Survivors

by Dave Willmarth

  Thinking about how tired he’d been as he chopped wood that morning, he decided to assign his last point to stamina. When he thought ‘accept’ and the stat increases took effect, he could actually feel his muscles bulging a bit, and a rush of energy through his system. he flexed his hands in front of his face, noting that they seemed slightly larger and more muscled.

  “Hey now! That was awesome!” Next, he opened up his inventory. He had a proper weapon now. Sort of. It was a blacksmith’s hammer he’d received after completing a quest smelting ore for the blacksmith just a few minutes earlier. He had also picked up the first level of the “Smithing” skill. Looking at the hammer, he chuckled to himself, thinking back.

  Early in the day he’d been given a quest to kill rats in the inn’s cellar. He’d gone down and sought out the rats without thinking. When he actually found one and it attacked him, he realized too late he didn’t have a weapon. Unsheathing his belt knife, he’d tried slashing and poking at the rat, but it was much too agile and dodged easily. Each time he missed a swing, it would dart in and bite at his leg.

  The initial damage from the bites was bad enough, but he was also hit with a bleed debuff, and nearly died. In desperation he removed one of his shoes and bashed the rat to death with the heel. This action earned him the “Blunt Weapon” skill. After resting a bit to recover his health, he’d gone on a rat-bashing spree. Those kills had earned him his first level-up. The euphoric feeling that the game awarded upon leveling caught him by surprise, and only the fact that his health bar was automatically refilled saved him from being killed by a ratty foe.

  Now, he took the hammer from his inventory and held it in his hand. The weight felt good. Natural. He wasn’t sure if that was a dwarf thing, or simply a feeling granted by the Blunt Weapon or Smithing skills. He swung it back and forth a few times before putting it away.

  Returning to his inventory, he considered the remaining items. There were several rat tails and teeth, ten rat skins, a broken sword that had somehow been dropped by one of the rats, a small keg of ale that had been his reward from the innkeeper, and four slices of delicious blueberry pie from Maggie. He had already eaten a couple, as they each gave him a buff of +1 Stamina and +1 Strength for an hour.

  Rising from his seat at the fountain, he strolled over to the general goods merchant’s hut. Stepping inside, he was greeted by Bolgin, the merchant. Though he was a merchant, the red-headed dwarf was wearing a chainmail hauberk with thick leather greaves and gauntlets, and had a small one-handed axe hanging from his belt. Bolgin had given him a quest to deliver the same ore to Fagin the blacksmith that Griff had ended up smelting.

  “Good evening Bolgin. I have some… things here. I don’t know if you’d have any interest in them?” Griff was hesitant, since as far as he could tell it was all junk. But he could use some coin to purchase better gear.

  He set everything except for the hammer and the pies on the counter, and Bolgin inspected them briefly.

  “Ah, yes. It has been a long time since a newly-minted outworlder has brought me such trash!” His voice was gruff, but Griff thought he detected a tear forming in Bolgin’s eye.

  “Bah! Just fer old time’s sake I’ll give ye one silver fer the lot!” He slapped a single silver coin on the counter, and swept the junk items off the back edge into a box.

  “Thank you kindly, Bolgin.” Griff bowed his head slightly. “I’ll try to bring you better items tomorrow.”

  Bolgin just snorted. “I’ll see ye at the feast shortly,” he replied as he waved Griff toward the door.

  Griff took the hint and made his way to the inn. The innkeeper had given him a room earlier, at a rate of two coppers per night. And that included breakfast. Griff thought that the day’s rewards versus the costs of items were oddly skewed. He suspected it was either the game’s AI making things easier on him, or the dwarfs were just extremely glad to have an outworlder among them again. Maybe both.

  Having arrived early, he found Seamus the innkeeper bringing extra chairs up from the cellar for the promised feast.

  “Can I help?” Griff had quickly learned that offering services could earn him quick and easy quests. And really, he would have helped anyway.

  “Aye, lad. Turn them tables end to end in two long rows, if ye will.” Seamus pointed toward the dining area. “Be easier for the lasses to bring out the food that way. Expectin’ a big crowd tonight!”

  Just as he was finishing up, the villagers began to filter in. Griff was directed to a seat near the door, and each of the dwarves greeted him with a handshake or a clap on the back as they entered. There were many words of welcome, and more offers of quests.

  People moved to take seats as the innkeeper and his helpers began bringing out the enormous platters of food, setting them down on the long tables. There was venison, wolf meat, lamb, a variety of fruits and vegetables, and still-warm loaves of bread. And of course, a large number of pitchers filled with stout ale and mead.

  When everyone had food and drink in front of them, Campbell thumped his fist on the table to get their attention. He stood, mug in hand and said, “To our new outworlder, Griff!”

  There was a general cheer and everyone raised their own mugs to drink to his health. Several others stood in turn with shouts of “Outworlders!” and “Griff!” and everyone drank down at least two mugs full. Then Campbell held up his hands and said “Many of ye have heard Griff’s tale, but not all o’ ye. So let him tell it himself. Griff, if ye please?”

  Griff stood, a bit unsteady from the rapid consumption of two mugs of ale. He marveled again at the realism of the game.

  “Hello everyone. And thank ya fer the kind welcome! I am new to Elysia, today bein’ my first time traveling here from my world. And I am truly sorry I did not come sooner. This be a wondrous place!” He paused as everyone shouted and raised their mugs.

  “But I must tell you, there may not be any others. Outworlders, I mean. A great tragedy has befallen my world. A plague that killed most, and turned others into violent undead creatures. Only a very few of us on my world survived. Maybe one in ten thousand.”

  At this, a hush fell over the room. The horrible reality of what he described sinking in. There were shocked whispers of disbelief, and Griff continued. “Only a handful of us have managed to return here. Myself and two friends who helped me make the journey here. We will be searching for others, but we know of none at this time.”

  He waited for someone to ask questions, but all he saw were looks of confusion or sorrow. Not wanting to be a party killer, he added, “My friends have promised to come here to fetch me soon. They will be bringing trade goods and gold to spend as well!”

  This perked the dwarves up a bit. Gold was always welcome.

  “And I’ll be staying here a while to help you as much as I can while I get stronger,” he finished.

  Campbell raised his drink and shouted in approval, quickly followed by the others. As Griff sat down, everyone dug into the food, and the mood soon improved as bellies were filled and pitchers were emptied. The celebration lasted late into the evening, though Griff gave up early. Stumbling drunkenly up the stairs, he fell facedown onto his bed and logged out.

  *****

  Mace moved ahead of the column of slavers as they drew closer to the stronghold, taking a position behind a tree just a few feet from the meadow by the entrance and blending into the shadows. As the two leaders approached, he focused on a tree across the path. Whispering “Ventus,” he cast a concentrated blade of air at a low branch. Twigs snapped and leaves fell as the spell hit its target, and the drow and orc both turned toward the sound, weapons at the ready.

  Mace moved quickly, dashing silently up behind the drow noble. He drove his soul dagger into the drow’s back with his right hand, even as the left hand drew its blade across his throat, slicing neatly through an artery and preventing his victim from making more than a gurgling sound as he died.

  It took only a second or two for the dagger to absorb the drow’s
soul and Mace moved on to the orc, who was just beginning to turn back in his direction. Mace dropped the dead weight of the drow and plunged his enchanted dagger up under the orc’s chin. The blade drank deeply and practically sang to Mace as it fed on the soul energy of the warrior. Mace looked him in the eye as the life went out of him. “You fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

  Shouts rang out from the column, as many of them witnessed the death of their orc boss. There was a moment of inaction as they also registered the corpse of their drow leader on the ground at Mace’s feet. As they began to step forward, Mace held up a hand and shouted .

  “Hold!”

  The quick, silent death of both of their leaders, coupled with the bold action of their killer made the warriors pause. Mace took advantage of the precious seconds. “I am Mace! Of the Darkblades. You know of us?”

  Several of the warriors began to look nervous. Tightening the grip on their weapons and looking warily from side to side. Eventually one of them said, “I know of the Darkblades. Assassins. Why are you here?” The speaker was a grey dwarf, one of the tanks in the front row.

  “The stronghold is mine!” Mace growled at him. “Justin is dead, as are all his men. The Black Flame is no longer welcome here. In fact, the Black Flame is going to cease to exist shortly.”

  The dwarf laughed. “And are you going to accomplish this all on your own, assassin? There are forty of us here.”

  Mace smiled cruelly as he heard a rustling in the brush to his left. In his deepest, most badass voice, he growled, “Thirty-eight now. And I could. It is, after all, what I do. I am the darkness. The shadow at your back. The monster in your dreams. I kill at will, and there are none better.” Smiling again, he said “But today I brought friends!”

  He watched as several of the fighters took an involuntary step back. He pointed toward the dwarf, shouting, “Infier!” casting a fireball almost point-blank into the tank’s face. At the same time, ten arrows screamed out of the woods to the south and slammed into the ten fighters closest to Mace. Only those wearing plate armor had any resistance as the four-foot long and two-inch think shafts punched into them, and a few seconds later, the ten fighters at the rear of the column were struck. The victims were either killed outright or knocked off their feet from the force of the impact. And just like that, half the column was dead or incapacitated.

  A horn sounded from the stronghold and Brahm and his group came charging out. Not wanting to miss out, they rushed past Mace, blasting their way into the remaining warriors. The minotaurs led with their shields, the weight of their charge and the strength of bulls combining to knock half a dozen foes back into their comrades. The Lakeside guards moved behind them, finishing off those on the ground before they could rise.

  Mace instantly regretted not inviting them to a group. He was missing out on tons of kill xp! Quickly he rushed around behind the soldiers facing up against the minotaurs. One by one he crept up behind distracted fighters and slid his enchanted dagger into a kidney here, a throat there.

  He managed to kill five more before there were no foes left. In fact, as his last victim dropped, an arrow that was meant for that fighter struck Mace in the gut. Knocked backward by the force of the impact, he felt surprisingly little pain. He was feeling the rush of whatever it was the dagger fed him when it absorbed soul energy. It was better than adrenaline. He felt incredibly powerful.

  As he looked toward the minotaurs to see who shot him, the accidental attacker was already heading his way, health potion in hand. Mace held up a hand, waving to let the archer know he was alive and okay.

  He allowed the powerful centaur to snap off the head of the arrow that protruded out his back, then withdraw the shaft out the front. The initial damage, plus the bleed effect and the opening of the wound had taken Mace’s health down to forty percent, and he greedily gulped down the health potion. It didn’t do much to raise his health, but it did seal off the wound and stop the bleeding. The centaur helped him to his feet and he looked around to see if anyone else was hurt. He could hear in the back of his mind the dagger urging him on.

  “Kill! Feed! Heal.”

  Mace forced himself to push the dagger back up into its spring-loaded sheath as he stepped toward Brahm. The rest of the centaurs were walking out of the brush as well, and he waved a greeting as they approached.

  Facing Brahm, who was bleeding from several minor cuts, he asked, “Are you well?”

  “Yes, Mace. No serious injuries. We will heal soon enough. It was a good fight! We have finally avenged the deaths of our families!” The minotaur was breathing hard, and baring his teeth in one of the most frightening smiles Mace had ever encountered.

  Mace quickly looted the lead drow and the orc’s bodies, leaving the rest of the corpses to the others. “More weapons and armor for the settlement!” he called to the centaurs. “Courtesy of our friends of the Black Flame!”

  A cheer went up. Then he grinned as he added “Pity you all had to put so many holes in your new armor.”

  He waited for another cheer. Instead he heard a few groans and caught one of the guards rolling his eyes as he bent to loot one of the tanks. The centaur who had shot him eyed the new hole in Mace’s armor apologetically.

  The minotaurs headed back toward the stronghold to finish gathering the iron they’d come for. They were in good spirits. The trip had become more fun and profitable than they had expected.

  The centaurs, having run for the most of the day to reach the battle, elected to stay and escort the minotaurs back in the morning. A couple of them went back into the forest to hunt some game. A good meal and a night’s rest was just what they needed.

  Mace sent a message to Shari. “Slavers all dead. Centaurs arrived in time. No serious casualties. Thank you!”

  He quickly bent to check each of the bodies, as sometimes players got quest items or other loot that NPCs would not even see. As he suspected, he received a Black Flame pendant from each of the corpses, along with a purple-shaded item from the grey dwarf tank that had challenged him. When he inspected it, a quest popped up:

  Quest Item: Duergar’s Heart

  Quest Difficulty: Hard

  Return this item to a duergar clan leader. Tell them how you obtained it. Survive the encounter.

  Mace considered the item for a moment. The attached quest was certainly unusual. It didn’t list a reward. Not only that, it strongly hinted that turning in the heart would be bad for his health. And it didn’t ask him to accept or decline. Shaking his head, he dropped the heart into his bag along with the pendants. As he did so, a return message arrived from Shari.

  “Great news! We’re still at the dock. Captain Jorin isn’t interested in sailing after dark and risking another leviathan encounter. Want to join us?”

  “Yep! Going to take care of few things here, then head that way.” Mace closed his chat window and headed into the stronghold. He dissolved the icy choke points as he passed them, knowing that the minotaurs would need to be able to pull their wagon through in the morning. Rather than joining them in the chamber with the slave pens, however, he took the left fork and ventured down to where Justin and his guards had been killed. He’d been in a bit of a hurry when he visited the first time, and wanted to search for hidden chambers or compartments.

  A group like the Black Flame, full of rogues and cutthroats and run by a drow female, was sure to have more secrets than merely a suit of armor with a treasure-filled belly.

  Entering Justin’s chamber, he activated his Mage Sight ability, which allowed him to see any magical constructs or items with mana flowing through them. More mana than would occur naturally, that is. Nearly everything in Elysia contained some amount of the stuff. It was the source of magic in the world, and it permeated everything. Except those few substances which were resistant to it.

  Mace took a few moments to walk around the room, using the ability to scan for magic-based traps or illusions. He noticed several areas that glowed brighter than was normal. The helm of t
he suit of armor glowed a bright blue. And a panel on the wall behind the suit glowed with a soft red. When Mace opened the chest at the base of the bed and emptied all its remaining contents onto the floor, he found a faint red outline at the bottom. And something underneath the desk’s center drawer was pulsing with a purple hue.

  That was a no-brainer. Mace went for the purple first. Purple meant rare in Elysia. And the fact that it was pulsing made the prize irresistible. He approached the desk and pulled out the drawer. He knew this was safe, because he’d ransacked the desk before. This particular drawer was where he’d found the ledger that he still hadn’t really gone through.

  The drawer itself was nearly empty. Some blank paper, which he took for Shari. A letter opener with the Black Flame seal stamped into it. A few odds and ends, but nothing of any real interest to Mace. He removed a mirror from his bag and held it inside the drawer so that he could see the underside of the desk above. There was a blade fastened there. A small one with a blade that his Mage Sight revealed as having a green tinge to it. Poison. He carefully removed it and set it atop the desk.

  Closing the drawer, he moved the mirror underneath and cast a small light globe on the floor by his feet. Using the mirror, he found the item he sought. Fastened to the underside of the drawer was a wide, flat box with a low profile. Like something one might find in a jewelry store, for displaying a necklace. It glowed and pulsed at him.

  Putting away the mirror, Mace pushed back the chair and climbed under the desk, taking a probe from his small bag of assassin’s tools to check around the box for physical traps. Finding none, he used his nimble fingers to feel arounds its edges for a release. He searched it three times and found no mechanical method holding the box against the drawer. Risking a slight tug, he felt the box give way just slightly. Looking more closely, he saw that the box had simply been stuck to the wood using something that looked a lot like spider’s silk.

  Seeing this, he simply took a firm grasp on the box and pulled. The webbing stretched, and eventually snapped, freeing the box. Mace crawled out from under the desk, sitting back in the chair. Setting the box on the desk, he checked it once again for traps. Finding none, he quickly unlocked it with his pick and raised the lid.