The dwarfish guards unlocked his cell, and Winters was free to step out (leaving the rat to scurry back inside). He followed Augustus and Crusher back up the corridor to a metal shutter-door: it had a grill of interlaced steel that could be pulled across, like a lift. Once inside, Augustus operated some of the levers on the side of the wall, and suddenly the entire stone box they stood in swept into motion – but not up – down.
“Where are you taking me? Crusher?” Dean asked. So far, this was not the gaming experience he had been expecting at all!
“To mine and Augustus’s boss,” Crusher said, not meeting his eyes and instead taking an intense interest in his own metal-shod boots. “The Ambassador.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” Dean murmured, as their metal grill door swept past other tunnels leading away into darkness. How much of the Iron Halls is down here? Dean thought in alarm. It’s like they’ve underpinned the entirety of King’s City!
Thunk! The lift came to a halt. No more ‘down’ to go, it seemed, and Augustus rattled open the grill to reveal the same glossy black marble sheen, but this time there was an inset of a strangely glowing gold vein on both sides of the wall. It wasn’t bright, but it provided enough light to walk by.
“Go on then.” Augustus waved his hand forward, and Dean found himself walking with not a little trepidation down the corridor, heading for a patch of light at the end.
The corridor opened into a perfectly octagonal chamber, where a high throne of stone sat on a raised dais, surrounded by similarly high stone benches level with the singular occupant. Small stone steps led up the side of the throne to the seat – like the clerks’ chairs above, Dean noticed — and at the stone bench in front of the dwarf there sat various papers, pens, and strange cogged mechanical artefacts.
“Your Grace?” Augustus said a little nervously, as the dwarf looked up over her half-moon glasses.
She’s a she, Dean thought stupidly. I didn’t know dwarfs even came in the female form.
The Ambassador appeared old, but well kept, with white hair brushed back into a severe bun at the back of her wizened face and wearing a black padded jerkin. She had the aura of a schoolteacher or a prison officer, Dean thought, as Crusher, Augustus, and the guards all fell to one knee before her.
“When in Rome…” Dean mumbled under his breath, and did the same.
“Mage Winters, arise,” said the Ambassador in a cracked and clipped voice, shuffling bits of paper and stacking them carefully to one side. “You are probably wondering why you are here, and why you have been incarcerated.”
You can say that again! Dean managed to not blurt out.
The Ambassador appeared to read his thoughts on his face, however, as she narrowed her eyes and sighed. “Well. For your inconvenience and loss of time, we apologize. Still, you have committed a grave crime. One that cannot go unpunished.”
“Excuse me?” Dean said. “What have I done? Was it letting Master Grum die…?”
“Silence!” the Ambassador suddenly roared, in a surprisingly loud voice given she was such a small woman – or dwarf. “Yes – that should be reason enough to imprison you. Grum was a very respected dwarf. He was also as difficult as old boots, but he was respected!” she said sharply.
“But no … that is not why I brought you here.” She turned to her collection of strange metal and canvas contraptions, pulling at one of them until it started making a strange hissing, grinding noise. “The reason you are here, Mage Winters, is that you have managed to release the Lady Efen, one of the most dangerous elvish sorcerers of all time.”
“Oh,” Dean said.
“Listen, young mage – and listen well!” the Ambassador said, pulling a small lever on the strange contraption in her hands, as light and images swirled in the air above their heads…
*
The Saga of Efen
There are many legends of how the Three Realms came to be. Some say the gods created them for each of their chosen races – the rich minerals, rocks, crags, and cliffs of the Near Kingdom for the dwarves, the deep woods and lakes of the Outer Realms for the elves, and the strange wastes and wildernesses of the Far Realms were reserved for the gods alone.
For a brief time, the Three Realms knew a sort of peace. There would be wars between the peoples of course – the gods still liked to play with the fates of mortals, after all – but each race prospered and grew. There was more to explore than there was to hide from.
This was before the humans of Aldaron came from across the western sea – pushing every race further out. Before the Scalar and the Darklings arrived in the Far regions of the world and crowded all right-thinking peoples south.
In these beginning ages of the world, there rose to prominence a creed of Elvish religion that sought to drive the humans, the Darklings, any threat to their way of life from the world. Ruled over by fanatical priests, the elves grew ever more vicious in their judgments, starting to believe that even the dwarves, gnomes, and all other races should be driven either into slavery or from the world entirely. The elves grew cruel and evil but they could not master the other races through skill at arms alone. Instead, they sought ever deeper and darker magics, reaching for lore of the gods themselves, and seeking to remake the world anew. They discovered a set of ancient magical artifacts called the Ouroborax Crystals, hidden in the dark places of the world, and they sought to control their power.
They could not, in the end, as these ancient crystals were created with the power of the gods themselves – but there was one who came close.
The Lady of Efen had grown up as an elvish princess in the fey courts of the elves, training in the lore of the cults, and always being the first to call for more bloodshed, more war, more ferocious attacks against her perceived enemies. She was devastatingly beautiful, cunning, and she quickly mastered the magics of the elves, and rose to become the High Priestess of her peoples. Some revered her as a god, an incarnation of the Elvish Huntress.
She wielded one of the Ouroborax Crystals, setting it in place on her crown, and began a reign of terror that almost shattered the Three Realms for good. The dwarves had to give up their surface fortresses and strongholds, delving deeper and deeper into the dark earth to escape her tyranny. The humans of Aldaron were driven back to the very cliffs where they had first arrived, on the point of utter destruction.
But then the crystal turned.
The Ouroborax Crystals have always been cursed, and no mortal should hold that much power. In her great enchantment to remake the world, the Lady of Efen’s sorceries turned on her, instead ripping holes through the fabric of the creation itself, and more Darklings and unnamable horrors poured into the world.
On the eve of her triumph, the Lady of Efen was faced with a chaos horde the like of which the world has never seen, and it was only with the might of all the peoples of the world that it was stemmed.
That act of magic cost the Lady of Efen dearly, and it allowed the great human hero Aldar to defeat her in combat. The dwarves were called to construct for her a tomb that would never be breached, and thus the evil of Efen was removed from the world. Of her Ouroborax Crystal, the legends do not say where it fell, but the legacy of Efen’s evil lives on. The Three Realms have splintered, and every generation more and more terrible monsters pour into the gods’ creation from the Far Realm.
The world and its peoples will now never know peace…
*
“Heavy,” Crusher muttered beside Dean, who was starting to feel faintly sick.
What have I done? Dean thought, remembering the elf maiden’s glowing eyes, her glowing skin, the way she had so casually licked some of Grum’s blood from her fingers. “But what was she doing in Jodo Canyons?” he said, astonished and outraged. “That’s not even very far away from King’s City…”
“Who are you to question the ancient ways of the Duma!?” the Ambassador said shrilly, turning the contraption off, abruptly returning her hall to darknes
s. “Many centuries ago, when this evil happened, Jodo was a notorious place where few would ever dare tread, and the dwarfish builders of Efen’s tomb never revealed its location. We all thought it lost, thankfully…” The Ambassador sighed. “But sadly, it was not to be. You have released what is probably the worst terror upon this world ever since the Darklings arrived.”
Dean looked from the glowering face of the gnomish Augustus back to the Ambassador. “Uh … I’m sorry?” he tried.
“You will be, when the Lady of Efen makes herself known to the rest of the world. Luckily for us, the humans of the Near Kingdom have forgotten their history, but the Judgment of the Elves will remember. If we are fortunate they will attempt to bind her and restore her to her sleep.”
“And if we are not fortunate?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.
“Then they will follow her, as a living goddess,” the Ambassador said, “again.”
“What do you want me to do?” Dean said, a little frantic. “There must be something, some spell…?”
“The Duma is extending all of its efforts to locate the Lady of Efen, and our best viziers are scouring the records for a way to harm her. You, Winters, will help when we call you. Until then, I am tasking you with doing everything you can do to get aid to us…”
“Actually…” A memory tugged at Dean’s mind. The Ouroborax. “Master Grum told me about the crystals, before he died.”
“Did he? What did he say?” The Ambassador pushed her spectacles further up her nose and leaned forward, intensely interested.
“Just that they were bad news, and that any smith had to be careful…” Dean shrugged. “Nothing more than that, I promise you.”
“Hmph. Well, it could be a coincidence, but a dwarf doesn’t like coincidences … they’re too suspicious,” the Ambassador said. “I want you, Mage Winters, to return to Grum’s abode and find whatever Grum might have known about these Ouroborax Crystals. In fact – any crystal lore he has will be of use to the Duma. Do you accept?”
New Story! The Ouroborax Crystals
Accept? Y/N
Y.
“I accept,” Dean said. “Anything I can do…”
“Good. Then, I am also appointing the warrior Skullcrusher to your side. When we call on you to act, both of you must be ready. Understood?” the Ambassador said.
“Yes, Ambassador,” Crusher said modestly.
“Understood,” Dean nodded, feeling dazed at all the events.
“Then you are both dismissed. And please, Mage Winters, try not to raise any undead sleeping goddesses until I say so, won’t you?” the Ambassador quipped, turning back to her papers with a snort.
“No, of course not…” Dean was muttering as the metal-clad guards jostled and escorted them out of the chamber and back towards the lift, leaving the ambassadorial gnome in the chamber behind them.
“Dear gods! What have I done!” Dean managed to whisper at Crusher. “I had no idea she was a sleeping goddess! You would have thought there would be a sign or something…”
“That’s not all that’s strange about this story, Winters,” Crusher hissed at his side, as one of their guards rattled the cage-like door and they started shooting upwards towards the surface (past the levels of jail cells, Dean saw thankfully).
“What’s that?” Dean asked as the lift started to slow, passing corridors that, although still made of the same black stone, were now lit with bright torches.
“Stopping an ancient goddess? Saving the Three Realms from an ancient evil?” Crusher pulled at his beard. “Don’t get me wrong – this is just the sort of stuff I want to be doing, but…” Crusher looked confused as they slowed to a halt at the ground level of the Iron Halls, and the guards nodded for them to get out. Dean could see the bright light of the outside, and it was clear they were now free to go.
“Thanks for the ride…” Dean muttered, earning what he thought was a contemptuous grunt from one of the guards, before the lift rattled downward once again. Winters and Crusher made their way through the press of bickering dwarves, out into the bright sunshine of a King’s City day.
“The problem is, Winters, this sounds like a high-level story. A really high-level story, if you ask me…” Crusher grumbled as they started to make their way through the city, back to Storm Pier.
“So?” Dean didn’t follow.
“Well – you’re a noob, aren’t you?” Crusher pointed out. “No offense.”
Dean shrugged. He felt like a noob. “Yeah, I guess you could say that about me.”
“The thing is, Winters, a lot of these higher-level stories only get activated by higher-level characters. It’s designed so that players don’t death spiral all the time.”
“Death spiral?” Dean frowned, unfamiliar with the term.
“Yeah, you know – you go out to do some creature bashing, grind some experience, but you pick on the wrong creature and it trounces you. You don’t get to level up, you go out again, it happens again, you die, you start a new character, it happens again, you give up, you decide to go and play Twinkie Crush or something…” Crusher shrugged. “Some stories are really epic, featuring monsters and ogres and demi-gods and liches and what have you – but you can only see them if you’re at a certain level. And you, Winters…?” The dwarf shook his head.
“Well – maybe this isn’t such a big quest…?” Winters said, trying to calm his own fears. Even he didn’t believe it. The elvish woman who was basically responsible for why the world was so messed up. Does that sound like a noob story?
Crusher just looked at him.
“I don’t know, I was with Grum when I activated it. He was, like, a Level Twenty-Eight or something,” Dean said.
“But he’s an NPC,” Crusher said. “A Non-Player Character. Controlled by the computer. It doesn’t matter what he trips over, it still shouldn’t have opened this epic-level quest…” Crusher frowned. “There must have been a glitch in the game, maybe. Something thought Grum was a Player Character for a microsecond, or that you were a higher level than you are. What do you want to do about it?”
They passed through the main avenues and out into the dock district as they discussed the situation.
“Do I have to do anything about it?”
“Well, you’re probably going to die, if that makes any difference to ya,” Crusher laughed. “Me? I’ll be just fine!”
“Great. Cheers.” Dean groaned, turning to the last street of Storm Pier. “What do you suggest I do? Contact the Customer Service Desk for Aldaron or something?”
“Or you could brave it out,” Crusher said fiercely. “I mean, it’s like life, isn’t it? You get thrown challenges far out of your league, but you find a way through.”
Don’t I know it! Dean thought of his ruined knee, his hand, his homelessness. A feeling of savage pride welled up in him as he saw Grum’s workshop. All of this is mine now, he thought. The things he would learn! His achievement – even if it wasn’t technically his, still gave him an air of confidence.
Those thugs didn’t kill me in the real world. I’m not going to be scared off in the virtual one!
“Ha. You know what? Bring it on,” Dean said, wondering whether he could be this brave in real life as well. “I’ll just have to be careful, that’s all…”
“You and me both,” Crusher agreed. “You know what we’re going to have to do? Get you levelled up as quickly as possible. I know a couple of good training areas where even a human mage like you should be able to get some experience…”
“Gee, thanks,” Dean laughed as they walked up to Grum’s workshop.
“Say, is this it?” Crusher whistled. “Your new pad – it’s radical.”
The mage smirked, finding it pretty odd to hear the word ‘radical’ coming from the burly warrior dwarf beside him.
“Mrowl!” A shout from the corner of the courtyard work area.
“That’s Hephestus, don’t mind him – he comes with the place,” Dea
n said. He hadn’t really had a chance to look around here yet, either, but he could see Alphonse the mule was in his small fenced in paddock in the corner, nibbling at the vines that overhung the space, and the sacks of dragon iron were stacked in the storehouse, along with rows upon rows of tools and implements. In front of that stood the three large furnaces, all stone cold, but promising.
Dean had an idea.
“You know what, Crusher? I think I know a way to level up pretty fast – and it doesn’t mean doing anything I’m not already really good at…”
Chapter 15: The Winter Stall
Task Failed! Dragon iron won’t melt!
“Damn,” the mage Winters said, standing at the furnace as he moved the ingots of ore he had quarried from Jodo Canyon into the first of Grum’s furnaces. They remained stubbornly black and shiny, and rock-like, not the glowing red of molten metal.
“Okay…” Winters tried throwing more of the coal into the furnace, but still the ingots wouldn’t melt.
He had started as soon as Crusher had told him he needed to log off for a bit and sort out dinner, back in the real world. Dinner? Dean thought with a shrug. He would find a tray at his bedside table when he was finished, he was sure – and he wouldn’t be missing much either way. One of the benefits of being incarcerated in hospital was the fact he could log in any time of the day or night – and he didn’t have a job he had to see to.
Crusher had poked around the workshop for a bit, trying out the different furnaces and tools, before giving him the name of a few training areas he used. Felder’s Swamp was a beginners’ level area where most of the enemies encountered would be goblins or sprites; easy ways to gain experience.
“Either that or the Challenge Circus, that’s held all the time, right here in the city,” Crusher had said. “It can match you to opponents of your own level, and they have healers there too. But it’s harder,” the dwarf had advised him. “And you’re going to need to level up soon, Winters. Because if this story we’re on really is Hero-level, then all hell is going to break loose, really quickly!”
Tales of the Gemsmith Page 12
