Viridian Gate Online: Schism: A litRPG Adventure (The Heartfire Healer Series Book 2)

by E. C. Godhand

  “It is with a heavy heart that I must announce we have reached the end, ladies and gentlemen,” the man said solemnly. He paused and ran trembling fingers over a stack of papers sitting on the news desk in front of him, adjusting and readjusting them, before clearing his throat.

  “Despite the admirable efforts of our brightest minds,” he continued, “we have failed to split or divert the incoming asteroid. And so, we find ourselves on the verge of a catastrophe unseen since the extinction of the dinosaurs—a disaster the likes of which mankind has never known. With less than ten minutes to go, there is nothing left but to hold tightly to those we love and brace for impact. In preparation for the coming cataclysm, Lydia will now run through a rough simulation of what we can expect over the next minutes, hours, and days. Lydia?”

  The camera panned to the woman, Lydia, who now stood in front of a state-of-the-art holotable. “Thank you, John,” she said, her voice surprisingly pert for the end of the world. “Based on new information collected from the radio telescope in Arecibo, Puerto Rico, we believe Astraea will land somewhere in Central America or the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Lydia proceeded to describe in vivid detail, with practiced aplomb that the whole cafeteria of adventurers couldn’t have mustered in her situation, the anticipated effects of the asteroid. I heard her describe a world consumed by fire, so very different from the world of ice that Manhattan had become, and it felt like my soul left my body.

  I felt like my life shifted to a third-person camera. I saw myself put Bjorn’s hand into Amanda’s then wander outside. I didn’t want to imagine it. I didn’t want to hear it. Or believe it. They could tell me all day it was happening, and it wouldn’t sink in. But we didn’t have all day. We had fewer than ten minutes, and then everything we had ever known, ever loved, would be gone.

  I sat at a sunlit table outside the café and grabbed the nearest abandoned mug of Western Brew to sip on. I stared ahead, unflinching, and took in the sounds of the birds chirping in ignorance to our plight, the strong scent of wisteria from the vivid plumes that cascaded over the doorway, and the cool breeze that whisked the sweat off my brow.

  Kismet must’ve followed me out. Corvus was with her. I didn’t look at them and sipped at the stranger’s coffee until it was empty.

  The Inquisitor placed a hand on my shoulder. “Is this a message from your old world?” she asked.

  I took a sip from the empty mug and didn’t say anything. It didn’t matter how I answered. It wouldn’t change anything. Corvus took a seat across from me and grabbed my free hand. We stayed that way, silent, as I tried to ignore the news anchors breaking down on set as they wished everyone well and thanked us for being with them. There was a countdown, then static, then nothing.

  And that was it.

  The end of the world.

  The whole world population reduced to a third of New York City. Gone forever. That world’s done, so long live this one. We didn’t do ourselves in as we might’ve thought, but all the same, there was no one left to forgive us.

  I wished I could’ve seen the internet. To think that, if there was a Creator for Earth, we might’ve been their last words, and what we might’ve said. People would tell their stories to the world knowing it would be destroyed soon anyway, a final cry of “I was here.” People would offer words of love and hope for each other and huddle together, even from opposite sides of the globe, one last time.

  The strength in that compassion shamed me for sitting there sipping from the empty coffee mug. That the dead offered more to each other than I was right then.

  I put down my mug and stood. No more tears, Liset. Not everyone gets to see the end of the world, and not everyone gets to see the end of the world together.

  When I went back inside, everyone looked to me, a priest. The orders for food had long stopped and the café was nearly silent, except for the occasional murmur of disbelief or a piercing wail that others tried to comfort.

  I walked behind the bar, and Chef Boyle grabbed me by the arms, shaking me.

  “What are you doing? For the love of everything holy, woman,” whispered the chef. “Say something.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I looked behind us at the café full of expectant people, who waited to hear me speak. Kismet and Corvus had followed me inside. I waved them over. Yvonne was awkwardly patting Amanda’s back as she clung to her adopted child, and she joined us as well. I pulled us into the kitchen to explain my idea.

  “I’ll talk to them, I promise,” I told the chef. “But in the meantime, you need to message every merchant you know to help us pull this off.”

  My hands were shaking. I stretched my fingers as I sucked in a deep breath, then closed them as I exhaled. I did this a few times to steady myself.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure what I can tell them that will bring any comfort. But back in Manhattan, and now here in Rowanheath, if we play our cards right, even if the world is ending, it shouldn’t find us cowering or welcoming death. It should find us at our best: helping each other, protecting the weak, singing songs, telling stories, feeding the hungry, tending to the ill. The end, like any good funeral, will find us celebrating life. Death should find us living. So let’s give them the opportunity.”

  Chef Boyle gripped my forearm tightly. “Tell them just that.”

  She left for her task. I turned to my team.

  “Kismet, I need you to tell the Inquisition and the town guard that we’re going to need a presence for a crowd, and not to be alarmed,” I said. Kismet nodded and pulled up her message screen.

  “Corvus,” I said, then sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please go to the Broken Dagger and find Kjen and Therion and the others and see if they know anyone who can help. But be discreet. We don’t need a lot of rogues showing up.”

  They dipped their beak and left.

  “Yvonne,” I said, turning to the Augur. She crossed her arms and waited for her task.

  “Can you please go to the Sophitian temple and tell Prioress Vita what we’re doing? Ask her to call everyone she knows, too.”

  “What about Hector’s funeral this afternoon?” she asked.

  “It’ll be done before then. At least, it’ll be winding down,” I said. “Besides, I really don’t—”

  “Want to see the temple right now. Yeah, I know. I’ll get it done,” she said.

  I turned to face the crowd. Their faces, a mixture of every race known on Eldgard, natives and Travelers alike, watched me. I’m a short woman, so I climbed onto the bar to be heard better. They looked to me for guidance, for hope, for spiritual comfort in these trying, uncertain times.

  “Hi,” I said, already off to a bad start.

  “My name is Liset, and originally I was from Earth, like some of you. To be honest, I was never supposed to be here. I was never supposed to be a priestess. But Gaia had other plans for me.”

  The crowd murmured amongst themselves about what I meant, but silenced as I told them what I’d told Chef Boyle. I told them about my plan. As I spoke, they became enraptured in my sermon, and how I needed every last one of them to pull it off.

  They needed guidance and comfort, sure, but they needed an actionable way to direct their grief. Kind words wouldn’t fix their hearts; it’d be a way to repeat their grievances into the void without changing the circumstances.

  “... We can’t change what’s happened to our homeland, but we can make this one better by our presence,” I preached.

  “And if you feel overwhelmed by it all, by doubt, by fear, by despair, then do literally anything at all to show you can enact change on this world, no matter how small. Make a meal. Craft an item. Clean your space or your body. Go for a walk, just because there were times when you felt caged, to remind yourself that now you have the freedom to do so. Gaia breathes, and the world changes. So, do literally any single task to contribute back to that change. We can make it better. We can get through this. And we’ll do it together.”

  The ever-growing c
rowd, pulling in people from the streets to the café, would occasionally cheer out during my sermon. I even got a few enthusiastic amens, which didn’t mean much here, but I understood the sentiment.

  I was interrupted by the abrupt ping of a universal notification:

  <<<>>>

  Viridian Gate Online Universal Alert!

  Notice: Traveler Robert Osmark has founded a faction in Viridian Gate Online! Any traveler of the Viridian Empire may now request to join Robert Osmark’s faction, the Ever-Victorious Empire, bound to the Imperial city of New Viridia, the seat of power of the Viridian Empire in Eldgard.

  Notice: Traveler Robert Osmark has been crowned Emperor of the Viridian Empire!

  Notice: Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire instantly lowers a player’s relationship with all Rebel-aligned factions to Unfriendly. Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire instantly raises a player’s relationship with all Imperial-aligned factions to Friendly. Joining the Ever-Victorious Empire entitles members to all Ever-Victorious Empire Faction buffs.

  Notice: Emperor Robert Osmark is now an exalted enemy of the Eldgard Rebellion!

  <<<>>>

  The crowd, including myself, gasped in relief. Finally, we had leadership, and what’s more, all of us, every single one of us, owed our lives to Osmark for creating the life raft that was Viridian Gate Online. He was with us now. He had survived, too. We weren’t abandoned.

  We took a moment to join the Empire officially. I didn’t have time to look at the faction-wide buffs because another message popped up a second later:

  <<<>>>

  Universal Message from the Viridian Emperor

  Today is a tragic day, one that will be scorched into our collective memory for as long as we live. All of us have suffered great loss: friends, family members, coworkers, our way of life. No one is unaffected by this awful and unavoidable catastrophe—everyone watching this has my deepest condolences. Now, as you have already seen, I’ve crowned myself Emperor, and though many of you may think such an act is callous or coldhearted, I’m here to tell you that I’m doing it with a heavy heart and with the best of intentions.

  In the face of such terrible grief, rage and anger are common responses. In the face of this type of tragedy, people often react violently, as we all experienced firsthand from the riots and looting which have plagued our cities and streets over the past several weeks. In order to avoid a similar situation here, we need to have a strong, stable hand at the helm of the ship, guiding us into the calm, clear waters of prosperity and peace. I intend to be that hand.

  Now is not the time for fighting or squabbling. Now is a time for rationality and unity to prevail despite overwhelming grief. So, for the sake of us all, my word is now law, and any acts of rioting or lawlessness—including defection to the Eldgard Rebellion and overt disobedience—will be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Please know I don’t relish this, but it is a necessary stopgap measure until we can come up with a better system.

  With Sincerest Condolences,

  Robert Osmark, High Emperor of the Viridian Empire

  <<<>>>

  Another Universal Alert popped up declaring Traveler Aleixo Carrera, the High Commander of the Imperial Inquisition, founded the Knights of the Holy Light faction in Rowanheath. That got a grand cheer from the crowd, and a subtle groan from the kitchen staff who remembered him as a regular.

  Tch. Turned out the Commissar spread a wide net and didn’t need me after all.

  And it didn’t stop there. More alerts followed, one right after another—all universal notifications declaring that various travelers had founded factions. The Black Legion in Harrowick. The Ancient Ones in Alaunhylles. The Arch-Masons in Stone Reach. Liberty Crossing in Glome Corrie. On and on they went, notification after notification lighting up our vision. There were twenty-five in total, all of them with Imperial allegiances. Twenty-five.

  Rebellion or not, Peace and Order were the law of the land, and twenty-five factions backed us up. Tears of mourning turned into ones of celebration and the uproarious cheering of men and women united in purpose and hope.

  Priest Pray Love

  An hour later, the people had mobilized. They put their collective grief aside or redirected it into their work to make this world better than the one we had lost. Either way, a small faire was built on the common green near Stonemount Keep. As a healer, I had a lot of injured to treat at once, and that warranted this as a mass casualty event. I needed room, I needed hands, and I needed to triage. Only in this case, the injuries weren’t physical, but emotional.

  And the best thing to treat emotional wounds was connection.

  My team followed through for me. Local merchants were more than happy for the opportunity to offer their wares to prospective customers in exchange for a fifteen percent cut of profits donated to the local Sophitian Temple. The fund created would help new Travelers get on their feet and avoid creating more situations like Amanda’s. Not everyone was built to be an adventurer and make their way in the world with violence and dungeons. We needed more artisans and farmers. We needed people who fulfilled the daily quests to keep the city running.

  We were trying to create a society, after all.

  Prioress Vita had protested at first, citing something about Sophia requiring “balance” and “equal exchange,” so I argued that she didn’t have to offer it as charity. I told her to use it to reward people who completed quests for Sophia and the temple.

  “But the Gods provide that...” she told me.

  “And who do you think I represent, sister?”

  She must’ve had levels in Merchant-Craft, too, because she could tell it was a good deal.

  The temple ran a sign-up where people could fill out what jobs they were interested in taking, and merchants and townsfolk alike could post job notices and needs on an impromptu billboard. We’d replace it with a more permanent structure later.

  The Inquisition and city guard kept an eye out for thieves and mischief but stayed back as a watchful presence. The solemn silence had turned to merriment. Officially, we told them it was a celebration of the new Emperor, but we all knew it was a wake for Earth.

  Therion and the Tryharders set up various games for everyone. A few coppers could buy tickets for darts, ring toss, cornhole, races, arm wrestling, a “dungeon” maze of hay bales, and even a Maypole. A few farmers donated pumpkins to carve. The Dawn Elf bard from the Broken Dagger sang melodies to accompany her lute while other bards added their own music to different areas for tips.

  Other merchants set up concessions of various snacks: popcorn, seared meat, roasted nuts, spiced apple cider and, of course, plentiful mead. So what if it was before noon? I think the gods would forgive us for drinking to the memory of our lives.

  The Sophitian temple donated their giant cauldron for the bonfire, and people could donate ingredients and scraps for a communal soup that anyone could eat for three coppers.

  Aesop’s Tables had set up confectionaries at their stand: cotton candy threads in blue and yellow for the Empire, funnel cakes with powdered sugar or a blueberry glaze with golden Bee’s Nuts. Chef Boyle was kind enough to donate a table next to her for me to set up my wares, as well as a food booth.

  I didn’t have much, but I had a lot of ingredients and sticks left over from making the incense. I had found a piece of lumber and made some red paint from the berries and oil like Bri’jit had, and I wrote “Schtick or Treat” on the sign. It hung awkwardly, suspended by fraying rope, but it was mine. We offered various goodies: Roasted Corn on a Stick with butter and cheese crumbles. Candied Apple on a Stick. Sausage on a Stick. Grilled Fish on a Stick. Kismet suggested we offer a dish from Ankara: spiced veggies and meat on a stick, which turned into a Shish Kabob, but it wasn’t nearly as popular with the local Wodes as the alternative made with boar and potatoes.

  Amanda settled into her role as cashier easily, and for the first time, I saw the light of her smile. Chef and I insisted she wash up first in the kitchen, of course, and Kism
et offered her the simple luxury of her makeup kit to bring a healthy color to her cheeks and lips. Sten admired his partner from his job of placing the food on a stick at the grill. I didn’t have time to train him how to cook anything fancier than that, and the portable goods were proving popular judging by the long line at both our booths.

  Bjorn ran underfoot with the other children, laughing and playing and picking up random branches to play Imperial vs Rebellion. When no one wanted to play Rebellion, the kids agreed to play Dragons and Dungeons instead. I’d sneak an apple to the grand adventurers when they would beg for treats.

  I personally tended to my table and organized the bandages and poultices, drinks and medicine vials. Within the first hour, we were sold out. I wasn’t expecting quite a rush, and made two more batches, which sold out as well. The soap wasn’t as popular, and frequently people tried to haggle on the price, but eventually that inventory was gone as well.

  The most popular item, though, was the incense Corvus helped me make. Each stick sold for a copper. People used the incense to pierce letters to loved ones left behind on Earth until the common green was lit like a bonfire of dreams, each letter and incense a sacred grave. The smoke carried their hopes and prayers towards Gaia in the heavens. Impromptu shrines popped up with offerings of apples, mead, and more often than my heart liked, makeshift dolls and toys.

  Despite the merriment and joy of the faire, this part of the festival was solemn and quiet except for the occasional weeping. I’d occasionally let Corvus tend my booth and walk among them and listen to their stories and encourage them to express their grief, especially to each other.

  When I felt I couldn’t help anymore, or rather, my heart needed a break, I picked up a Sausage on a Stick and swung by Aesop’s Tables’ booth.