Viridian Gate Online: Books 1 - 3 (Cataclysm, Crimson Alliance, The Jade Lord)

by James Hunter

<<<>>>

  I read and reread it at least a dozen times.

  What a complete and total nightmare.

  Finally, I closed the quest update—looking at it wouldn’t make things any better and we were burning daylight. Hastily, I filled in the rest of the party on the new quest objective and the formidable complications standing in our way to victory. Needless to say, we departed the Citadel via the port-stone as a very somber group, more than ready for this grueling quest to finally be over. Thankfully, the port-stone didn’t drop us back in the abandoned tunnels but rather teleported us directly to an alley near the Knobby Knee.

  I saw Ekrin through the window as we trudged by; from the sadness lining her face, it was obvious she knew exactly what had transpired down in the Citadel. The gore covering our armor—splashes of red and bits of bone—told the story better than words ever could. I turned away from her accusing stare, and led us away from the ramshackle opium den as the sun sunk lower and lower into the horizon. Time to get back to Yunnam and figure out how we were going to do this thing, and with only a little over a day left.

  TWENTY-SIX: Tomestide

  We stepped through a shimmering portal, courtesy of the Mystica Ordo of Ankara, and into Yunnam proper at twilight. A swirl of dark purples, sprinkled with pinpricks of diamond light, pressed down on us as the last glimmers of golden daylight faded. Ankara, with its gleaming crystal towers and colorful markets, had been beautiful, but it was nice to be back in Yunnam. In some small way, it felt like coming home. The rest of the party shuffled out, bloody, dirt-streaked faces downcast in defeat.

  Obviously, the butchery back at the Citadel was still weighing heavily on everyone.

  “Well,” Cutter said, breaking the contemplative silence, “I know we’re on a bit of a time crunch, but I say we break, eh? Get cleaned up at the bathhouse, grab something to eat, then reconvene at the Keep? Let the chief know about the new developments, then come up with a plan?”

  “I’m on board with that,” Forge said, followed by a round of muted, half-hearted agreement. “I mean I know we got the mission to take care of, but I smell like the inside of a sweaty ass crack.” He lifted one powerful arm and took a sniff at his pit, face wrinkling in distaste. “I’m making myself sick, to be honest.”

  Abby stole a sidelong glance, then scooted a little further away from the former Texan. “For once,” she said, arms folded across her chest, “I think you actually have a good idea, Cutter. Let’s say”—she paused, eyes going hazy as she pulled up her interface—“an hour in the Control Center. Does that work for everyone?”

  Another round of muted approval followed.

  I was on the verge of answering when something pinged in my ear, a new personal message. I held up a finger, just give me a sec, pulled up my user interface, and scrolled over to my inbox. Whatever I’d been about to say died on my lips as I read the subject head: It’s not too late to stop this … The sender was none other than Robert Osmark. Goosebumps broke out along my arms and neck as an army of butterflies flipped, soared, and swooped in the pit of my stomach. Deep down, I’d known it would come to this sooner or later—I’d just expected later.

  Like after I had the entire Storme Marshes backing me, maybe.

  “You alright, friend?” Cutter asked, genuine concern flashing across his features.

  I shook my head, feeling genuinely ill as I pulled up the message.

  <<<>>>

  Personal Message:

  Jack,

  I’m disappointed in the way you’ve decided to play things. I thought we had an understanding after our last conversation, even if we didn’t see eye to eye on every detail. Apparently, however, I was mistaken. Although I don’t know the exact details of this quest you’re currently pursuing, I’ve been informed by Enyo that it has the potential to change the game. If you finish it, you’ll control the entire Storme Marshes—or so I’m told—which is an unacceptable outcome for the Empire. For my business associates and me.

  From my understanding, though, it’s not too late to stop this, Jack. Not too late to do the reasonable thing. You’re on the edge of a cliff, however, and once you jump, there’s no way back to the top of the mountain. Any chance we formerly had at a working relationship vanishes. But I don’t want things to go that way, as I said last time. I like you. For that reason, I think we should meet in person before you make a decision you can’t take back.

  There’s something you need to see before you leap to a very unfortunate fate.

  To that end, I’ve attached a single-use port-scroll, which will bring you to a small town called Tomestide on the West Viridian side of the continent. You’ll see there’s also a return scroll, which will instantly port you to your respawn location. You have my word as a businessman that you’ll be safe, treated well, and allowed to leave whenever you decide. I’m being generous here, Jack, and if you choose not to take me up on the offer, there will be severe, irrevocable consequences.

  Best Regards,

  Robert Osmark, High Emperor of the Viridian Empire

  <<<>>>

  I read and reread the message as everyone stood around me in a circle, a mixture of concern and fear waltzing across their faces.

  “Jack, what’s happening?” Abby asked, barely controlled panic in her voice. “You’re freaking everyone out.”

  Finally, I dismissed the PM and glanced up, feeling jittery and nervous all the way down to my toes. “I just got a message from Osmark,” I said, my voice dull and flat. “He knows about the Jade Lord quest. Not everything, but enough to understand the implications and to be pissed about them. He sent over a one-off port-scroll. He wants to have a face-to-face with me in some town called Tomestide.”

  “In West Viridia?” Cutter asked incredulously, hands planted defiantly on hips. “The man’s bloody mad is what he is. Why would he think you’d ever be stupid enough to go, eh?”

  I pressed my lips into a tight line and glanced away.

  “Wait a bloody minute, you’re not thinking about going, are you?”

  “Oh, my God,” Abby said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “He is. He’s legitimately considering it.” She reached up and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “This is a terrible idea, Jack. Osmark’s a snake—you can’t trust him. Seriously. I’ve met him before, so I know how charming he can be, but it’s all a show. One big act. As soon as it’s convenient, he’ll kill you. He’ll kill all of us. I know you don’t want to fight him, but please,” she said, face softening in genuine concern, “don’t do this.”

  “Jack,” Vlad said, skirting around the others until he stood directly in front of me. “Abby, she is right. It is likely a trap. If you go, what is to stop him from killing you on the spot? Or worse, imprisoning you?” He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and stared me in the eyes. “In Russia, such underhanded tactics are standard practice. This is a bad idea, I think. Foolhardy. All risk, no value.”

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong,” I said, shrugging his hand off. “The value is in preventing a war. Osmark might be dead set against us, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. At least not all bad.” My mind flashed to the corpse of the Priestess laid out on the ground, her skin blackened, her head and shoulder blown away. That was what war looked like—maybe not for players, but certainly for countless NPCs. I shuddered involuntarily. I was fine with grinding monsters into the dust, the gamer in me loved that, but killing NPCs and players was something else entirely. “And, if he wants to talk, then maybe there’s still a chance to end this all peacefully.”

  “But, Jack—” Abby started, holding up a hand.

  “No,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I’m doing this.” I pulled the scroll—a piece of faded white parchment, bound with red ribbon—from my inventory. “This is my quest, and at the end of the day, I’m responsible for how things turn out. If I can avoid a war, I will.” I broke the seal with my thumb and unrolled the sheet. A shimmering portal, like a rainbow given life, formed in front of me. “R
est, wash, tell the chief what happened, and get ready to leave for the Conclave. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Please, Jack,” Abby called out as I stepped into the portal, her voice trailing me through the void. “I know you don’t want a war, but you can’t trust Osmark—” The words died as the portal snapped shut behind me.

  I stumbled a step or two, then caught myself not feeling any of the typical vertigo or nausea that came with port skips. The one-off spells were great that way: super reliable, accurate, and extremely stable. The only problem was they were prohibitively expensive, costing over a hundred and fifty gold—the equivalent of fifteen hundred dollars—for a single use, and they could only accommodate two or three people, tops, before fizzling. On top of that, they were extremely difficult to manufacture, requiring a specialized skill set and a very rare set of alchemic ingredients.

  Still, when this quest was over and done with, I needed to have Vlad see if there was some way to produce them more cheaply. Not having to rely on the Mystica Ordo could be a game changer—not to mention the sheer convenience factor.

  I dismissed the thoughts as I turned in a slow circle. The scroll had dumped me in a cozy inn with worn cobblestone floors, white plaster walls, and a double fistful of oak tables flanked by long communal benches. Strangely, though, the inn was silent and empty. No one sat at the tables or loitered by the roaring fire burning merrily along the right-hand wall. The raised wooden stage near the back likewise stood empty, and though there was a long sleek bar—well stocked with heavy barrels of mead—there was no bartender serving up suds.

  “Don’t worry,” came a familiar voice, drifting from the upper floor.

  I spun, hand automatically landing on my warhammer. A man leaned casually against the wooden railing, a lopsided smirk adorning his face as he regarded me through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He was human—an Imperial, at a glance—with a wiry athletic build, a slightly crooked nose, and shaggy brown hair framing an angular face. Robert Osmark. I knew it was him, both from IRL media coverage and from my brief meeting with him a week ago. He certainly didn’t look much like an emperor or the would-be tin-pot dictator I’d been envisioning.

  In fact, he didn’t look like a native of Eldgard at all. I’d come expecting a toga and laurel leaf crown, at the very least. But no. He sported black slacks and a navy turtleneck—simple, plain, and modern. He also didn’t have a weapon, not so much as a dagger.

  He smiled, noticing my surprise. “Not all of us enjoy the medieval look. And though my gear may not look like much”—he gestured at his unusual attire—“I can assure you, my clothes will protect me better than the heaviest steel plate mail. Ancient Artifact promotional items, crafted before launch. Just a few of the benefits of being the creator of the world.”

  His smile widened a hair as he straightened and slowly made his way down the stairs, his plain black loafers clicking against the wood as he walked. “Thank you for having the courage to come,” he said, stepping onto the cobblestones. “Most men and women, the huddled masses of the world, are controlled by fear—it paralyzes them. Leaves them indecisive, docile, predictable, and constantly searching for comfort and safety. That doesn’t make them bad, of course, it just makes them unspectacularly average.” He uttered that last word with a contemptuous sneer. “Sheeple who need to be guided by a strong, capable hand.”

  He smiled and dipped his head, the gesture clear: they need to be guided by a hand like mine.

  “Not you, though,” he said after a beat. “You came, despite the danger and potential risk. It’s hard to believe you were an EMT before this, but that is proof of the potential exceptionalism of the human animal. Yet …” He ambled over to a high-backed leather chair near the fire. Leisurely—like a man at an exclusive country club—he sat and leaned back, crossing his legs and tenting his fingers, cataloging every detail about me: My armor. My weapon. The bloodstains marring everything.

  “Yet, you also defy someone who is clearly your superior in every way,” he finally continued. “I have more money, more faction members, more allies, and more experience. Yet here you are, working against your best interests, which is such a curious thing. So, tell me why, Jack. Make me understand what would motivate you to walk away from such a generous deal. Why purposely take a road that will lead to your destruction?” He calmly regarded me over the top of his glasses. “For a bright, promising, ingenuitive young man, that seems like a very, very, very stupid move.”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do, for one,” I said, shifting uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny.

  He snorted, rolled his eyes, and waved my answer away with one hand. “Idealism is for starry-eyed undergrads. From our last chat, I got the impression you were a more pragmatic sort. So, let’s avoid the cliché good verse evil tripe and talk reality. Just level with me. Why do this?”

  Instead of answering, I paced for a second, lacing my hands behind my neck as I thought. “Because the deal is dependent entirely on your benevolence,” I blurted. “I don’t want a war, and right now you don’t either—at least that’s what you say—but what if that changes? I don’t think you’re evil, Osmark, but I believe you’ll crush me in a second if it fits into your agenda. I think that’s the kind of man you are. And I want insurance in case you suddenly change your mind. Having all of the Storme Marshes united behind me is that kind of insurance.”

  Osmark smiled, a wicked grin, with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “I can respect someone who isn’t shortsighted,” he said, nodding. “Here’s the problem, however. You’re hoping this quest will secure your position of power inside Eldgard, but in fact you’re endangering it. That’s why I invited you here, to Tomestide.” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Please follow me, and I’ll explain.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN: Hard Choices

  Osmark lingered in front of the inn, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stared at the horizon. Tomestide itself was a small and unremarkable town with gray cobblestone streets and a mixture of stone and wood houses. A layover village of maybe five hundred people—the kind of place that probably offered a handful of low-level quests for lowbie players looking to kill low-level rats or gather ingredients for the local blacksmith. Idyllic, beautiful, but not much more than a blip on the map.

  But it wasn’t the town Osmark was looking at, it was the rippling sea of campfires and pitched tents in a broad grassy clearing to the south. The lighting wasn’t great—the sun was gone and early evening washed the scene in shades of purple and blue—but with my Night Eye ability, I could see just fine. There must’ve been a thousand tents with a multitude of men and women weaving their way through the camp or huddling around campfires—eating, drinking, joking, tending to gear. It was hard to tell the exact number, but I’d say there were ten thousand troops present.

  Maybe more.

  But the sheer numbers weren’t the only issue. Oh no. Edging the right side of the camp was a line of battle-ready war mounts: everything from bulky draft horses to sleek pumas and giant ground lizards, fifteen feet long. And on the left were war machines. Heavy ballistae with formidable steel bolts. Hulking mangonel on wooden rollers. Long armed trebuchets, capable of lobbing a boulder a thousand feet or more. Massive battering rams of sculpted stone, etched with runic magic. Colossal siege towers of wood, leather, and cold iron, easily capable of reaching the top of Rowanheath’s outer wall.

  “Did you think you were the only one with an Alchemic Weaponeer, Jack?” He asked, still staring at the weapons. “The only one who understood the value of investing in the Merchant and State Craft skill trees? I built this world. I know it better than anyone, except the Overminds, and I have twenty-four factions backing me. Your faction strategy is clever, Jack, but not nearly clever enough. And this move to unify the Storme Marshes? Instead of securing your future, you’re going to destroy it. Destroy everything you’ve worked for and built.”

  He glanced at me, a cruel half smile on his lips. “In business,
we call that the law of unintended consequences. You see, the Storme Marshes will give you an edge, but it won’t give you enough of an edge. Not to win. No, no.” He pursed his lips and shook his head ruefully. “It will only give you enough power to be considered a legitimate threat. Before you were a cockroach, too small to bother crushing. Now, however, you’re a rabid dog that needs to be put down.

  “So far, I’ve been able to convince my allies and business partners of your value to our Imperial enterprise. I’ve convinced them you’re under my heel. As a result, they’ve been content to throw token forces at you for the sake of appearances. Not anymore. This”—he swept a hand out toward the troops, the mounts, the siege engines—“is the direct response to your actions. The unintended consequences of your ambition and disloyalty.”

  He fell silent, waiting for my reply. But I didn’t have one. What could I say?

  Instead, I stood there, staring at the impossible force arrayed against me as a warm evening breeze blew through my hair and a soft chorus of crickets chirped and sang. Sophia had told me this is where I’d end up, so none of this should’ve come as a surprise. It still did, though. In my heart, I’d always known the Crimson Alliance was the underdog, but knowing that intellectually and seeing it with my own eyes were vastly different.

  “It doesn’t need to be this way, though, Jack,” Osmark said, staring straight ahead as though envisioning the inevitable slaughter to come. “Like I said, you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, a great precipice, but you haven’t jumped. Not yet. Back down. Refuse to complete the quest and things can go back to normal. If not …” He trailed off and shrugged indifferently. “Well, I can have this entire army outside of Rowanheath in ten days. I’ll wipe you out there, then turn south and bulldoze the Storme Marshes all the way to Yunnam. It will be long and painful, but quite thorough.”

  I turned away, then, pulling the return scroll Osmark had sent along with his original message from my bag. I broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, triggering the portal with a flare of brilliant light.