by John L. Monk
The entrance to the Timeless Tourney, I knew, was far down at the bottom. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fly there. The open air of the city’s central shaft had an anti-flying enchantment. Even my wraiths couldn’t traverse it. My only recourse was to descend through the myriad dwellings that opened up and down the length of the city.
Taliathe homes (for lack of a better word) were like enormous multifaceted shapes carved into the earth. The walls and ceiling of each such opening were festooned with multi-colored teleportation runes, and that’s how you got around the city. Touch a pink rune and you’d be whisked to another residence with its own unique system. Here, a spiky yellow rune had to be considered against the ovular, or square, or hexagon shape of the residence. Picking certain combinations could teleport you to a sealed chamber with a monster, or a cursed treasure with a riddle that had to be solved. Anything was possible, and that was the fun of taliathe cities.
There were cities like this in Ward 2 and Ward 3, and for all I knew in Ward 4, though I hadn’t done much exploring there beyond where the Blood Road had taken me. Every city I’d seen was the same in design, though many were occupied by creatures that had come later: ancient dragons, armies of shrew-like snords, vengeful taliathe spirits, demonic entities, and greater calamities. In short: a good source of XP and loot for dungeon delvers.
Thankfully, the creatures guarding Hual’hofet weren’t very tough. As I made my way down, I was forced to dispatch a number of low-level creatures that had made their home in various residences. I raised my second wraith from a mold monster. My two wraiths were more than sufficient for the undead ogre that came later, and I raised that too. Then came a giant centipede, and yet another shit sheet. Near the bottom, I released all but my 20-ROD bandit wraith to conserve my aura, which was happily floating at just over 800 health after my kills and minus the ROD.
An hour more and I finally remembered how to reach a room at the very bottom, which opened on the central shaft. Upon exiting, I found myself in a massive courtyard. Above me, the rest of the city stretched away into darkness and disappeared. Straight ahead, sticking out of the ground, was a colossal chunk of rose quartz several stories high and maybe fifty feet in diameter.
“Wow,” I said, and meant it. It sure was something. If I had a big enough bottomless bag…
The city in Ward 2 had a similar-sized gem—a giant sapphire. The one in Ward 3 had an emerald. Touching this one would begin an event called the Timeless Tourney—a series of trash encounters with two mini-bosses and a final boss, chosen randomly. Though the zone was good for groups, it was especially designed for soloing necromancers due to the cascading number of low-level monsters that could be raised. Through careful juggling of resources, it was easily doable. I knew this because I’d done it before.
Happy to have made it down, but not ready to start, I circled the giant crystal. Not in admiration, lovely as it was. No, I was looking for hidden players.
My first foray here as a necromancer had been plagued by a common problem in Mythian: I’d picked up a leech—an invisible player who’d snuck into the event with me. The Tourney was notorious for abuse by such players due to its open nature. Anyone standing near the crystal when it was touched joined the event. Each contestant caused the monsters to be slightly tougher. And because my parasitic player had been low level—in his teens—I’d had to carry the whole event myself.
“Anyone here?” I shouted around the courtyard. My only reply was a faint echo off the sculpted rock walls.
“Scramble and slash,” I commanded my wraith.
In response, it flew around the courtyard slashing wildly.
I glanced overhead. About fifty feet up, the anti-flying magic kicked in. It was possible someone was hovering beneath it, but that was a lot of space to cover with one wraith. The good news was anyone flying likely didn’t need to leach off strangers doing a sub-100 zone.
“Focus,” I said, staring at the quartz.
For my third time ever, I reached out and placed a hand against the crystal. Upon touching it, the world turned fuzzy and dark, and the coolness of the quartz seeped into my fingers and throughout my body.
Then came a game message:
YOU ARE ABOUT TO BEGIN “The Timeless Tourney.” YOU MAY NOT QUIT ONCE YOU START. FAILURE TO COMPLETE THE EVENT WITHIN TWO HOURS WILL RESULT IN LOSS OF LEVELS. HEROES WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TRY AGAIN FOR A PERIOD OF FIVE YEARS. THIS COOLDOWN CANNOT BE RESET BY “GIVING UP.”
CLASS-SPECIFIC NOTICE [NECROMANCER]: All vitality and health generated from kills prior to the encounter will be reset. All minions will be released.
DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?
(NO / YES)
I’d forgotten about that last bit. Kind of a shame to lose my PVP wraith, but if I stuck to the plan, I’d be fine.
I chose YES and a few seconds later the world grew steadily brighter. Soon, I could make out shapes in my surroundings. Gone was the courtyard with the rose quartz and the towering spindle city above. In its place was a wide colosseum like something out of ancient Rome. I was also outside. Daytime, though I couldn’t see the sun for the thick clouds hanging low overhead like a dull gray helmet.
The stands of the colosseum were filled with all manner of humanoid creatures found throughout Mythian: elves, weddells, dwarves, gnomes, lizardmen, woggims, bugbears, snords, hruuk magi… Separating me from them, or any sort of skyward escape, was a translucent blue shield through which the raucous cheers of the crowd could be heard.
I raised a hand and waved—and the roar of the crowd boomed back in enthusiastic greeting.
“I’m a hit,” I said.
At the far side of the amphitheater, a portcullis of dark iron rested in the down position.
I stared around at the still-cheering crowd. Noticeably absent were humans who had “arrived long ago on magical ships,” and thus came after the legendary super beings had all but vanished from the land.
Years after crossing into the higher wards, I’d encountered a handful of taliathe. They appeared in only the toughest Ward 3 dungeons—remnants who’d missed the last ship out, as it were. They were powerful in the extreme, and nigh unbeatable without a rock-solid group of tough, knowledgeable players. In form, they looked humanoid, almost elven, but taller and dour-faced, and utterly devoid of empathy.
One such creature was sitting in a boxed seat just to the right of the portcullis, standing and waving like a Roman emperor. It saw me watching and inclined its head. Great eyesight, the taliathe. Even though I knew it was only there for show, I gulped nonetheless.
Seconds later, an announcer’s voice boomed around the amphitheater from an unknown source:
“Denizens of Mythian! Guests, prisoners, and fools! Fiends and divinities, and everything in-between! Welcome to the Timeless Tourney, where the most terrifying beings from Mythian’s past, present, and future will be summoned to battle our two contestants, both of unproven power, with the hope of … well, proving it! Three powerful beings and a host of lesser creatures shall fight to the death against our two intrepid adventurers. Should they make it to the end, they’ll receive three things: a remarkable infusion of power, a glorious title, and the Trove of the Taliathe—a very rare prize with something special in it for everyone. Ah, but should they lose, well… Best not to talk about that. Too unpleasant.
“Anyway… If the spectators will please look under your seats, you’ll find oilskins to cover yourself in the event of any messy explosions! Don’t worry though, you’re perfectly safe. Anyone trying to get to you through the protective shield will be instantly killed. They’ll also immediately forfeit.
“Let the games begin!”
As the ghostly spectators pulled out their oilskins and crouched excitedly under them for protection, I stared at the slowly rising portcullis and swallowed in disgust.
“Dammit,” I said, shaking my head.
The announcer had mentioned “two” contestants. Which meant for the second time trying this as a necromancer, I’d picked
up a parasitic adventurer. Now the enemies I’d face would be twice as hard, and the math I’d relied on for a guaranteed win might no longer add up.
“Hey—whoever you are,” I said to the air around me. “If you’re not gonna fight, stay out of my way. If you’re gonna fight, let me get the kill shot so I can build my aura. Got it?”
Naturally, no one replied. Probably afraid I’d kill them. And I should have. Instead of fighting one initial monster, guaranteeing an easy first wraith for the waves of creatures to come, I’d be starting against two.
Both of which were bounding through the gate, heading right for me.
Chapter Six
The sprinting creatures were lowish level but fast. Bugbear mercenaries were tougher than the tribes found in the Forest of Lost Souls west of Heroes’ Landing. I’d expected normal bugbears, but I had a leech with me, and no use complaining. In addition to the short spears they favored, the mercenaries employed hooked nets that could incapacitate players twice their level who didn’t pay attention. Trapped players would then be stabbed to death.
Briefly, I considered pulling my sword, but I needed the vit bonus from Death Blossom if I hoped to survive the rate of decay, and killing with swords didn’t offer that.
Running toward the wall, I twisted back and cast Harrow as they gained on me. Before they got too close, I jumped into the air and soared to the middle of the arena.
Per the spell description, I couldn’t cast Harrow while flying. But that wasn’t my biggest problem. These mercs weren’t stupid. They staked out positions on either side, each herding me toward the other and forcing me to constantly reposition. At 37 damage a second, I’d only been able to Harrow off 296 against my closest chaser. My guess was it had at least 800 health points, though I couldn’t be sure until I saw the overkill and did the math.
“All right,” I said. “Time’s a wastin’.”
I began weaving a pattern through the sky—first one way, then the other, back and forth between the deadly sides of the arena’s translucent dome. Then I circled clockwise. Then back across again. Then counterclockwise. When a large enough gap finally opened between the two bugbears, I dropped from the sky and rolled, taking 60 points of damage in the process and grunting through the suppressed pain.
“Harrow!” I shouted, casting at the hurt bugbear while running toward its friend, who drew up in surprise.
I got off another five seconds before leaping over its head—easily avoiding its hasty spear thrust.
Again, I started the pattern—mixing it up this time so they wouldn’t catch on. The next time my feet touched the ground, I got in six ticks. Then one of the mercs tossed a black object at me about the size of a rock. The thing exploded into a hooked net that missed as my 450 agility carried me away in a dizzying summersault.
“Missed me, missed me! Now ya gotta kiss me!” I yelled.
No, I didn’t want to kiss a bugbear. But it had missed me…
I went through this routine three more times before downing my first enemy in the Tourney, feeding my Necrotic Aura 50 vitality, or 500 health. Lower than if I’d killed it with a wraith, but that couldn’t be helped.
I took a quick moment to analyze my game log.
ENEMY DEFEATED: Bugbear Mercenary, 19,255 EXPERIENCE POINTS (SHARED)
“Thanks for helping!” I shouted at my invisible leech, who still hadn’t appeared despite all the work I was doing.
“Summon Wraith,” I cast, followed by “Get up here!” when the remaining bugbear tore after it.
Stymied, the bugbear launched another black object. This time when the net exploded, it wrapped around my aura and connected at the back. Grunting with effort, the heavier merc heaved mightily, reeling me in like a fisherman one-handed.
“Kwajara hukt!” it shouted, then hurled its spear.
The spear stabbed into my aura and bounced away, taking 425 brand-new health points with it.
Breaking my no-swords rule, I drew mine and parted the net like a saber through butter. Then I sailed out of range and near the ground.
Howling in fury, the bugbear dashed for its fallen companion’s nearby spear.
“Attack!” I shouted.
My wraith dived like an eagle, claws extended. At the same time, I flew forward, dropped to the ground, and cast Harrow, hoping to add to the bugbear’s confusion.
“Retreat!” I shouted.
My minion—now on cooldown—made it away without being hit. Not wanting to lose the 100-health-point Death Blossom of a wraith kill, I stopped casting and leaped to safety. Twenty seconds later, I landed and attacked again—just one tick, to draw its attention—and my wraith finished it off with a silently ordered command.
ENEMY DEFEATED: Bugbear Mercenary, 19,255 EXPERIENCE POINTS (SHARED)
My augmented wraiths hit hard—550 health per attack.
“Summon Wraith,” I cast, raising my second like a good little necro.
My aura was now at 1550 health. It would have been higher if I hadn’t taken that hit. I also had 7810 non-aura health points, but if I needed those, I was doomed. Even with my invisible leech upping the power of my enemies, I was still massively overpowered in terms of agility and the ability to fly quickly, and both had saved me several times already.
From this point on, I had to be careful, and for more reasons than the enemies I’d face. If I raised the dead too quickly and found myself waiting around, I could die from excessive decay. That, or be forced to dismiss some minions—something I couldn’t afford using the tactic I’d settled on.
For the next several minutes, I watched the portcullis like a hawk while the crowd cheered. Eventually, the disembodied announcer came back to recount the highlights of the last fight for one and all, and in breathless detail.
When he stopped yammering, the gate pulled up and I found myself facing three jungle marauders—human foes, though not of the player variety. Friendly enough if you met one in a trading camp, but vicious in combat, and utterly fearless.
Jungle marauders were great fighters—ones generally encountered by groups in their mid-40s. But individually, with fewer health points than the bugbear mercs, they were no match for two simultaneous wraith hits. I raised my victim back and ordered my three minions to follow me to the far end of the arena. While the remaining two marauders gave chase, I circled along the wall, counting down the seconds.
Twenty seconds later, I hit the ground and cast Harrow while two of my minions killed another. I raised this one back and ordered it to attack the next.
In shock, I watched as the marauder shook a tiny doll while screaming in a harsh language. This caused the space around the wraith to erupt in an explosion of colored lights and savage shrieking. The doll was a “cursed effigy,” and it killed my wraith instantly.
Such dolls, though dangerous, only had one charge each. Out of an abundance of caution, I gave a general order to evade and burned the marauder down as it whacked at my aura. Its attack stole 1200 points, but I got most of them back through Death Blossom.
That kill, the 2000 health from its companions, and the mercs, left me with a 2350 point Necrotic Aura.
Feeling comfortable that yes, “I still had it,” I gathered my four wraiths to me and waited.
The announcer’s commentary was brief and somewhat glum. “Well, well, how underwhelming,” was all he said.
More minutes passed, then four draco-scorpions skittered out faster than cheetahs. Poisonous bastards, their stingers could flat-out kill sub-100s regardless of poison resistance or health points. This was offset by their relatively low health pool, which floated somewhere in the 400-500 range. The good news was my wraiths were immune to poison, and the creatures’ pincer attacks were too slow. Four wraiths killed the scorps in one fell swoop.
I waited before raising these dead. My bonus vitality was ticking down steadily from 789. A good start, but I needed to conserve.
Five plague howlers came howling out next. These were zombified wolves that served as scouts for the S
pectral Army that haunted the northeast corner of Ward 1. I’d hoped to keep my four new corpses in reserve for the mini-boss, but the wolves fought with one mind, and they knew something of tactics. They quickly realized the futility of facing the wraiths one-on-one and had clumped together. My guess was their bites hit harder than the marauders or the bugbears, and if two got the initiative I’d lose a wraith.
Hoping to maximize the number of strikes I could land at once, I gave in and raised four more wraiths.
“Kill!” I commanded, mentally assigning them two per wolf.
Mostly through luck, I lost only one wraith that round and gained 500 vitality off the kills. With an 11,000 health aura, I was really soaring now—but so was my rate of decay. At 1200 ROD, my aura was losing 200 health a minute.
The portcullis only stayed shut two minutes this time. When it opened, seven harpies shot out, and not six as I’d expected.
“Attack and frenzy!”
I hit the ground and cast Harrow to assist in the mayhem.
The wraiths zipped in, attacked, then flew randomly in all directions, confusing the harpies long enough for me to get in another round of attacks and more Harrowing without losing very much aura to their wickedly sharp talons.
Rather than add to my ROD, I left the seven corpses on the arena floor and waited.
Technically, these little moments were meant as rest periods for groups to heal up, loot bodies, or attend to various class-specific tasks between fights.
“Hurry up,” I said impatiently as the announcer’s voice kicked in.
“Did you see that, folks? This has to be an all-new record in fodder slaughter or I’m a bucktoothed owl. Like you, I’m waiting to see our hidden contestant step up to the plate. But get a load of Howard! Maybe necromancers aren’t so useless after all! Granted, not a lot of fights cater to their strengths so perfectly, but don’t blame me. Blame someone else. That’s good advice whoever you are! And with that, allow me to introduce our first real bruiser of the day … year … century, or whenever we’re supposed to be in this spooky pocket of time in which we’ve found ourselves so mysteriously. Ah, but never mind that because here he is! Jhezherikhan, the Woggim King!”
