“Maybe it’s instanced like in standard MMOs, like it’s a pocket universe just for us," Slynx said, steadying Varba as she struggled to remove a stuck foot from the sludge. “Hen’Darl did say that’s what a dungeon heart allows: the ability to store and transfer a dungeon. Although it’s not much of a ‘dungeon’ if it’s outdoors, is it?”
Mac, ever ready to go, made up her mind. “Katz has the right idea. Whatever it is, we need to get out of this water. Let’s go.”
As one, we trudged forward, eager to find dry land. Varba offered light, but Mac decided it would be more of a liability than an aid. We proceeded by moonlight, making our way past mossy trees with gnarled roots pushing down into the morass.
“Has anyone put thought into how we get back?” I asked. “The entrance disappeared as soon as we stepped in.”
“We’re not really in a swamp,” Mac responded, “so I bet we’ll just have to get through it. I only wish we knew which way to go.”
As if on cue, I felt something clamp onto my leg and drag it sharply backward, sending me face-first into the water and causing me to lose my grip on my staff. My hand was seized immediately upon entering the murk and was wrenched the opposite direction. Without the strength to recover my limbs, there was no way for me to regain the surface, and I was forced under. I squirmed violently to free my extremities, to no avail. Whatever had me, had me good, and was obviously more at home in the water than I was.
Frantically, I began kicking at the creature attached to my leg—a largely ineffectual move in the water. I used my other hand to grope for my staff, but it was nowhere to be found. My only recourse was the dagger at my belt, which I struggled to unsheathe and bring to bear on whatever had dragged me under.
The water around me boiled, filled with a flurry of depth charges I could hear and feel but not see. The moonlight was too weak to penetrate the surface of the water, but whatever was punching down into the water wasn’t. Finally, the stabbing blows struck pay dirt, hitting me squarely in the ribs and forcing the last of the air from my lungs.
Now I struggled in true panic, fighting for the breath of life I knew couldn’t be more than a foot above me. My foot scraped violently down the trapped leg, driving hard against the invisible grip and ignoring the pain. Blows continued to rain around me, but I realized I had stopped being pulled across the floor of the swamp and was instead being stretched, arm and leg joints screaming as the limbs were pulled in opposite directions.
Then, my arm was free and flailing while iron bands wrapped their way around my torso and heaved me to the surface, just in time to see Slynx swing his axe in a vicious downstroke at my shin.
The anticipation of dismemberment gave me a strength that even drowning hadn’t, and I jerked my leg back with such force that Me’Almah staggered to one knee, nearly dropping me back into the water. It was enough to save my leg though. Slynx’s axe sliced into the water and was followed by an immediate bloom of darkness across the surface.
“Circle up! Slynx, get Varba on your back. Link arms and hold on tight! I don’t want anyone else going under.” Mac was in full raid-leader mode, and the team complied automatically, Me’Almah hauling me to my feet even as I sputtered for air. Varba looked similarly disheveled, but managed to cast while perched on Slynx’s back. She had been dragged under as well, and had the tooth marks on her leg to prove it. Two lines of punctures marched across the underside of my forearm, spaced about a foot apart. My leg had fared worse. Whatever had bitten me hadn’t wanted to let go.
The damage really hadn’t been too bad though. My health hadn’t dipped more than a third, and Varba’s Slow Heal was already doing its job. As long as we could keep from being dragged under, we didn’t need to worry too much.
You have slain a Salamandrake — Level 5 for 3 (base 25) Experience Points!
You have slain a Salamandrake — Level 5 for 3 (base 25) Experience Points!
You have slain a Salamandrake — Level 4 for 0 (base 25) Experience Points!
“Zero XP?” I groaned. “I went through all that for zero XP?”
“They caught us off guard,” Mac reasoned. “Once we knew where they were, we creamed ‘em.”
“I was hoping to hit Level 10 today,” Slynx grumbled.
“And I was hoping to keep my foot attached today!” I shot back, receiving no more than a wide grin in response. He admired his axe lovingly.
After we recovered my staff, the party continued, arms linked. Whenever one of the Salamandrakes attacked, anyone with free limbs simply pummeled them down. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes before we made ground, after defeating a host of wormlike eels that stretched up to 15 feet long and darted from burrows in the soggy peat to snap at us. We didn’t kill many, but they left us alone after it became clear we weren’t good eatin’.
XP continued to trickle in—in a most uninspiring fashion.
“Bo-ring,” Katz drawled from his roost atop our tank.
And it was. The entire dungeon took us under an hour to run, Salamandrakes, eels, and giant mosquitoes included. The final boss was a Level 6 Arbalestoise, which moved faster than we expected of a turtle and shot spears of modified carapace. I wanted one of my very own, but fighting it only netted me 13 XP.
“When are we gonna get some loot from these things?” Katz complained, kicking the immobile shell in disgust. “Two dungeons, and all we have to show for it is that shitshow of an item!” I couldn’t help but agree. Most games allowed you to loot a corpse for randomly-spawned items selected from a drop list, but we hadn’t seen anything similar here. The only way we’d acquired items had been by making them or having them given to us.
Once the boss had been defeated, we’d been given the option of ending the dungeon, which caused the moonlit swamp to dissolve around us and returned us to the uninspiring entrance hole. On seeing us, the guard immediately activated his bracelet, rendering us as weak as kittens.
We trudged back toward the entrance, always near enough to a control bracelet to avoid the curse’s paralysis. None of the guards gave us more than a glance. They were sure of our impotence, and indeed I saw no reason why they shouldn’t be.
The stream of players headed to the gate grew as we walked, and not all of them looked to have fared as well as we had. Broken bones were evident, as were other injuries, and some groups appeared to be down members. Varba ministered to wounds here and there as we walked, unable to watch others suffer. Few of the players seemed interested in the people around them, but I scanned each group intently, looking for that familiar face.
We stuck out a bit in that crowd. Only a few individuals were over Level 5, and the others didn’t seem to be in a particular rush to change that. I guessed that while we saw that our time there as limited, they had no reason to be pushing themselves, aside from avoiding Garinold’s attention. We definitely saw the difference once we broke out of the side canyon into the main gathering area in front of the gate.
It was almost comical the way the groups had stratified, with players arranged by level and by corresponding attitude. The low-level players with us filtered away toward the back of the area, while the others arranged themselves in ascending order by level toward the gate. Those in the back were subdued and dejected, and those in the front were animatedly discussing the dungeons they’d run and peacocking new levels gained.
I received a shock as I recognized a face in the group closest to the gate. Not my father, but everyone’s favorite murderfriend, the player who had attacked Mac and I when we’d first spawned. I pointed him out to Mac, and she growled, murder in her own eyes. He was Level 12 though, as was his entire group. Even with his main stats reduced to 10, he’d still have higher attributes than us. We made a note of his name though. Bloodrain. Mac just snorted on seeing it.
“Basic,” she muttered.
The ranks of the highest-level players were sparse, and it didn’t take long to see that my dad wasn’t among them. I’d seen him make his way to turn in the mayor’s quest though.
He had to be there. I scoured the crowd, and the others assisted based on the best description I could manage. Middle-aged human males weren’t highly represented, so there weren’t too many false-positives. Most people wanted to be something exotic—or at least young.
He wasn’t there. Not yet, at least. Group after group fed out of the side canyons and into the crowd with no hits. The others found a spot to sit as the afternoon wore on, leaning against the canyon wall and promptly falling asleep.
The gate area was crowded and chaotic by the time I spotted him, and relief and anxiety both flooded into me. He was not going to be pleased. Still, I was there for him, and after two weeks spent in The Boundless, I was in my element. I had friends, I had my allies, and the visit from Kalvah had helped to steady me.
I called to him through the din, but was drowned out by conversations from other players. He spotted me before I reached him and pushed toward me through the horde, anger already starting to cloud his face. I instinctively checked his level. 8. He was middle-of-the-pack, not doing too poorly considering he had refused to ever even pick up a controller with me. I readied myself to face his anger.
“Nathan, do you even understand what I’ve gone through to find you?” he bellowed, face already red. “Your mother is at home taking care of the entire family, while you’re off playing a video game!” He spat the last words with more vitriol than I had ever seen from him. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Vaguely I realized that my father had sworn, a matter that loomed large for how trivial it was. I struggled to remain calm in the face of his anger. If I blew up in response it would only draw attention to us. I needed to get him calmed down so I could get to the business of rescuing him.
“Dad—”
“No! I don’t want to hear it! We are leaving this godforsaken game right now.” He leaned in close, as if worried about being overheard, but lost none of his intensity. “Do you know what they do in this game? They’ve created false gods to worship! Drugs! Prostitution! They even allow players to fornicate with each other! This place is evil. We have to—”
“Dad!” I cut him off, whispering fiercely. “I can get us out! Out of Impresium! I’m here to rescue you!”
“Rescue me? This isn’t a game, Nathan. We are leaving! My two weeks is up tomorrow. Just contact Technical Support and tell them you’re quitting. We’ll go home, and then we’ll discuss consequences," he commanded darkly.
“Two weeks?” I repeated, confused.
“They gave me two weeks to find you and bring you home, likely thinking that I would succumb to temptation," he confirmed. “I couldn’t abandon our family completely to chase after you. Enough that I had this surgery.”
“But Dad,” I pled, hoping for him to understand. “I’m not going back. I have friends here. I have—”
“That’s enough, Nathan,” he cut in. “You’re coming home and that’s final. Not up for discussion.”
The prior two weeks had included towering orcs, life-or-death battles, and torture. From that perspective, standing up to my dad barely registered anymore. “I’m not going, Dad. I came here to get you out, but I’m not leaving the game with you. Tell Mom that I love her, and that I’m sorry, but I’m not coming home.”
“Nathan,” his voice took a warning edge, “you will sign out of this game right now or—”
“Or what, Dad?” I asked quietly. “Or what?”
His face reddened again as he realized there was not a single thing he could threaten me with.
“Or you’re not my son anymore!”
It hurt more than I expected, but with the tear came a new freedom. Though I knew it was petty, I couldn’t help myself.
“Fine, Dad. You wouldn’t want a gay son anyway.”
Then I turned and walked away.
Chapter 33
“Seriously?” Katz screeched. “All this for nothing? Zen, once we get out of this, you and my daggers are going to have a serious talk. Fuck me!” He kicked the dirt in disgust.
“There was no way to know," Mac said, wearily. “But holy shit, Zen—you’re bad luck.”
Varba sighed resignedly. “As long as we’re out of here tomorrow…”
A bell clanged loudly, and Talda’s voice spoke loud and clear over the mob. “Form lines according to level! Highest-level troops will be first to eat!”
As the Level 9s filed through the gate, Talda spotted us and called us over to her.
“Fifty-three minutes," she observed. “And no casualties. Not bad. We’ll bump you up to a Level 7 dungeon for tomorrow. Report to The Caves of Ulava after morning training. Keep up the good work.”
Shooing the others off to dinner, she told me to wait at the gate for Garinold to return. I saw my dad walk by with the 8s, but he didn’t turn to look at me. I wondered whether it was the last time I’d see him. Still deep in my anger, I wasn’t sure I cared.
A rough boot woke me from the nap I’d slipped into.
“Let’s go,” Garinold commanded. “Time to take care of that heart.”
“Let me see it first,” Hen’Darl demanded, coming up close on his heels. “If he’s dropped it we need to know now.”
Shoving a hand into what I’d once used as a coinpurse, I pulled out the engraved stone.
Hen’Darl’s hand shot forward like a viper to take my wrist, acting for all the world as if it was my hand that had fangs and needed to be pinned. And I guess she was right. We didn’t know how quickly the stone might affect someone without Ether. For all we knew, touching it could mean instantaneous death. She examined the stone closely, and then held my hand out to Garinold to see.
“Yes, yes, witch. Put it away," he snapped, wrinkling his nose at her proximity. “He knows what would happen if he lost it.”
Not much at this point, I hoped silently.
Once again, Garinold directed Hen’Darl and myself to precede him, and he marched us back into the heart of Impresium, back past the players’ dorms and into the bristling military encampment that surrounded the portals. Able to look around this time, I could see that there were fortifications here as well, similar to those around the gate guarding the dungeons. At first I couldn’t tell whether they were intended to keep people out or in, but then I realized it was both. If the dungeons were taken, the portals would need to be protected to secure the connected cities, and vice versa. Once again, I was impressed at how seriously this store of dungeons was guarded. I began to see why Huth'Ga and Hen’Darl had made so much of my having taken one. I didn’t quite understand why they were so important, but clearly I was missing something.
Between the fortifications and built into the walls were structures, each more grand than the last. Some of them were obviously barracks, but others were elaborate—palaces, almost—with massive statues carved right into the rock as decoration. We headed for the largest of these, coming within sight of the portals. Where there had been three portals leading from Kalsip, here were nearly twenty, all told, some large enough to drive wagons through. It was a tremendous vulnerability for such a valuable resource, but a vulnerability that had been carefully considered. Even a spy venturing into Impresium would be able to divulge no more than its layout, and its layout alone was intimidating enough to dissuade assault.
We climbed a set of broad steps that flared out from a wide doorway set between two 30-foot-tall statues: one an imperious woman with minutely carved scales instead of skin and eyes that somehow blazed even while rendered in stone, and the other a slightly plump man who exuded an unpretentious congeniality, aided by the dirt stains that had somehow been carved into the rock to cover his hands and clothing. Above the doorway was again the sword, sheaf, and crown I was beginning to recognize as the crest of Cogneid.
None of the buildings looked to have doors, and a cool breeze issued from the open doorway as we stepped off the sandstone and onto an intricately tiled floor. Whereas outside a martial buzz filled the outpost, inside the building was serene, and it appeared no expense had been spared.
Light flooded the grand foyer, filtering in from outside and sustained by innumerable soft-glowing sconces and chandeliers, and by sculptures that had a radiance all their own, artfully modulated to accentuate this arc and that angle. I could get used to this! I thought, before reminding myself of my task and taking the time to feel sheepish about my general state of disarray. A long day of riding, followed by a dungeon run, had left me both pungent and disheveled.
Garinold didn’t seem to mind though, and directed us up the broad stairway at the center of the foyer, bringing us to an overlooking second-floor balcony and an equally well-appointed waiting room. He spoke cursorily with a fastidious man at a desk, and before long we were being ushered through an intricately carved set of wooden doors and into the most impressive room yet.
The room itself fully gave the impression of being outside, except that the outside it impressed on its inhabitants was antithetical to the outside one might actually experience in Impresium. Surrounding us on three sides were delicate marble arches that framed views of a truly impressive city to either side and a breathtaking ocean view on the far wall. So convincing were the illusions that I could nearly smell the ocean breeze.
On the floor was a luxurious carpet that duplicated the flash of iridescent forms darting through waves that moved under our feet as we padded across to the ornate wooden desk.
“Dungeon Master, this is the boy who plundered the king’s dungeon in Hearthstead," Garinold announced.
The portly man sitting at the desk smiled broadly at Hen’Darl and I as he bustled around the desk to greet us, his equally broad paunch constrained by a rumpled vest with a staggering amount of goldwork.
“Thank you, Captain!” he warbled, shaking our hands. “I am Ondure, dungeon master to the king. Now, young man, I hear you have something interesting for me!”
Auger & Augment Page 25
