Viridian Gate Online- Doom Forge

by J. A. Hunter

  I lifted one hand and unleashed an Umbra Bolt ten feet out. The spell obliterated the magical glass, plunging that section of the library into dense shadow.

  I glanced back toward the towering tree creature and felt a surge of triumph. The room wasn’t completely dark—not yet—but already the glowing script had spread, now covering the creature’s arms, roots, branches, and trunk. Heck, that odd script even ran over the beast’s goat-like face. “It’s working!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “All the lights. Break every single one.” I tore up the next row, hurling Umbra Bolts at every single glowing orb I passed. The sound of crashing glass resounded around the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling high overhead.

  Whole sections of the library went black—but the lost light was quickly replaced by the glow emanating from the tree creature. For every light that perished, the script seemed to grow and spread, burning neon bright. And interestingly, the blue script gave way to swirls of vibrant red. At least in select spots. Near the goat’s eyes and snout. Along certain portions of the trunk—not much bigger than the bull’s-eye on a target—even a few on key roots and swaying branches. Weak spots. They had to be.

  An excited woot carried from farther in the library. “Oh hells yeah, you great big ol’ sumabitch,” Forge hollered. “You’ve got an ass kickin’ inbound.” The Risi pulled himself up onto a teetering shelf—damaged during the battle—and promptly hurled himself off with another whoop, his great battle-axe carving through the air. The blade slammed directly into one of the red splotches on the trunk. Even at a distance I could see the weapon hit true... and bounce off as though the blade were made out of Styrofoam.

  Amara and Cutter angled toward the creature, running and leaping from shelf to shelf, avoiding swirling blasts of razor-sharp paper as they peppered the creature with conjured blades and acid-tipped arrows. The two of them were deadly accurate, each strike landing with uncanny precision on one of the red nodes. But their attacks were equally worthless. I knew we were on the right track here, those red spots had to be the creature’s vulnerable areas, but why were the attacks having no effect?

  My mind whirled as I ran toward the creature, scanning each row for Abby as I moved. The clue to killing this thing had to be buried in the riddle. Had to be. The first four lines of the odd poem had given us a heads-up about what waited and where, while the next two told us how to spot this thing’s weakness. But there were still two verses left. Two verses which almost certainly held the final clue to killing this thing... but I was absolutely shit with riddles. Aside from MMOs, I’d spent more than a few late nights crowded around a table, playing D&D.

  It was the stupid riddles that got me every time.

  And the worst part was, I had the very last verse—the one I’d found inscribed on the podium cradling the quest book.

  I sprinted past a row, and there, near the end was Abby, slowly backpedaling away from the shuffling tree creature as she hurled unending gouts of flame at fluttering pages. I ducked down the aisleway, arms and legs pumping. A huge arm lashed out with bone-breaking force—Abby tried to dance away, but she was too slow by half. As a Firebrand she was an absolute terror when it came to dishing out damage, but she’d never be as fast, agile, or strong as someone with a mixed class like me.

  And she couldn’t hold a candle to a pure Rogue-type class like Cutter or a Ranger like Amara.

  Despite her best efforts, the backside of the creature’s hand caught her square in the chest, hurling her away like a rag doll. She slammed into a bookcase, dusty tomes spilling down on her as the creature advanced at a ponderous gait. Another roar and Forge came bounding out from the labyrinth of books, posting up directly in the creature’s path like a good tank should. Ari was on his shoulder, and she promptly zipped forward, slashing at the creature’s eyes with her tiny blade. Their attacks did nothing to drop the monster’s HP, but they bought me enough time to get to Abby.

  I picked up my speed, my Stamina gauge flashing as it seeped away with every step.

  I slid into the open as Forge went toe-to-toe with the creature, absorbing horrendously powerful blows while arrows and blades rained down from above. Only Carl, who chanted from a nearby aisle, kept the tank on his feet. I put them all from mind, bounding for Abby. She was crumpled on the floor, alive, but clearly hurt. Her legs were twisted at an odd angle, which meant broken bones and a nasty debuff without a doubt. I scooped her up in my arms like a child—she groaned and moaned in pain against me—and disappeared back into the stacks, calling out “all clear” over my shoulder to Forge.

  I got as much distance as I could, then gently set Abby down, propping her up against a bookcase. She moaned again but seemed unable to talk. She winced, tears beading in her eyes as I straightened her contorted legs. Quick as I could, I grabbed a regen potion from a pouch at my side, forced her lips open, and poured the sickly-sweet brew down her throat. She shuddered, pressing her eyes closed as her body seized; in an instant, the magic potion stitched torn muscle together, realigning bone, even healing internal damage.

  After a beat, she sputtered, coughed, and pushed herself up on her hands. “Wow, that asshole hits like a semitruck.” She shook her head and pressed her eyes shut. “Okay, I’m good,” she said after a moment, opening her eyes. “So, the light idea was brilliant, but we’re missing something.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “the last line of the poem. I found Eitri’s book over in a secret alcove, and the last line was with it. The beginner’s blade can tip the scale. Problem is, I don’t know what it means.” I gently grabbed her by the hands and helped her stand.

  There was a crash-thud followed by a loud scream. “Jack!” Cutter’s voice rose. “We can’t bloody keep this up forever. What in the shite is the plan here, eh?”

  “Hold on,” Abby called, then more quietly, “Just give me a second to think.” Her lips pursed into a thin line and her eyes went hazy. Deep in thought. “A magic touch shall not prevail; the beginner’s blade can tip the scale,” she muttered softly to herself. Another crash-thud, the bookcase rattling behind us as the creature closed in on our position once more.

  “Any time, now,” I said, stealing a look over one shoulder. Slithering root-tentacles appeared at the end of the aisle, followed shortly by the looming form of the tree guardian. Forge and Ari were nowhere to be seen, though Cutter and Amara still bounced around the top of the cases nearby, trying to draw the creature away with little success. The creature thrust both hands forward and let out a furious, ground-shaking roar as it unleashed a twin attack of fluttering paper.

  I moved on instinct, positioning myself between Abby and the attack, conjuring Dark Shield a moment before the unorthodox spell landed—an attack that would’ve flayed the skin from our bodies an inch at a time. The barrier sprang to life, sheltering us. Glowing pages bounced harmlessly away, but the shield flickered madly from the sheer force and weight of the assault, my Spirit gauge dropping like a rock off a cliff as I pumped energy into the spell. The creature’s hands fell at last, the onslaught of pages tapering off.

  I dismissed Dark Shield, and as I did, Abby rushed past me without a word, wielding a plain steel scepter. What in the hell was she thinking?

  Tip the Scales

  I REACHED OUT TO STOP her—what in the world did she hope to do with that?—but she was already out of range. The Paper Librarian surged forward with a screech, roots and branches lashing out like coiled serpents. She plunged straight on anyway, swinging the unwieldly weapon in a wide but clumsy arc. Even at a glance, it was clear she was no weapon-wielding warrior. Still, the scepter flew true, smacking into one of the red script-spirals on a clump of roots.

  A hit like that, against a creature like this, should’ve done nothing. Zero. Like smacking an elephant with a flyswatter. I was completely flabbergasted when the weapon landed with a brilliant flare of white light, and the monster’s HP dropped. Not by more than a hair, but that was still more damage than anyone else had done through the course of the entire
battle. The creature’s root-tentacles recoiled, and for the first time, the creature was back on its heels, something that might’ve been uncertainty flashing across its inhuman face.

  Abby threw her head back and crowed in defiant triumph. “That’s right, asshole!” she yelled, raising the gleaming, though plain, weapon skyward like a giant middle finger. “Nonmagical gear,” she yelled at the top of her lungs as she advanced slowly. “There were normal weapons scattered all over this place. Lowbie gear. And that was the key the whole time. This thing has complete immunity to magic. All magic. Spells. Weapons. Everything. But not these.” She leapt forward with a growl, slamming the blunt weapon into a retreating root. Another flash. A sizzle. A tiny drop in HP.

  Less than a second later, an arrow streaked through the air, courtesy of Amara, thudding into one of the glowing red splotches. And this time it stuck, cutting through a much heftier chunk of HP.

  “Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong, shithead!” Forge said, charging from a connecting aisleway, his glowing weapon gone, replaced by a plain jane axe that any newb could find in any dungeon in Eldgard. His axe drove home like a railroad spike, penetrating the papier-mâché exterior as though it were cheap toilet paper. A flash of light and a horrified screech rent the air as a full tenth of the creature’s HP vanished.

  I grinned, absolutely ecstatic. Holy crap, Abby had done it. She’d solved the puzzle just like I knew she could. I stowed my regular hammer and quickly scanned my inventory. There. Not far from the bottom was a vanilla warhammer that dealt a whopping 27 points of damage. No boosts, no bonuses, no magic. I equipped it without a second of hesitation and leapt into the fray. The lowbie weapon felt like a feather in my hands as I twirled and spun it. I vaulted up, clearing the writhing roots, and sunk the hammerhead into the creature’s side.

  Critical Hit! Its HP dropped, far more than the weapon with its simple stats could account for. The only thing that I could think of was that the creature must’ve had a serious weakness against normal weapons.

  More arrows fell, faster and faster. Amara working like the pro she was.

  Cutter had somehow gotten on top of the tree creature and was busy driving a pair of unenchanted steel daggers into pretty much anything he could. White light flashed with every hit, and the paper covering the monster’s body blackened and split, curling back from the puncture wounds. Forge was going to town like a lumberjack hacking at a particularly pesky tree, and even Ari had gotten in on the action. Unfortunately, we hadn’t stumbled upon any toothpick-sized nonmagical swords in our journey, so she’d improvised and now wielded a broken length of arrow with a steel tip on the end.

  She jabbed it into the Librarian’s eyes and nose and face over and over again, doing an unbelievable amount of damage considering her size and strength.

  In less than two minutes the final blow fell—Carl with a club for the win—and the tree toppled onto its side, its branches and roots finally going still, its eyes glazed over in death.

  Its trunk split open a second later and out poured loot, a small cascade of it.

  One last page fluttered up and out, dancing in some unseen breeze. Forge snatched it from the air with thick fingers. He read it over, once, then twice, his square jaw breaking into a grin which widened with each rereading. “You gotta be kidding me. Listen to this. Even the strongest boulder may be ground down by the fluttering touch of paper, but the simple steel blade is the equalizer of all. The true hero knows, however, that victory lies in the best two out of three.” His grin was now wide enough to split his face. He broke out into a gruff laugh, slapping a knee with a thick hand.

  “I don’t get it,” Cutter said, cocking a quizzical eyebrow at the Risi.

  “Literally unbelievable,” Abby said, rolling her eyes.

  “It’s a giant paper-rock-scissors joke,” Forge cackled. “We were almost murdered on account of someone’s bad pun.”

  He shook his head, crumpled the paper, and tossed it over one shoulder. “Well, let’s see what all the trouble was worth.”

  Though the Librarian had been an absolute terror to kill, it turned out the trouble had definitely been worth it. There was a pile of silver and a small stack of gold plus a cache of flawless stones, which could be put to good use over at the Crafter’s Hall. Augmenting weapons and armor always required a steady supply of high-quality stones, and flawless stones were in short supply. A couple of potions—both Spirit and Health regen—accompanied the coins and stones, edged in by a variety of items.

  There was a cruel, double-edged dagger usable as an offhand weapon by Sorceresses and other casters. A fancy new belt for Cutter that granted a host of Rogue skill bonuses. An amulet for Amara, The Primal Huntress Pendant. It offered a hefty Dexterity boost, increased Evade and Critical Hit chance, added a 6% movement bonus, and gave +1 to a Stealth skill called Camouflage, which increased the chance to blend into surroundings even in bright lighting conditions. A killer find, without a doubt.

  Wonder of wonders, Ari received a set of miniature greaves that were custom-tailored just for her.

  Forge got the most practical piece of gear: heavy spiked pauldrons with a significant Strength bonus, + 10% to maul damage, and an active spell buff called Numb, which reduced all tactical sensation by 17%, offset by a -3% Dexterity penalty. Armor like that was popping up more and more these days, though this was the best I’d seen to date. It was custom built for tanks, ensuring the damage they took hurt less, but at the price of being clumsy and negatively effecting fine motor skills.

  But Forge didn’t need Dexterity or fine motor skills to take a pummeling or dish out mega damage with his axe.

  The only one that didn’t get anything was... me.

  Of course.

  The only remaining item was a small papier-mâché acorn about the size of a quarter. Cutter flipped it to me with his thumb, a grin on his face. “Better luck next time, eh, Jack.”

  I snatched it out of the air, turning it over in my hands. A simple thing, though when I pulled up the item description, I noticed there was an interesting bit of flavor text at the bottom.

  <<<>>>

  Librarian Seedling

  Item Type: Relic

  Class: Unnatural Artifact

  Base Damage: 0

  Life begins anew. Play again?

  <<<>>>

  Hmm. Now that was interesting. While everyone else inspected and compared their new acquisitions I wandered deeper into the library, searching for the place where the creature had come from. I followed the trail of destruction and quickly found what I was looking for near the southern side of the library. A false wall that must’ve opened when I’d removed the book from the pedestal. Beyond was a boxy room, the floor covered in loamy black soil instead of stone—though the soil was in disarray thanks to the roots pulling free.

  I frowned, turning the odd acorn over and over again, rubbing at its strange surface with the pad of my thumb, going over the flavor text. Life begins anew. Play again? Then I thought of the fluttering bit of paper. A true hero knows that victory lies in the best two out of three. It seemed like a bad pun, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was actually another cryptic riddle? This place certainly seemed full of those. I shrugged. What did I really have to lose, anyway? I crept onto the black earth and knelt, the ground spongy beneath me, and scooped out a little hole in the dirt then slipped the acorn in.

  I wasn’t really expecting much as I covered up the seed, but an instant later a little sprout emerged, no larger than my finger, but clearly alive. A pair of leaves unfurled from its sides like sails, and on top of the sprout a paper flower bloomed, glowing with an otherworldly light powered by the blue script, which looped and scrawled its way along the stem and petals. I pulled the lowbie hammer out, ready to clobber the little flower if it so much as twitched wrong. I wasn’t even a little prepared, though, when the far wall of the hidden room shifted and crumbled, revealing a regal archway.

  Man, this place was just full of secrets. One after another.
Just turtles all the way down.

  Carved into the dark marble lintel was another line, though this one was far more straightforward: Let only friends of Shadow enter here, all others court destruction...

  A pop-up appeared.

  <<<>>>

  Quest Update: Secrets in the Shadows

  Congratulations! You have defeated the Paper Librarian, Guardian of the Shadow Spire Manor, and opened the Vault of Shadows, completing the Secret Quest Chain Secrets in the Shadows. Summon your courage and venture into the Vault of Shadows to claim your reward, though proceed with care—only those Dark Templars true of heart dare tread this path!

  <<<>>>

  Well, that was appropriately mysterious, which seemed par for the course.

  Beyond the arch was an enormous cavern filled with black fluted pillars; perched atop each column was a Void Terror statue. Purple Umbra flame burned in the eye sockets of each creature, shedding ghostly light across the floor. Curiosity burned inside my chest. What the hell was the Vault of Shadows, and why had Eitri Spark-Sprayer gone to the trouble of building it?

  “I’ve got something back here,” I hollered, glancing over one shoulder, then returning my gaze to the utterly bizarre cavern. My mind was already running away full blast. Let only friends of Shadow enter here, all others court destruction. Eitri may have been a demigod, but he was also a Shadowmancer, and from what I’d glimpsed in the journal, he’d been one of the most accomplished Shadowmancers of his time. And that was at a time when the legendary Jade Lord had walked the Storme Marshes, no less, which meant he must’ve been among the best to ever live.

  The rest of the Shadow manor seemed to be a massive training facility, so was it possible that he’d also created a training arena just for Dark Templars?

  I heard the pounding of heavy footfalls slapping against the floor as Forge rushed into view, followed in short order by the rest of the crew. “What’s the emergency, hoss?” Forge’s lips were pulled back in a snarl, his magical axe once more clenched in a white-knuckled grip. His eyes flared as he caught sight of the room beyond.