Absalom’s Fate

by J. D. L. Rosell

  I didn't have the knife actually on my person, so apparently items that weren't equipped didn't show up on me. I concentrated on the knife to equip it, and it suddenly appeared on my belt with a subtle blue glow. I immediately drew it and gripped it tight, readying myself for whatever was coming.

  “Good, Marrow. But you aren't using everything at your disposal.”

  Not everything? Ah, of course — I had mana and spirit meters, and the warlock had said I'd use them soon. That must mean I knew a low-level spell in each that I could make use of. I concentrated again, and my stats came up again. There were actually two listed for magic: Magelight, which would illuminate dark places, and Magic Missiles, a minor damage spell. Under channeling, I didn’t understand the one entry, True Belief, and the description didn’t much help.

  Magelight

  Affinity: Light

  Cost: 20 mana

  Effect: Produces an orb of radiance that illuminates up to 30 feet around and lasts 30 minutes.

  Magic Missiles

  Affinity: Light

  Cost: 25 mana

  Effect: Sends a volley of light projectiles that cause up to 50 damage to a single target.

  True Belief

  Affinity: White

  Faith: —

  Cost: —

  Effect: Convey your true allegiance to a faith or deity with indisputable veracity.

  No more time to look. The first of the scuttling creatures came forward, and were they ever ugly. Black, hairy beasts that moved liked spiders, but had a mess of claws, teeth, and other sharp parts that looked like they’d been put together from any number of creature parts. I didn’t like the look of them at all, especially with just a knife and a damage spell I didn’t know how to use yet.

  One by one, they emerged from the darkness and surrounded me, stopping at the edge of the pool of light to gnash their many mouths. There was no way I could defeat them. “What am I supposed to do?” I yelled at the Gnarish.

  But the warlock had a strange look in his eyes. “Players can’t be trusted,” he said in a low voice. “Not until they’re tested.” Then before my eyes, the warlock whirled his cloak and simply disappeared.

  I was alone with the creatures. Which was exactly when they attacked.

  One lunged for my knee and caught it in its teeth, crushing the bone. Pain lashed through my leg. It felt real, way too real. I didn’t sneak into the game parlor to get tortured. What the fuck was this game?!

  But I wasn’t just going to be chimeric spider food. I stabbed the creature that had me in its bulbous body, and gray liquid spurted up around the hilt. The creature let go and backed away. I grinned savagely at it, but it was hard to feel too victorious when I couldn’t even stand.

  Two more of the things came forward, one from each side, and charged. Whirling on my good knee, I desperately tried keeping them at a distance, but my knife only clipped the jaws of one, allowing the other in for a good two slashes on my chest. My health meter flashed before my eyes, almost three-quarters of it dissipated. I didn’t need the reminder. I felt every bit of that pain in my body.

  I was going to lose. I was meant to lose. But why? Why start players off this way? What the hell was The Everlands all about?

  I managed to stab the spider attacking me, but the other one leapt forward again while my knife was still buried deep in its fellow’s flesh. Not knowing what else to do, I thrust out my hand and yelled, “Magic missiles!” like an anime character. Considering the circumstances, I barely felt stupid doing it, especially, when bright, violet darts shot from my hand and zoomed at the spider, crashing into its body and bursting it like a gory water balloon.

  But there was no end to the creatures. Their sharp-limbed bodies faded into the darkness around me, a sea without end. Three came on this time, and I knew this was it. I was going to die. What came after that?

  Ava appeared from nowhere at my side. “Brace yourself!” she yelled. “And close your eyes!”

  I felt a chill run down my arm as her pale, ghostly hand gripped it, frosty as frozen air, but welcome in the midst of the hot pain everywhere else. I closed my eyes as instructed, and waited for the creatures to tear me apart.

  Then the floor pulled out from beneath me, and I felt nothing but the cold of Ava’s hand on my skin.

  4

  Three-Horned

  My eyes still closed, I was weightless, like I’d somehow been transported into space. The next moment, I crashed into the ground, but instead of stone, it felt like wood beneath my hands. Was I hallucinating? Or was this what happened when you died here?

  I blinked open my eyes. I was no longer in the dark, cavernous temple, but in a small, cramped, but cozy room instead. Sitting up and rubbing my head, I saw it had simple furnishings and could barely fit myself sprawled on the floor, but there was at least a bed and a small table beside.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t alone, as Ava whirled into existence beside me. The haze of confusion suddenly dissipated; of course, Ava had teleported me here somehow. I rubbed my bruised hands. She could have at least put me on the bed.

  “What the hell happened back there?” I demanded. I noticed I no longer was suffering from my wounds from the chimera-spiders, but the pain was all too fresh in my mind. If it was all like that, I was not looking forward to combat in this game.

  Ava looked troubled, her effervescent brow drawn down. “I don’t know for sure. I need to—”

  She suddenly went blurry, her image fuzzing like an old television screen with bad reception. “Ava?” I said cautiously.

  My NPC guide came back into sharp clarity. “I need to depart,” she said breathlessly (which, I supposed, was how a ghost always talked). “I’ll visit you as soon as I can, but…”

  Her figure fuzzed again, then she whirled and left completely. I just stared. Man, they really needed to sort out the glitches. The Pantheon wasn’t doing its job!

  But I wasn’t going to let a little weirdness stop me. I was still pumped to get started exploring the Everlands. Rising to my feet, I checked that my knife was securely on my belt, checked my meters (which were full; whatever Ava did must have reset them), then set out of the room and took my first real steps in the Everlands.

  A large common room awaited me outside, and it was bustling with activity. People — NPCs, I had to remind myself — were in all manners of clothes and states of decorum, sprawled along tables, lounging and laughing and chatting away. The men harassed the serving wenches as they wove between seats with trays of flagons overbrimming with ale, serving good-natured chastises as much as the drinks.

  I smiled as I took it in. There was nothing like a homey, medieval tavern.

  There were, however, a few details that didn’t fit the usual mold. Though most of the drinkers were Human, members of other races were also mixed in. A few Gnarish stoically chugged away at their ales in one corner. Devalyn, autumn elves, were of every hue and height, and they seemed pushed to the outskirts as well. Many of the Humans eyed them distrustfully when they passed and kept a hand on their purses.

  But oddest of all was the most prominent person in the room. He was a great brute of a Satyr, a handsome fellow with horns polished and gleaming, emerging from a silky chestnut mane of hair running down his head. He had a bright smile and big laugh, and was easily the tallest and broadest of anyone else there. He sat atop a chair on a stage amidst a group of fawning females of every race.

  I knew that if I wanted a good first quest in the Everlands, this was the guy to talk to.

  I wove through the crowd until I was standing at the edge of his groupies, but then I hesitated. The throng of women was so thick they were nearly standing on each other to be near him. I notice more than a few men mixed in, too. This guy had it made.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a man nearby, and pointed up to the Satyr. “Who exactly is that?”

  The man stared at me like I had a stone for a noggin. “What, did you just come off your farm for the first time? That’s Brandeur Three-Horned,
captain of the Noble Ignobles, the most decorated and despised mercenary company in the Everlands.” The man clapped his hand on my shoulder with a smirk. “He’s renowned for his leadership, even more than for his three horns, if you know what I mean.”

  There were only two horns on the satyr’s head, but I gathered the man’s meaning. I could hardly miss it when he clasped a hand to his crotch and raised his eyebrows.

  “Anyway, best keep your notables straight, or you’ll find yourself with a faceful of hoof.”

  I kept down my annoyance. No need to start trouble with the NPCs. “Fine,” I said, then moved away. A mercenary captain — I was right that he was exactly the guy I needed to talk to.

  I hardened my resolve, then began pushing my way towards him. Women slapped and scratched at me as I plowed through them, but I just kept moving, half-annoyed and half-amused as my health meter fell by a few points. But as a notification popped up, I noticed something else was declining as well:

  -1 to Alignment: Moral

  The morality police were apparently always hovering nearby. I’d have to watch my step, unless I was going to be an evil alignment.

  I finished making my way before the Satyr and stood above the rest. I didn’t have to work hard to catch his attention, for his bright green eyes quickly found me from the disturbance. “What, another courier here to curry the favor of the Ignobles? Wait in line with the rest! At least they had the courtesy to dress in something other than the dirty clothes their mother made them.” His voice boomed over all the rest of the noises, and I noticed the tavern quieting behind me. Sweat started pouring down me in rivers.

  They weren’t going to make this easy then. I fumbled for words. “Great Brandeur—” “Let me stop you there,” the mercenary general interrupted. “Don’t address anyone as ‘great.’ It makes you sound either like an obsequious sop or just a pompous ass. Second, I can tell you’ve got nothing to offer. No armor, no weapons but a belt knife, and I’m guessing no magic — you’ve got no chance with me, kid.” He waved one of his great hands (or not so great) in dismissal. “Get some experience under your belt and then maybe, maybe we’ll talk.”

  It clicked then. He was just telling me I wasn’t ready for his quest yet, as it was for higher levels. I’d just have to adventure around a little bit before coming back.

  Just then, the doors to the common room burst open, and a Naiad in dull steel armor stalked through. The sea nymph descendent wasn’t impressive stature, being a little shorter than the average Human. But this one had many white scars carved along its smooth skin, and looked to be the veteran of a hundred battles. Behind the Naiad came half a dozen other soldiers, all in battle regalia. I concentrated hard on them to find out their information:

  Cerulean Empire Captain (Lvl 18) - An officer in the Naiad army. Naiads are particularly proficient with spears and tridents, and deadly when fighting in the water. “These aren’t ordinary fish out of water!”

  Cerulean Empire Soldier (Lvl 12) - A soldier in the Naiad army. Naiads are particularly proficient with spears and tridents, and deadly when fighting in the water. “These aren’t ordinary fish out of water!”

  Again, I assumed I’d need greater skills to be able to get specific stats.

  “Three-Horned!” the armored Naiad said to the Satyr, chin raised in defiance. “Tell me you didn’t back down on another treaty. Tell me the rumors are all false and you didn’t side with King Fredrick in his conquests.”

  Brandeur shrugged and smiled brilliantly with all his white teeth. “I can’t deny what’s true, Shanal. Though it should be hardly surprising that a mercenary has gone where the money lies.”

  Shanal — whose name I could now see with his stats — hissed up at the Satyr and jabbed one clawed finger at him. “Lies. It’s not gold that matters to you in this. It’s your pride that can’t stand it.”

  “And your pride can’t stand to be outdone by anyone,” Brandeur quipped.

  The Naiad turned from him and addressed the tavern. “If anyone wishes to fight the honorable battle, they have only to join with the rightful rulers of Kalthinia! Approach us soldiers of the Cerulean Empire, and we will adequately suit you.”

  “And for anyone who isn’t a shell-sucking twat,” the Satyr said lightly, “the Noble Ignobles would see you among our ranks.” His eyes wandered to me, and he gestured lazily towards me. “Even this farmer’s son.”

  As Shanal also looked towards me, a small exclamation mark notification appeared in my vision. I didn’t have to think hard to know what it indicated: a critical decision, a place where my journey would irrevocably branch. But unlike other RPGs, I wouldn’t have the chance to pause and research and consider the decision. I had to make a choice, and it had to be now.

  From all I knew, Brandeur was rude, self-absorbed, and arrogant, but he was seemingly competent at what he did, and likely on the winning side of this conflict. However, I tended to have a soft spot for the underdog, and Brandeur Three-Horned seemed like he very rarely was. This Shanal, though, I knew nothing of, nor his motivations. I figured it was better to go with the devil I knew.

  “The Noble Ignobles have my sword,” I said.

  “Knife,” someone from the room corrected to general laughter.

  The Naiad captain stared at me long and hard. “You will regret that decision,” he hissed. Then Shanal turned and clunked away, his men following behind.

  I exhaled a big sigh. I hadn’t even gotten armor or a weapon, and I was already making huge decisions that would determine the rest of my gameplay. I hope it wasn’t anything I’d regret.

  You have aligned with a faction: The Noble Ignobles! You now have access to faction encampments and quests and receive +5% experience when completing quests for your faction.

  That at least wasn’t a bad boon. I’d take any bump in my gameplay.

  “Well,” Brandeur boomed with a mocking smile at me. “Turns out you’re not such a shrimp after all. That’s a lot more than I can say for Naiads.”

  The room erupted into chuckles.

  “But honestly,” he said, leaning down and gestured me closer to him, “it’s a bit embarrassing to take you on as you are. Follow my man Malik by the door, and he’ll get you outfitted in something decent.” The Satyr sat up with a laugh and gathered the two closest women to him. “Now that’s over, who’s ready for another round? This one’s on me! That’s more than those fish ever gave you, eh?”

  Cheers went up in the tavern, but I was already pushing my way towards the door, where a Human rogue twitched impatiently. When I reached him through the excited crowd pressing towards the mercenary leader, Malik waved and said something, but I couldn’t hear him, so I just followed him out of the common room.

  5

  Sewer Scrubber

  “Always making a show, our ignoble leader,” Malik commented as he led me down the tavern’s halls. “Everything’s a statement with him. You’d really never heard of him? Don’t tell him that, there’s nothing that offends him more than anonymity. You must truly be isolated, though, never hearing of him. Where are you from? Probably never heard of it. It’s always that way with the small villages here in Kalthinia, isn’t it? Come on, in here.”

  The talkative mercenary led me into what appeared to be a small, portable armory. Boiled leather and some studded armor took up crates in one corner, while in the other, various iron weapons were stacked in a haphazard fashion. “Take whatever you like,” Malik said flippantly, picking at his teeth with a knife, and blessedly shutting him up.

  I considered what I knew of the Everlands thus far, and what build I wanted to go for. The spirit meter especially came to mind, as it probably meant clerics and their hybrid types would be more prominent than I’d experienced in other games. I sometimes played a paladin, but other than that, it didn’t tend to be my style.

  Considering I probably only had a few more minutes here as it was — and it was a miracle I hadn’t been logged out already — I figured I’d go all out with the pot
ential new builds. A dark cleric assassin was what I was assuming now, so long as the channeling abilities were good.

  To get started on it, I took a jerkin, greaves, fingerless gauntlets, and a hood from the left side of the room, as well as a pair of boots that weren’t totally worn through. From the right, I selected a pair of iron knives that were a bit dull to the touch, but at least more serviceable than my own. I also took a sword for good measure. The reach might come in handy some time, even if it didn’t fit with my whole dark assassin build.

  Boiled Leather Jerkin

  Quality: Poor (7/10)

  Rarity: Common

  Leather Greaves

  Quality: Poor (6/10)

  Rarity: Common

  Leather Gauntlets

  Quality: Fair (23/25)

  Rarity: Common

  Leather Hood

  Quality: Fair (18/25)

  Rarity: Common

  Leather Boots

  Quality: Fair (12/25)

  Rarity: Common

  Dull Iron Knife (2)

  Quality: Fair (14/25)

  Rarity: Common

  Iron Longsword

  Quality: Fair (22/25)

  Rarity: Common

  From looking at the items, I put it together that the numbers in the “quality” section related to durability. The greaves, for example, were already worn through in one spot, and even its rating of 6/10 was being generous. I also surmised that the higher the quality rating, the higher the maximum durability. That made sense; the better made items would stick around for me a lot longer.

  Once I’d dressed in my newish gear and discarded my old homespuns — a task as easily accomplished as concentrating on equipping them once they were in my inventory — Malik nodded rapidly. “You’re good? Good. I’ve got the usual wringers to put you through, and I’ve got to get you through them fast. A meeting with a lady tonight, see, a fine one…”