by N H Paxton
I set to work splitting bolts. It only took me a few minutes to split a stack of twenty of them. Granted, a few were split very poorly, and I would likely have to buy new ones. But I now had a collection of materials ready for me to work with.
“You know, it would probably be easier if you just asked somebody else to make them.” A voice floated from the distance, female, familiar. It sent a chill up my spine, even in the hot workshop.
“Who is there!?” I grabbed Gamma from the workstation and spun toward the door. In the contrasting light from the moon and the glowing embers from the forge, I saw her. She stood there, her body broken, her neck at an odd angle. Ina, the one I had buried here in Eldgard.
“It’s me, Vlad.” Her frame stuttered as she trudged toward me.
I stood there, frozen, unable to move. My brain screamed for me to shoot or run or tackle her or something, anything aside from just stand here.
“You are dead. Vlad buried you.” Tears burned hot in the corners of my eyes as I went through the memories of the burial, the time I had spent working on it, the number of times I’d had to stop to rest.
“We are all dead, dearest.” She had reached the place where I stood. Without warning, I felt cold and broken.
Everything faded around us; the only sight was the starry night sky. She placed a hand on my shoulder then shook me violently.
“Wake up, Vlad.” Her voice was changing, distorted, suddenly very male.
She continued to shake me, her hands changing to steel gauntlets with hinged finger joints.
I snapped awake and found Eberand standing over me at my workstation. He looked concerned, but a relieved look washed over him as I blinked the exhaustion from my eyes.
“He’s good.” Garret was standing next to him, as was Reif, the head of the Enchanters.
“Ye were goin’ on aboot somethin’ havin’ ta do with an Ina. And yer face was all blue and pale when I found ye this mornin’.”
I shook my head. I must have fallen asleep while working on the bolt project, and then I had that dream about Ina.
“Is no problem.” I sat up and coughed a bit.
My joints refused to work properly and everything hurt. I leaned forward and suffered from a sudden coughing fit. It took me a few moments to catch my breath, but at the end, I spat out a chunk of congealed blood. It landed on the workshop floor with a splick.
“That’s...” Garret took a short step back. His boot nearly caught the splatter from my discharge.
“Yeah, that’s not normal, dude.” Eberand put a hand on my shoulder, reassuring but firm. He gave me a gentle smile, but there was still some concern present.
“Vlad is fine, only had bad cough. It happens.” I rolled my eyes as I stood up and turned back to my workstation. I wasn’t going to tell them it definitely wasn’t normal.
With a small amount of shock, I noticed a series of bolts sitting in piles, all sealed. The heads had been threaded with small venules, allowing for poison and liquid to be administered upon puncture.
I picked a bolt up from one of the piles and gave it a gentle shake. I could hear liquid rolling around inside. The kind of liquid was up for debate, since I didn’t remember putting it into the bolt, but they were done. I inspected the bolt I had picked up, not sure what to expect.
<<<>>>
Micro Bolt of Concussive Poison
This bolt contains a poison that imitates the Concussed debuff when introduced to a target.
<<<>>>
So, I could understand the contents and composition of the bolts if I inspected them. That was good news. I scooped them all up and placed them, carefully, into my inventory.
“Those are cool. Did you make them?” Garret was uncomfortably close to my face, staring at the bolts I was shuffling into my pack.
“Eh, yes and no. Fell asleep while making, woke up and were finished.” I leaned away from his face, which followed me. No concept of personal space.
“What kind are they? What are they for?” Garret’s questions came rapid-fire. I hadn’t expected him to be so interested in the situation.
“Bolts are hollow, carry poison or explosives or whatever Vlad feels.” I tilted my head as I placed the last bolt into my pack.
I hesitated for a moment, then decided to load one into my crossbow gauntlet, which I had stowed before working on the bolts. I took a moment to look at the weapon I had created, since I hadn’t had a chance to do so before.
<<<>>>
Hidden One-Shot Crossbow
Weapon Type: Engineered; Crossbow
Class: Rare, Worn
Base Damage: 5
Primary Effects:
Unable to be detected by normal means. Can be detected by Truesight, Keen Sight, and Detect Traps.
Chance to inflict poison increased by 100% on bolts fired from this weapon, unless target is otherwise resistant, immune, or the bolt is not poisoned.
Secondary Effects:
Hair Trigger: Fires immediately at the targeted entity.
Single-Shot: Holds only a single bolt, must be reloaded after use.
Augmented Bolts: Can fire bolts that are not standardized.
From hollow points to hollow dreams, from hollow dreams to hollow hearts.
<<<>>>
The base damage on the weapon was an abject atrocity, but I wasn’t planning on using it for actual combat. It was kind of a last-ditch item.
“Ah, that’s a real treat.” I caught Reif admiring the crossbow gauntlet I was also looking at.
“Was not easy to make. Took time, effort, many failed attempts. Broke many crossbow limbs.” I raised an eyebrow at him and, with some mild trepidation, handed it to him for inspection.
“Well nah, this ’ere is a real fine piece o’ work, Vlady. The things yer mind is capable of, ahm always impressed.” He handed the fingerless glove turned killing device back to me before tilting his head one way, then the other.
He gave us all a smile, then turned tightly and walked away.
“Hopefully will not need to use.” I rubbed my chin as I slung Gamma over my shoulder, then looked at Eberand and Garret.
“Where is rest of Ebenguard?” I looked behind Eberand, then toward the door of the workshop. The two of them were the only ones in the room aside from the bustling crafters.
“Anya’s up on the wall at Rowanheath, taking her turn there. Zeno is off on a class quest, getting his specialty I think he said.” Eberand looked at Garret, which caused Garret to sigh.
“Ken says, ‘I’ve got a hottie who needs my body, but if there is the promise of scars, I’m in.’ So, I presume he’ll be along shortly.” Garret ran his hand over his face in exasperation.
“Should get going. Daylight will not be all day,” I said.
“It’s actually ‘Daylight will not last forever.’” Eberand gave me a nudge in the shoulder with a gauntleted fist.
“Oh, is same, no?”
Ass in Swamp
“TOOK YOUR SWEET TIME, man.” Garret jokingly punched Ken in the stomach as he approached, his leathers and daggers ready for battle.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Chicks, right?” Ken tossed Garret a leather pouch, which he caught deftly.
I watched it disappear into the folds of Garret’s armor. I was curious, but it didn’t seem important at the time.
“Yes, well.” Garret looked away after the comment. He balled his fists, then released them.
Eberand narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the east.
“You two ready to roll out, or do we need to go back and waste some more time?” Eberand asked.
“No, no, we’re good,” Garret responded with a flash of red across his face. It quickly faded.
“Great, so, Lord Vlad, if you would please?” Eberand lifted a hand toward me, and I pulled out a paper copy of the map of the area.
“Will travel eastwards, reaching Rai Nam before 3 PM, hopefully. Will be encounters, many monsters, things unexpected.” I closed
my eyes hard as I spoke, not looking forward to dying.
There were things out in the swamps that no man or beast should ever come across. I was concerned that we would.
“What’s at Rai Nam?” Ken poked a finger at my map, a bit too hard, punching a hole in it.
He recoiled. I glared at him hard, hoping he had taken the point.
“Now there’s a finger hole in Rai Nam, so, you know. That’s cool.” Garret had a half smile on his face as he crossed his arms behind his head.
“Ken, dude, we’re not even out of Yunnam yet and you’re already breaking things.” Eberand put his forefinger and thumb on his forehead, rubbing the space between his fingers. I knew that motion all too well: headache.
“Okay, is not problem. Look, arrive at Rai Nam, then go south.” I traced a line on the map with a pencil I pulled from behind my ear, then drew a circle on the southern tip of the swamps.
The peninsula there held the most likely location of The Dearth, at least according to rumor and lore.
“And then?” Ken’s voice was distant, like he didn’t care.
“Hopefully will find Dearth there. Then, dungeon dive, retrieve item, is easy.” I rolled up the map and stowed it in my inventory.
Then I punched my fist into my palm, hearing the pleasant smack it made. Finality.
“Right, let’s roll. Ken, you’re on point, let us know what’s coming. Garret, you’re with Lord Vlad. I’ll take the rearguard. We march now, quickly and effectively.” Eberand flicked his hands in various directions, presumably repeating what he had said, but in hand signals.
With that statement, we were off. Fate, the fickle bitch, would show us our way. Or she would show us our end. With either of those outcomes, I was prepared to deal with the consequences. I had died before, a few times. It wasn’t pleasant, but not permanent.
It took some fear out of life, giving those of us who were in Viridian Gate Online, the Travelers, a reason to adventure. It took away the ending of it all, knowing that we could try again; we didn’t have to while away our lives in houses with real jobs.
We journeyed to the east, as I had intended, for an hour or two before reaching a place where the ocean and the swamp met. It was on the map, clearly marked, but I didn’t expect it to be so beautiful and strange at the same time.
Ken had rushed back to us to explain his discovery, and none of us had believed him.
“Is beautiful, like first time one sees ocean north of Siberia,” I whispered in awe.
We stood in a place where the stagnation of the swamp butted full against the bounty and life of the sea. The crystal blue of Eldgard’s South Sea ran endlessly before me, a reminder that there is always more to see, that life doesn’t have to end just because the world did.
The humid stickiness of the swamps and marshes surrounding us this entire time had faded, replaced with the coolness of a sea breeze. Mild waves lapped against a place that reminded me of the extinct marshes that were gone years ago. Mangroves, I believe.
They existed in a strange type of water, which I believe was called brackish, where salt meets fresh water. I was looking at something I had only seen pictures of in archives on the internet. A living legend, rebuilt in Eldgard—absolutely unbelievable.
I stared out at the water for a moment, forgetting that we were in a swamp at all. The salt that was in the air reminded me of a trip to Khalaktyrsky Beach, in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. The soft sound of water pressing against the earth took my mind away from the craziness that was going on: the pressing matter of the quest that I desperately needed to attend to.
“This place is so chill, my dude—ow!” Ken smacked himself in the face, showing a small blood spot when he pulled his hand away.
Mosquitos were everywhere. Little bloodsucking parasitic flying demons. You would think that the devs of V.G.O. would have known better than to put mosquitos into the game, but evidently, they were too powerful of a pollinator to not exist.
“Damn, that dude was huge! Did you guys see the size of that joker?” Ken rubbed his hand on his cuisses, but stopped moving, a look of confusion on his face.
“What is problem?” I looked over to where Ken was staring. A man, bald and tall, his features Imperial, was standing in the tree line. He was just watching us, unmoving, unspeaking.
“Who the hell is that?” Eberand moved in front of me faster than I could have expected a man in full plate armor to move.
I had to peek over his shoulder to see that the Imperial man was standing stock still. A laugh erupted from the stranger as he doubled over, gasping for breath between his raucous bellows.
“Oh, oh, forgive me.” His voice was soft, but there was something of authority to it. “So sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. You all, you’re journeying for something of great importance, right?” His gaze landed on each of us in turn.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” Garret’s voice had an air of suspicion to it, and Ken’s blades were in his hands.
“Nobody in their right minds would be out this far from a city for no reason.” The Imperial leaned heavily against a gnarled wooden staff as he spoke.
His body appeared aged and weak, but something in the curves of his arms told me he was a force to be reckoned with.
“We’re out on a quest, looking for a place called The Dearth. You know anything about that, old man?” Ken was never one to mince words, but he seemed directly offended by the mere presence of this person.
“Oh, the mighty Soul Keeper is looking for The Dearth? Yes, yes, I might have heard of the place.” The man sat down in the muck, not seeming to care too much about the disgusting conditions of the place.
His clothing seemed rather nice, but I doubted it would be as nice now.
“Come closer, please. My voice is not what it used to be,” he said.
We all approached, carefully. Ken was the first to arrive. He sheathed his daggers and leaned against a nearby tree. Eberand, Garret, and I all stood close, but outside of the reach of this man’s cane. One thing I had learned about the elderly while living in Russia as a child, the cane was as much a weapon as it was a crutch.
“Firstly, you should know my name. I am Horace, and I’m somewhat of a traveling loreman. I know lots of stories and lots of information.” He groaned as he shifted, leaning his back against the trunk of a swamp palm.
“Horace? That’s a strange name.” Garret looked down at the man. Horace looked back at him. His eyes were a pale white, but he seemed to see anyhow.
“There are stories of me, I’m sure. I don’t like them. They all paint me as a fountain of all knowledge. I assure you, I am far from that. You’ve heard of me, I imagine.” Horace shook his head, as though the thought was irritating.
“No, you are unfamiliar,” I responded. I didn’t know many people in V.G.O., and I had never heard of a Horace.
“Oh, good. I thought you all were going to ask me a bunch of irritating questions about whether you would be wealthy in the future or your love sign or who you were supposed to be soul mates with here.” He waved a dismissive hand as he spoke, the air shimmering as his hand moved through it. I found that to be a bit odd.
“People ask you this shit?” Ken looked considerably more comfortable now, his arms folded and resting on his chest.
“You would be surprised at the things people ask of me. Now, back to the question at hand. The Dearth...” He trailed off as he looked at Eberand, whose fingers were tapping restlessly on his own arm.
“You have a question?” Horace smiled at Eberand as he asked the question.
“Ah, no. I was just wondering how you know we’re here, when you’re blind.” Eberand’s brow furrowed as he said this.
I nodded. He’d asked the question I was thinking as well.
“I can feel Aether, Mana, Magic, Flow, Spirit. Whatever you want to call it, I can feel it, as plain as you can see. It’s sort of like seeing, but more like knowing.” He raised his hands in the air and made a circular motion with them, cupping them at the
bottom of the circle.
That was a very interesting thing. So, even if one was completely physically blind in Eldgard, you could still potentially see, in a way, if you could feel Aether.
“You asked about The Dearth. I can tell you, but then I need to go. There are other places for me to be, you know.” Horace stood up slowly, brushing the muck off of his robe. “Thanks, old friend. It has been a while.” He tapped his staff against the tree trunk he’d been lying against as he spoke.
“It is a place”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“that was sealed for a reason. And it wasn’t sealed by normal means, no, not at all.” Horace whirled around and poked his stick in the air, directly to the southeast, the direction we were heading.
“It holds the souls of the broken, the things which should not be. It is a storage facility for just those kinds of, well, monsters.”
Garret sighed, but Horace turned directly to him and clocked him in the shin with his cane.
“You doubt? Just wait. When you’re eaten alive by things that shouldn’t, by any rights, still exist, then you’ll thank old Horace for the knowledge.”
“But Horace, sir.” Eberand’s formality was a pleasant thing to hear. I didn’t want Garret and Ken bringing down the wrath of this old man on our party.
“Ah, the wise one. Yes?”
“Garret said that The Dearth holds the undead and redead alike. That it was sealed to keep a corrupted messenger, a Dark Emissary, held in place. That it was once a temple dedicated to ‘that which cannot fail,’ which we don’t understand. Is this all true?” The usual certain expression that Eberand wore was gone, replaced with a look of inquiry.
Horace looked at the sky, his pale white eyes catching the glare from the sun. He lowered his head and sighed.
