The Road to Red Thorn

by Blaine Hicks

  The thoughts of social media made his mood darken. He probably needed to post some feedback of this on his channel. Any leaked content from the game would go viral if he could get it up quickly. He couldn’t post content though. Unlike Xflickable and Chuchi, Radley’s headset and game version didn’t support any output to the social communities. Since the game was playing inside his head there was no obvious way to grab data in a usable format. He shrugged mentally. There was nothing to do about it. He was disconnected from those social “games” for now and would just have to focus on this one. This limitation kind of made him glad. He could enjoy the solitude of the existence and gave up worrying about how to get people to bump a post. He scraped his cotton moccasins against a nearby rock to remove some of the chard gnats. Not because he needed clean shoes, but to try to hold onto the moment. He wished that this life was the real one. Of course, he liked the perks of his heat vision and the nimble body, but the best part was being a mage and using magic.

  The only thing he hadn’t enjoyed so far was taking damage but even that made victory sweeter. He had gained a respect for his opponent’s strength and felt the terror of almost losing a fight to the death. Those feelings didn’t exist for him in real life.

  He also knew that his luck couldn’t last forever. At some point, he was going to fight something that would hurt him again, or even kill him. He was strangely comfortable with that but if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe leveling up and being powerful didn't have to be the point of this experience like in other RPGs he’d played. This was a new world; a new life. The depth of his emersion meant he could enjoy the ride, rather than simply trying to reach a destination. Proving that he could handle the challenges of dark alignment seemed so silly to him now.

  With the sun fully up and Radley’s status bars mostly recovered, he began to notice other aggro creatures milling around the area: a level 3 scorpion climbing the village wall, a level 2 praying mantis (the size of his arm), and a level 4 spider with glowing red eyes hanging from the plateau cliffside. He could also see several more level 1 gnat clouds slowly bobbing along in the wind.

  None of these creatures made their way to him although they all identified as aggro. They seemed oblivious to his presence so he guessed it meant they would attack him if he got too close. He waited for his HP and STM to hit their max again then moved along the path slowly so he wouldn’t draw the aggro monsters’ attention. He was pretty sure their ambient aggro status was a result of choosing dark alignment or at least a local benefit of his chosen race. Either way it wasn’t optimal considering his new perspective. He wondered how things might be different if he had started as a mage of light. Certainly, quite different as a nice little gnome. Instead of vampiric gnats diving down his throat, he’d probably already be blasting fluffy white bunnies with fireballs.

  ***

  Radley eventually reached the small sandstone archway without incident and immediately saw the “new path” that had been mentioned by his elemental master. The brick walkway beside his house now went in both directions, connecting his spawn point with the rest of the village. A naga soldier stood posted at the street corner watching for trouble. The dark green snake-man wore battered chainmail armor and held a long pike. The soldier didn’t seem heavily disciplined and leaned casually against a wooden post. A few other naga slithered around the village doing what could have been morning chores.

  He ignored the soldier and decided to explore the village and followed a dusty dirt path across the plaza towards the temple which was easily the most prominent feature of the village which he’d completely missed when he made the trek up to the plateau in the middle of the night. It was much taller than the village walls and would undoubtedly provide a decent view of the surrounding lands. Set into the pyramid was an open doorway leading inside the great structure. On either side of this entrance stood more guards. These were naga-hass, obviously stationed to watch the entrance, and wearing full plate armor. Unlike the first soldier he’d seen, these stood at full attention and were more than a little impressive. A weathered sign was planted at the base of the temple which he read:

  ZONE: The Snake-Infested Temple of Kassanqueyzll

  Boss: Ssamssanssal the Conjurer

  Skill Recommendations:

  Solo XP: Level 16

  Boss Raid Group: Level 20

  Zone Info: The temple of Kassanqueyzll was a symbol of power and pride for the naga of Nyssrask. For generations, dark paladin trained in this village were feared and respected across the realms. During the end of Vessrale’s Era, the legendary conjurer and beast tamer Ssamssanssal, went mad when his family was eaten by harpies. In his rage, he entered the forbidden sanctum and set loose a plague of deadly serpents. His fate is unknown, and the temple has been abandoned by the priests of the dark god of war. With the loss of his temple, Kassanqueyzll has revoked his greatest blessings until the scourge is destroyed and the temple cleansed.

  Sounds like a fun place, Radley thought to himself sarcastically. He was actually a big fan of role playing in games and loved lore and storylines. For him, gaming was like living in his favorite books or movies. This temple was the perfect example. The architecture was imposing and creative. The backstory was interesting. It created an experience and gave purpose to killing snakes rather than grinding for the sake of XP. It was perfect. Despite the trouble with the gnats, he already loved this game. He made a mental note to come back around level 16 to explore it.

  Radley continued to wander through the village and found two other zone markers. The first was outside the graveyard and of course, the description mentioned a full moon and the undead. Another was posted above the basement of the flour mill and said something about rats. Both required a higher level than he could offer. Even the rat zone recommended level 3. After not finding a newbie zone he gave up and moved on to the shops. These existed in abundance, selling everything from cooking ingredients to finished goods. There was a shop that sold nothing but wild mushrooms and another with love potions. Everything seemed expensive considering Radley started with only a few silver coins to his name. He entered the Armory Shoppe but even the cheapest leather doublet cost a gold coin which he couldn’t afford.

  The money exchange was posted inside every shop:

  10 iron coins = 1 copper coin

  10 copper coins = 1 silver coin

  10 silver coins = 1 gold coin

  10 gold coins = 1 platinum coin

  The shopkeeper selling spices told him that there were also gold and platinum bars worth a hundred of the same type of coin. So a platinum bar was equivalent to a million iron coins. These were said to be round like a solid pipe, about the length and thickness of Radley’s thumb. The shopkeepers had never actually seen a platinum bar let alone dreamed of owning one or spending one. The transactions of the small town relied instead on silver and gold coins but things like hot stew cost only a few coppers. A room at the Shrieking Flea Inn was 6 silver per night. Yearling horses at the stable started at 5 gold but couldn’t be used without training (which took skill or cost more money). Trained war horses were the most expensive thing for sale in the shops and cost 10 to 20 plat depending on their stats.

  Radley stopped at a second-hand shop to see if he could afford any used gear before setting off again to find newbie XP. The prices were much cheaper than buying gear new, but the gear was worn. The shopkeeper welcomed him with a smile. He was an old naga-hass who had greyish scales and a deep voice. He told Radley to look around but to ask if he had any questions. This prompted a trade portal to open at the counter. Radley’s three silver were meager compared to the prices that came up, so Radley was surprised when he found some items he could afford: a quilted cloth jerkin, or a pair of worn boots. Both gave an additional +2 armor benefit compared to his starting gear.

  He was trying to decide between them when the shopkeepers face went slack and the buyer interface flickered out of existence. Radley thought he had dismissed it by accid
ent and asked the shopkeeper for help. The large snakeman didn’t respond and slithered mindlessly out of the door without a word. Radley stood and looked around for a minute not sure what to do. Without the buyer portal none of the merchandise was accessible. Each piece seemed to be fastened securely to its display. Radley decided something must be wrong. He opened his user-interface and navigated to the feedback tab where he dictated the problem with the shop and sent it to the AI for support. The interface closed and he went outside to try another shop.

  The street was empty. The previously busy merchant’s district was completely abandoned, and actually reminded Radley of his own neighborhood. Since this was day 1, he wondered if there was some type of global event happening like a welcome ceremony for the beta players. He walked toward the main road and noticed heavy black smoke rising from a shop ahead, which hadn’t been there before. It increased his anxiety that something was off. At the main street he could see something happening at the central plaza, so he jogged over to check it out. It was not at all what he expected. The naga NPC’s were grouped together on the eastern side of the wide plaza below the temple. They stood in concentric rows facing a central point. They were all there, the guards, villagers, and even the old masters from the “choose a class” ritual. More than two hundred naga had stopped what they were doing to join this strange formation. The smoke, he realized, was rising through the window of the bakery and nobody seemed concerned. Loafs of bread had just been left in the oven to burn.

  Radley moved past the empty shops and houses and entered the plaza to get a better view. The naga were chanting in unison but the purpose was unclear. While he watched, the rendered scenery around him began to glitch and stutter. Pixelated textures flickered over the surfaces of the buildings, ground, and sky. The soft sandy pathway that crossed the plaza began to solidify into a hard, brown plastic surface. As the chanting grew louder, the kaleidoscope of colors intensified and the sharp borders between surfaces began to bleed together. He slowed to a stop, just watching the psychedelic light show around him. Everything was still there but the realism had gone, replaced with shifting light and sound. The intensity of the coruscating colors increased along with the speed of the villager’s chanting. The scaled naga bodies writhed and contorted in unison like a Halloween dance-off gone wrong. The sky turned pink and blue clouds streaked over-head like a negative-exposure time-lapse video.

  Radley wondered if this was some type of planned event and cautiously approached the outer circle of villagers. He extended his hand to get the attention of the closest NPC which seemed to be the naga baker still dressed in a white smock and covered in flour. Just as Radley’s hand touched the naga’s shoulder, the chanting stopped and the world around him went black.

  CH. 9 Lone Survivor

  Radley awoke to darkness and silence as if his head was buried in sand. His senses returned slowly like he was waking from a deep sleep, so the darkness felt good. His addled mind worked slowly and took a moment to decide where he was. He felt his mattress below him and determined he was lying on his bed. That's right, he thought I was playing AFR…

  For some reason the neural gear was missing, and the bed sheets were tangled and pulled over his head. The game must have crashed. His muscles were much too sore like he'd run a marathon. He let out a wince from the stiffness. Why am I so sore?

  The lights in his bedroom were off. That happened sometimes if he didn’t move for a while. He didn’t feel good and decided it was probably time to take another break from the game anyway. I can get the dishes done and play later.

  He sat up but to his surprise the effort failed, and he fell back onto the bed again. He was dizzy and really weak. The tangle of sheets around him didn’t help the situation. He tried to get his arms free to trigger the lights, but they felt numb and didn’t want to move. He tried again but found his arms bound firmly to his sides. An ominous feeling began to creep down his spine as the realization bloomed that something was wrong. These were not sheets holding him, he was bound. He tried to call out, but his voice was muffled and gagged by the head covering, and his shouting just echoed in his ears. He shouted anyway, but no response came. The house around him was silent as a grave. What’s going on? He wondered as panic began to grip him. He wrestled with the wrapping, trying to get free. His mind raced but he couldn’t make sense of the situation. He began to thrash about in desperation until he fell from the bed, landing hard on the floor. The impact hurt. It knocked the wind from his lungs and split open the covering around his face. He sucked in deeply and cool air filled his lungs. The aged aroma of mildew met his nose, but relief tempered his panic. He calmed down enough to methodically work himself upward toward the opening. He didn’t stop until he had wormed his right arm up and out of the hole.

  Just getting the arm free had taken all Radley’s energy and he could do nothing else. He sat limply with his back against the bedroom wall, gasping to catch his breath. The binding stretched tightly around him, stretching between his neck and armpit like he was heading to a toga party. He felt around with his free hand while he caught his breath. The wrapping wasn’t made of cloth or rope but felt more like flexible plastic, like thick shrink wrapping. Pale moonlight shone through the window but with the shades drawn it was too dark to see and the lights still hadn’t come on. He called out again for his mom, but she still didn’t answer.

  What is going on?

  His mind had finally started to function again, but he still couldn’t explain anything. Maybe this is a prank, he finally thought. His mom loved jokes, but this wasn’t her style. She put water cups above doorways or gave people trick cans with fake springing snakes inside. This wasn’t like that, it felt malicious. Could someone else have been in my bedroom?

  He looked around for a live-streaming camera but didn’t see any blinking lights or obvious setups. In fact, there were no status lights on any of the electronics that should have been flickering around the room. The power must be out. That's probably why the game crashed...

  In spite of the uncooperative lights, Radley’s eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to notice the state of the bedroom. It made his breath catch. It was destroyed. Not the expected disarray of a rambunctious teenage boy, but completely ransacked. Shredded debris covered the floor and his dresser was overturned. Dust and grime coated every surface and several small dark handprints were smeared across the walls. It was starting to feel less like a prank and more like a break-in.

  But if this is a break-in, why is the house so quiet?

  The new theory made his heart beat quicker and he redoubled his effort to escape. He had to make sure his mom was okay. He used his free hand to work the shrink wrapping over his left shoulder and by kicking again with his feet, he eventually worked it to down to his waist and then kicked it off completely. His muscles were burning with exhaustion and despite his worry, he leaned back against the wall again to catch his breath. When the pain faded, he tried to stand but instantly felt lightheaded and he had to grab the bed post for support. His neck hurt and his whole body resisted his movements. He brushed aside the tipsy dizziness and forced himself over to the door, grabbing the frame to steady himself as he peered into the hallway.

  He tried to turn the lights on manually, but nothing happened. Why is the power off? He was still holding out hope that this was just a misunderstanding, but the calculating part of his mind said it was real. This was too elaborate to fake, something was wrong.

  Maybe there was a disaster...maybe an earthquake or something else.

  The air in the hallway was stale, punctuated with the faint scent of sweaty socks. He went to his mom’s room first, but she wasn’t there and her bedroom was even darker.

  He turned around and headed down the stairs. His body was beginning to respond more easily like a car warming up in winter and he jumped the last three stairs without even noticing. As he swung around the banister into the living room, he finally saw her. His mom was standing calmly at the kitchen sink with her back t
o him, apparently doing the dishes…with no lights on. She should have heard him calling or at least turned around when he came downstairs. What’s wrong with her?

  “Mom?” Radley asked stepping closer as the ominous feeling crawling on his spine grew stronger. She was completely motionless, and the sink was overflowing onto the kitchen floor. “MOM...” he said again louder, but still got no response. Her silhouette was centered in a single shaft of white moonlight that had forced its way through a torn curtain above the sink. He moved closer until he was right behind her and reached out for her shoulder. His hand settled on her, but she was cold as death and her form didn’t give under his touch.

  “Mom” he said again; this time a tremor of terror had found its way into his voice. “Mom, what's going on?”

  He stepped around her and pulled open the curtains which flooded the room with pale moonlight. All hope of a prank or even a break-in disappeared. Her eyes were lifeless. Her face, and features were dull grey and motionless. She had been turned to stone.

  Radley lost it. He was overcome with grief and shock and confusion. He reached out to her in a final, desperate attempt to try and comprehend how this was possible. His trembling fingers slid down her cold stone cheek. This was his mom, he somehow knew it but she was no longer alive.

  His emotions boiled over in a wave of hysteria. He stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the wet floor whispering “no...please, no...” Then he cried. It was all he could do. He cried and looked up at her until he was sobbing loudly in great heaving gasps.

  “What is going on??” he asked her. “What happened to you??”

  The stone figure offered no answers in reply nor did the quiet house. He felt truly alone. He cradled himself against the kitchen cabinets like a lost child and let his tears fall into the pooled water on the floor.