Spectres & Skin: Exodus

by RJ Creed

  “Do you mind?” he asked. “You’re breathing on me.”

  I backed up two steps, and he pulled out a little metal pick. I watched as the kid slid the pick inside the keyhole and delicately and methodically stroked the internal mechanisms for almost two minutes until there was a soft click and he was able to lift the chest’s lid.

  “Shit,” he muttered, and lowered it again. “It’s just shitty old rusty blades.”

  “Didn’t your mama teach you not to swear?” I asked, shaking my head and stepping to the chest to look for myself.

  “The woman who delivered me said the only words I ever heard my mother say were ‘No, goddess, not me — take this bastard fuck and not me,’” he said.

  I turned around with a wrinkled nose. “What?” I had to ask.

  He shrugged coolly, clearly pleased that he had gotten a reaction from me. I hated teenagers. “Died in childbirth.”

  “Right.” I turned back to the chest and lifted the lid, seeing that he actually hadn’t been lying to me, and it was filled with old rusty blades. “Why lock them away though?”

  “Maybe worth something to a smith,” he said with a shrug. “Could sell them and melt ‘em all down.”

  “No reason to lock them away in the storeroom.” I looked up at the door, wondering if anyone was likely to come in, and then quickly looked at one of the many old, tarnished blades.

  Rusted Iron Shortsword

  Broken Quality

  Attack: +4

  Req: Strength 10

  “That’s not good at all,” I noted aloud, and exhaled as I gently pushed blades aside to get to the bottom of the chest. “Could be a hidden compartment.” There had to be something in these gorgeous chests in the storeroom of a super-powerful cult, right?

  “There’s no point, let’s grab the ammo and get out of here,” Ryken said, rolling his eyes. But I was half-crazed by the idea of godly treasures, and I had played enough games before to know that big beautiful chests had loot in them, dammit!

  I scraped myself against a serrated shortsword edge as I traced my fingers around the bottom to find a seam. My HP lowered by 2% and I found myself excited by this, since it meant I could bandage up and get experience in First Aid. To my great surprise, my fingernails caught on something and I was able to pull up a panel. With Ryken’s help to distribute the weight of the rusty blades, I pulled up the panel and we stared into the bottom of the chest.

  A measly piece of faded paper and a green statue, the size of my forefinger and made of something that looked like jade, of a woman covered in ivy. The Ivy Lady, I dared to assume. Titania.

  Of course.

  I peeled out the paper, which was half-stuck to the bottom of the chest, and I handed the statue to Ryken to inspect while I opened it up.

  “This looks expensive,” he muttered. “We sell it and split it.” It wasn’t a question. To be honest, I had been expecting the kid to demand all loot since he had unlocked it, so I just about managed a nod as I pored over the paper.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Don’t get rid of it just yet.” I stood after carefully putting everything in the chest back and lowering the lid. “It looks like this is a map of some kind, and that statue might be related.”

  “A map?”

  I showed him the images, which depicted some squiggles and arrows and a crude key. At one remote corner, far from the entrance to whatever area it was showing, was a great big circle and the word ‘HERE!!!’ complete with two underlines. Clearly something exciting was there. I felt my lips stretch into a greedy grin.

  “Hold off on selling the thing,” I said. “We’ll go here together when we get done with whatever the Father wants now. Then whatever we find there, we split.”

  I studied Ryken’s face as he searched over the map. “Fine,” he said, “but I keep the statue for safekeeping. And you keep the map. We go together.”

  “Fair,” I said, trying to hide the surprise from my voice. He wanted to work together? I made a mental note to expect a backstab the very second we found any worthwhile loot. That was a point, actually. I needed to up my defences. “Let’s go,” I said, and he nodded. “Armour around here?”

  “In the spire? I don’t think so. Just this scratchy shit.” He wafted at his sackcloth, slightly bloodstained at the collar, courtesy of me.

  “In town?”

  He eyed me sideways. “Yeah. You think?” He rolled his eyes.

  “Fuck’s sake,” I snapped, turning the corner to burst back into the Hall of Silence. “I’m so tired of you already.”

  “You’re a—”

  But I didn’t get to find out what I was, because Brother Nickel held out his hand and halted us, a grim expression on his face. My first thought was fear that he somehow knew we had stolen from them and we were about to get yelled at, but then I remembered that I was in my twenties. And I still wasn’t entirely convinced that he existed; not in the same way I did.

  But then again, nearby the spectral griffin spread her wings and shrieked, and my wolf made a low noise in the back of her throat in response. I shushed her and she obeyed instantly.

  “Initiates,” Nickel said. “We have decided to keep two of you here to help protect the higher ranking members from those men, if they decide to return.” He paused and looked at both of us, especially at our bandaged heads and limbs. He sighed. “Matthew, I need you to choose just two to bring with you.”

  “Two what?” I responded thickly.

  Now entering party selection…

  The people you select to go with you on this adventure will drastically alter the outcome. Who will you pick? Choose wisely; you may want to speak to them all first.

  Ryken, Samson, Atraea, Gellert

  I looked around me and spotted every member I could potentially take with me within the room. Should I bother going and speaking to them individually? I knew I’d rather not take Atraea because she was … kind of irritating. She seemed to make stuff up and show off a lot. Samson was nice but he might be a bad fighter. Ryken was a very good fighter but selfish and untrustworthy as all hell. And I didn’t have a clue who Gellert was, except that he was a player as well.

  I nodded at Nickel and then strolled over to Gellert, who was leaning over a seated Sister, who looked completely uninterested, and talking her ear off.

  “... and so I said ‘yeah, we’d better go … that’s no ogre!’” He broke off into snorting laughter and I looked up at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me. He glanced at me, looked blank for a moment, and then looked down at Moro who was sitting patiently at my feet. “Hello,” he said. Like me, Gellert was British, though his accent was Northern while mine was Southern.

  “Hey, Gellert, is it?” I asked, and took the time to inspect him quickly.

  Gellert LaStrade

  Level 4 Human

  Dawnspire Initiate

  Nothing too interesting, except that he was the same level as me, so he must have been doing a couple of extra quests as well in between looming over women. I gave him a crooked smile as he gave me his best ‘get out of here, I’m closing a deal’ eyes.

  “What’s up, friend?” he asked, subtly jerking his head away to indicate I should piss off so he could keep talking to the poor Sister. She got up, excused herself politely, and hurried away. “Ah, dammit.” He still seemed in good humour, though, so I continued.

  “Hey man, I can only bring a couple of people with me to check out these women stealing supplies. I was just hoping to chat with you since you’re the only one I haven’t met.”

  He nodded once. “Yeah, well, I’m Gary. Call me Gellert, though, will you? It’s better. Means something to do with wolves.” He jabbed his forefinger in the direction of Moro, and she stared up at him. “How’d you do that, by the way? You got access to the console or something?” He snorted and laughed at his own comment.

  “I, uh, no,” I said with a shrug. “I really don’t know what happened.” It was sort of true, but I did suspect that it had been something to do wit
h Carl’s boost. What else could have made me special? It probably was supposed to be Ryken, not me.

  “Anyway, yeah, a little about me. Uh, I was a software developer. Got in at the ground floor, got replaced by people younger and better at learning new stuff. Never mind that I had put my best twenty-five years into that damn company. The wife left me, the kids are shits. I came here. I don’t plan on going back after a week.” He tilted his chin at me, indicating that I go next. I had been more interested in learning his play style, skills and gear, but whatever. Talking was fine too.

  “I’m a twenty-four-year-old paraplegic with no girlfriend, one good friend who happens to be semi-famous, and a one-bedroom apartment I’m about to lose because no one will hire me,” I said with a sardonic smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

  We shook hands. His grip was firm.

  “What kind of a character are you playing?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m thinking a sneaky archer,” he said. “That’s always been my favourite. You?”

  I had no idea. “Well now I got this whole wolf thing going on, I don’t really know what to do. When I inspect her there’s an empty section called ‘Spells’, which is interesting.”

  Gellert nodded. “I did the beta,” he said. “That’s how magic works in this world, it’s kinda interesting.”

  I was listening. He did the beta? That made him much more useful in my books. “Go on.”

  “Spectres and Skin. The two types of magic in this world. Spectral magic, the magic that only soul manifestations can do, and skin magic — magic that only those without a spectre are capable of. It’s also called ‘dark magic’ by some.”

  I’d made up my mind, but I wasn’t entirely happy about it. Who the hell kept allowing me to make decisions, anyway? I should have just dropped out of the Collective and become a turkey farmer.

  I stomped back over to Ryken, who was standing and staring into the eye of a bulging sapphire embedded into the wall, with anger on his pale face.

  “You’re likely to be the best fighter out of them,” I said. He was the highest level and he was a non-player, which meant he understood, innately, how to move better here. “So you’re coming with me, on one condition.”

  “What?” he asked, voice low and annoyed already.

  “When we fought you took my blade from my sheath and used it on me. Was that Draw Strike or something else?”

  He looked up at me with a frown. “What’s Draw Strike?”

  “An ability I know, where you go from sheathed to stabbing in under a second.”

  Ryken looked interested for perhaps the first time, and then his eyes trailed off. “Well, the one I know is similar, but it only works on the enemy’s sheathed blade. If it’s hidden, you have the chance to locate it on their body and quickly use it on them.”

  “Right, well my condition for you coming with us on this quest — and getting loot and experience,” I reminded him, “is that you need to teach me that ability first.”

  “Do you have a level 5 in a blade skill?” he asked, sounding bored.

  “No,” I said. I had an SP but I didn’t want to sink it into my dagger (I’m not saying that stupid word; I’m just not saying it) especially when I’d need another skill point on top of that. “Do you know any lower level abilities?”

  He smirked and shook his head. “Nah, it’s been so long since I was lower than that.”

  Dick.

  “Well … you still owe me your respect. Doubly so if I let you come. If you get someone hurt or do something else crappy, there’ll be … consequences.”

  To my dismay he snorted at my threat. “Alright,” he said. “Well, tell me when we’re going. Make it soon.”

  I definitely didn’t trust the guy even slightly, but I didn’t get a ‘psycho murderer’ vibe from him, just a total dick. I got the feeling he’d punch me in the jaw for some treasure, though, so I would have to keep a serious eye on him.

  “Have you selected your party yet?” Nickel asked.

  “Actually I was thinking, if there’s no pressing need for us to leave right this second, that I would go into the town and get some armour first,” I said.

  He worked his jaw from side to side as he thought about it. Beside him, the snake hissed at my wolf, who looked up at me for support, but I acted like I hadn’t seen. “Try Roark,” he said. “A leatherworker in town. His prices are high but you have a couple of gold coins, don’t you?”

  I nodded. I had quite a lot now, actually.

  “Don’t be more than two hours,” he warned. “Or I will take the Initiates myself to take care of the problem.”

  Attention! The parameters of your current quest have changed.

  Please view it again by selecting your journal.

  I waved away the text and selected my active quest again.

  Active Quest

  Something Wicked...

  You are expected to lead two Initiates of your choice to eradicate a group of problematic dark magic users near the Dawnspire farmlands.

  If you do not leave in two hours, this quest will automatically fail.

  A clock appeared underneath it, showing ‘2:00’, which promptly clicked down to ‘1:59’ before my eyes. That shouldn’t be an issue. Armour here didn’t even need to fit properly. I would get to the leatherworker, hand over some of my gold and get the best leather he had at that price. I had the feeling that it would be the difference between life and death now that I was going out on a real adventure.

  I hurried my pace anyway; I didn’t want to cut it too fine.

  Out on the street I realised I had no idea where I was going. Nickel had given me a name, Roark, but I had no obligation to go to him over anywhere else. I began to wander towards where I knew Ronan’s blade shop was, at first under the impression that similar stores might be close to each other, but then quickly making the decision to grab a sturdier blade if I had the cash to spare. Getting both leather armour and a sword with my gold would be a bit of a stretch, though.

  On my way towards Ronan I got a little twisted around and ended up becoming quickly very, very lost. All around me were squat grey stone buildings, including a warm-looking tavern that looked appealing, but I had already wasted fifteen minutes and time wasn’t about to slow down so I could have a drink.

  I came across a couple of women chatting animatedly as they walked in the opposite direction, and awkwardly stepped into their path. “Excuse me?” I said.

  They raised their eyebrows at me in surprise, probably not used to being accosted by strangers on the street. “Yes?” one of them asked, hands on her wide hips.

  “I am looking for, uh, well a leatherworker. Like Roark,” I added weakly. Ronan could wait, since I already had a small weapon, and I had zero armour.

  They exchanged a blank look. “Roark?” they repeated, and then made a face at each other and turned back to me. “Sorry.”

  “How about a bladesmith?” I asked. If I could find Ronan I was sure he’d point me in the direction of a good leather guy.

  “Oh, Hrzog, you mean? He’s just down there,” one of the woman said, and it was sweet how happy she looked to be able to help. Where had I heard that name? Had someone recommended him to me? Either way, it was a good sign that I had heard of him before.

  “Thank you,” I said, inadvertently giving a little bow before turning to follow the direction of her point. It didn’t take me long to find the swinging sign with his name in thick white paint. ‘Hrzog’s Hammer’.

  Sounded pretty good to me. I could glance around at his wares and ask about Roark. But when I checked the clock again I realised I had lost 20 minutes.

  I entered the shop tentatively and was immediately drawn to the fantastically beautiful swords, the likes of which I had never seen, hanging from the ceiling and displayed on the walls. But then I was distracted by the next thing I saw: the man working on the anvil at the other end of the large room was roughly three times my mass. He was at least seven feet tall, his rippling shoulders as broa
d as a child’s full height, and his skin was tinged a mossy green and beaded with sweat.

  I softly cleared my throat and the beast turned around, and I tried not to react with obvious shock at the sight of his lower fangs that stuck straight up over his top lip. His nostrils were flared, and his brow appeared to be permanently furrowed into a frown, but apart from that and the greenish skin he looked perfectly humanoid. An orc? Maybe a half-orc? Or something else? It was great to find out that Ilyria contained other humanoid species, though. I wondered if elves were around as well.

  “Yes?” he grunted, his voice like chewing gravel.

  “Hello,” I said lightly, wincing at the way my voice in comparison sounded like a tiny songbird. “I’m looking for Hrzog.”

  “Hrzog,” he corrected.

  “Hrzog,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Hrzog. That’s me.”

  “Nice to meet you. I heard good things about your swords so I just wanted to look around.”

  He snorted. “What gold have you on you, boy?” he asked, and I noticed that his cadence was just a little off, as if his native tongue was different, but his accent was perfectly normal.

  I pulled out my coinpurse and proudly counted the gold pieces in front of him on the counter. “415 gold pieces,” I said with a smug grin. He snorted, and a gust of wind actually ruffled my hair.

  “That can get you the finest pommel in all of Ilyria,” he growled. My smug face fell.

  “Wait, really?” I asked. “I’m sure Ronan had some swords for this kind of money.”

  He tossed his bald head back and laughed, then fixed his black eyes back on mine. “Ronan must keep up with market trends to make ends meet. I make the best blades in Dawnspire. The best in Ilyria when Old Maldervick finally kicks it. Bastard must be three-hundred and eight by now.” I took silent note of the name.

  “Well, I’m an adventurer, and an Initiate in the Collective. Oh, and I guess like … some kind of chosen one.” I gestured to Moro, who was patiently sitting by the door and sniffing at a display sword hanging from a nail on the wall. “I can do a quest for you in exchange for—”