place had once been. But the room on the left was different. It was a cavernous space with vaulted ceilings and row after towering row of bookcases loaded down with dusty tomes. Dark stone columns, studded with enormous wrought-iron sconces, marched along the sweeping central hallway, eventually vanishing back in the darkness of the enormous library. Each sconce held a ball of unnatural purple flame, staining everything with hazy, flickering light.
“Now,” Cutter said gleefully, rubbing his hands together, “this is where I thrive. So far, this place hasn’t been much fun, but this room”—he swept an arm out—“screams loot and gold and treasure. Amara,” he said, turning back to the Huntress, “why don’t you secure the door while Jack and I have ourselves a little look around, eh?” He didn’t even wait for her to reply. Instead, he strode off into the murky gloom of the library like a kid bound for the tree on Christmas morning.
I glanced at Amara. She rolled her eyes at me and shooed me onward with a flick of her hand before squatting down and setting to work on her wards. I trusted Cutter to find any chests or secret panels that might contain gamer goodies—if there was one thing that truly motivated him, it was free stuff—so I decided to turn my attention to the endless books filling the shelves. Even if the tomes didn’t actually provide any tangible benefit, learning the lore of Eldgard would be a reward in itself. Reading up on game history and l
ore had always been one of my favorite RPG pastimes; knowing all the backstory always deepened the experience and immersion for me.
I headed into the stacks, absently running my fingers along book spines, reading the title of each as I went.
Stonecutters Primer … History and Culture of the Svartalfar, Book 3 … Letters of Makdir the Mad, v. 1 … Anthropological Treatise of the Shining Plains … The Golem Chronicles … The Viridian Accords, 892 AIC, Vol. 7 …
On and on they went, so many titles. Some were eye-wateringly dull, while others instantly piqued my curiosity, demanding I pick them up and flip through their ancient pages. But I didn’t even know where to start—the sheer volume of information was overwhelming, and since each book weighed in at a whopping twenty pounds, I didn’t really have room to grab more than a few. So, instead I meandered aimlessly—treading down one aisle then up another—until eventually I found my fingers lingering on a title called Taming the Void: A Shadowmancer Primer …
That sure got my attention in a hurry.
The book seemed to exude a cold power, which I was quickly coming to associate with the shadowy energy of the Umbra. I slipped the volume from the shelf, letting its hefty weight settle comfortably into my hands, before carefully cracking the cover. The book uttered a soft moan followed by the fluttering of paper, which sounded like a stiff breeze rustling through dry fall leaves. Open me, that fluttering demanded. Read me. Learn my secrets. I felt my mouth go dry as my eyes landed on the first page of text:
