The air is strange amidst our group as we walk through the forest. Anticipation sits heavy, making the air heavy and hot. Most of us are silent as we follow a scouting group toward the location of these ruins that we’ve been told about; a few among us chatter nervously. No one is quite sure what we are going to find, me least of all, but walking between Jess and Macille puts my mind at ease somewhat. Even if a repeat of the parade ground happens, I don’t think that there are many among us that will be caught off guard this time.
Traveling in a group this large affords enough safety that I can admire the forest without fearing an attack by some monster. The trees shooting up hundreds of feet are so large around that I imagine fitting an entire house inside of their trunks. Several miles into the forest, as we are now, the detritus that my metal boots kick through is soft and light, dead leaves compounded from the recent winter’s falling. Stamping boots beat out a trail through the fallen debris behind us, and the crunching underfoot is a constant drone of sound that lulls the mind into unthought. It is still cold this morning, probably the coldest morning I remember here, but the anticipation of violence keeps my blood warm, ready.
A break between two massive trees reveals that we have arrived. It is just like the lake where I killed the fish yesterday. One moment, the forest is impenetrable, vision falling off as I look north, and the next I can see the sun filtering down in a curtain of white. My eyes don’t even require a second to adjust when I step into the curtain of light, revealing the ruins we have been traveling to for the last hour.
Our group of almost ninety competitors immediately begins to spread out as the clearing allows. Grass, knee-high and annoyingly clingy, races out in a large oval, hundreds of feet of it separating us from the single structure in the center of the wide clearing. A wall, old and caked with the black and brown rime of age, forms a circular perimeter around a singular structure that peeks over the eight feet of safety the wall offers. The structure looks so bizarre to me from this distance that I can’t really get a handle on it.
Dovik takes his position at the head of the group, offering to split the group so that nobody need approach the ruins if they do not wish to. There is some muttering, but in the end, no one is willing to reduce our strength in front of another group of competitors. We can already see them, at least six mill about in the gap of the wall’s sole entrance. They look just as wary of us as we are of them.
Taking charge, Dovik leads us through the lake of tan grass toward the ruins, and the other group doesn’t oppose us when we start crossing into the circular courtyard created by the wall. The first thing that I notice is that the reports had been right, this group is larger than ours, almost a hundred.
The anticipation of violence nears a crescendo as our group faces off with them in the center of the barren courtyard. They spread out, no one yet drawing weapons, but hands on hilts all over the place. My own instinct pulls at me to start conjuring dragonfire, to overchannel a bolt so powerful that it would make anyone blanch, but I know that thought is foolish. The last thing we want is to start violence between competitors. This competition has been bloody enough already.
We all stand in the shadow of the structure behind us, which now that I am inside the walls, looks exactly as strange as I had thought from the outside. The only way that I can think of to describe it, is that someone had thought stacking rectangles on top of one another was a good idea. The base of the building is huge, half the size of the courtyard, but each eight-foot level that is added onto the bottom-most retreats away from us, smaller, ending at a square block that tops the entire structure with a darkened doorway leading into the depths of the building.
A stairway climbs the exterior of the structure, a straight line of lichen-slick stone that leads toward the doorway at the top. The building might look impressive if it weren’t for the black and brown staining of the once white bricks or the faint green of mold that covers the exterior.
“Who speaks for you?” A woman, dwarven and with muscles that could choke a mule, asks. As she speaks, she steps out from amidst the mill of the other group, black plate armor covering most of her, the only weapon on her the long stabbing claws that her gauntlets transition into. Despite her question, she looks straight at Dovik with her hauntingly pale eyes, the only one wearing the same make of armor as she is.
Kith Rhetic(Rank One)(Level 46), Daughter of Duke Rhetic
Giant Conflux
“I have been asked to lead our band,” Dovik says, stepping out to meet the woman halfway across the courtyard. “My name is Dovik Willian, might I know yours?”
Dovik Willian(Rank One)(Level 50), Son of Grandmaster Harrilis Willian
Immortal Conflux
“Well met Dovik Willian,” the dwarven woman says. “I am known as Kith. I have found family names to be rather irrelevant here, and as such I will decline giving my own.” The woman extends a hand to Dovik, which he clasps.
“Very well, Kith. Thank you for allowing us passage into these ruins. I have been told that the administrators of this contest have some kind of planned event here today,” Dovik says. At his words, I can see hands coil all the tighter around the hilts of weapons. No doubt, some in this other group had the same awful thought about the nature of this unknown event as I have.
“It is as you say,” Kith responds. “Might I have your agreement to a formal truce between our two parties before this parlay continues.”
“I cannot offer any binding words for this group,” Dovik says, motioning in our direction. “I am merely a mouthpiece for a collection of competitors.”
Kith huffs. “You are the representative are you not? With that comes the power and responsibility of decision. If you will not agree to formalizing a ceasing of hostilities between us, then I will ask that you take yourselves and leave. We will not treat with those that cannot promise their good intent.”
Kith seems immune to noticing the atmosphere that her words create. I can see the color of magic in the ranks of the other group, subtle, but I was looking for it. Eyes focus upon the two meeting in the middle of us, everyone ready to jump into motion at a moment’s notice.
“Very well,” Dovik says. “We do not have a formalized moniker, but I will offer what you have asked. I hereby agree to non-aggression between our two parties. We will not draw upon you first, but rest assured that we will not be dispatched easily if you attempt anything.”
The woman gives Dovik a long stare before curtly nodding. “Very well.” Just as easily as they created tension, her words sap it from the groups.
I can feel my own heart beating in my chest, a rapid thumping that has become an acquaintance recently. I look to my left to find Macille standing at my shoulder, white knuckles around the hilt of his sword, muscles tightened to spring forward. He jumps as I put my hand on his shoulder, and looks back at me a bit sheepishly. I smile, pat his shoulder, and turn my attention back to the meeting.
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“There is not much to say about this upcoming contest. At least not much information that I need to relate to you,” Kith says. She points one of the claws of her black gauntlet down at the ground where the shadow of the blocky building cuts a line through the stone of the courtyard. “When the shadow meets the front steps of the building, an administrator should arrive to inform us of what exactly it is that we shall be doing. That will be some hours from now.”
“I suppose that we don’t have timepieces to track time with,” Dovik says, offering Kith a smile.
“Maddening,” Kith says, completely immune to the levity that Dovik offers her. “Find a place to prepare yourselves. We have a wait to look forward to.” Without offering anything else, the woman turns and starts trudging back toward the bulk of her group.
I am about to ask Macille something when he breaks away from the rest of our group, drawing the attention of a hundred pairs of eyes. “Kendon!” he shouts, toward the other group, walking off to search for his brother among them. “Kendon!”
Dovik watches him go, nodding before turning back to the rest of us. “If you have any missing family members, I suggest that you utilize this time to look for them. I assume that you all heard everything she described.” He receives a murmuring chorus of affirmatives. “Great. Use this time to prepare however you see fit. If this truly is a dungeon that we are about to delve into, I would suggest using this time as wisely as you can think to. It is only going to get more dangerous from here.”
With his piece said, the group begins to break apart into smaller factions. Without Macille, I am left pretty much alone as Jess walks off with Samielle to explore the grass fields surrounding us. I don’t mind the solitude, taking the time to find a seat against the wall and pull out my Bane Crystal once again.
I spend some time trying to conjure the green dragonfire just by being near the Bane Crystal, but even that little is impossible. Changing my orange fire into the green by touching the crystal is the only way that I can manage to change it, and I spend an hour or more just holding onto the viridian fire, staring into its depth. There is something different about it, my eye can tell me that much, the affix has changed from fire to …acid. I am still unclear on exactly what “acid” is. When I asked Macille about it, he said that acid is a destructive substance that melts things, and when I asked Dovik about it, he started talking at length about chemicals and other things I had no idea about. I focus on the Corrosion affix. At the very least, I know what that word means.
Even without my eye, I can tell that there is a difference between the two fires. Some sense that I never before needed to flex tugs at my attention. Again, I am left thinking that the difference is in the flavor of the fires. A momentary, idiotic, thought of trying to lick the Bane Crystal flashes through my head. Given how much everyone else is avoiding even touching the thing, I think that is probably a bad idea.
“Couldn’t find him,” Macille says, dropping down next to me and leaning his head back against the wall with a sigh. “No one has even seen him.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I say, dismissing the fire. “This forest is huge.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about the risers,” Macille says. “What if he really was still under there, and I just left him? What if I left my brother to die, eaten by monsters, trapped beneath metal?”
“He wasn’t,” I tell him.
“How can you know that?”
“I just know.” We sit in the sickly glow of the Bane Crystal for a long moment. I sigh as well, leaning my head back. “Those three are crazy strong,” I say. “Before we ever arrived at Grim, each of them had managed to kill a rank two monster by themselves. I still have no idea what it was, but I doubt it was any weaker than the Desert Spearman.”
“That’s true,” Macille admits. “I just can’t think of a reason that he wouldn’t look for me if he was fine. It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It doesn’t make sense. We will have to ask him about it when we find him. We are all ultimately going to the same place after all, some kind of land bridge across the water. All I know for sure is that there is no way those three are in a worse off situation than we are. Arabella warned us of opposing Jor’Mari after all, he is some kind of super magician.”
“Alpha magician,” Macille corrects.
“Right. He is clearly an asshole, but he didn’t strike me as the kind that would abandon anyone to save himself. I would feel better knowing that he is likely with Coriander and Kendon.”
“I don’t,” Macille says, spitting onto the stone. We fall back into silence for a beat, Macille’s face slowly reddening as I look at him. “What?”
“Kendon didn’t like him either, warned me to stay away from him. I thought that it was because Jor'Mari is a pig, but it’s more than that isn’t it. What is it?”
Macille chews on his words, considering. “I don’t like gossip,” he says. I feel my curiosity begin to deflate before Macille decides to engage in the practice of gossip anyways. “He is powerful, anyone with eyes could tell you that. What he isn’t, is a full-blooded heir. The halfbreed killed his own, legitimate, brother out of jealousy during a game, and was banished as a result. I don’t know what compelled Ms. Willian to give him another chance, but I wouldn’t trust him with my own brother. The man is demented.”
“Oh,” I say, my own voice small. I can’t imagine what you must have to feel to kill your own brother. Halford is annoying, condescending, and always completely assured that he is the arbiter of right and wrong, but I can’t even think about seriously trying to end his life.
“Right, oh.” Macille digs around in the pouch that he has tied to his belt and removes a porous stone. “I am going to try and take my mind off of it.” Unsheathing his dark sword, he begins to apply the stone to the edge, sharpening it.
“You do that,” I say, but Macille’s attention is already on a far off place. I get up and walk a step away before I start up my own practice with the green fire, despite the fact that I had sat down first.
Hours fly past unnoticed, the shadow creeping along the ground toward the base of the structure. I spend the entire time in deep concentration, trying to figure out how to feel the affixes of the green fire. Something inside me tells me that is what I need to do to start mastering it, but try as I might, I can’t get a handle on it.
The crack of thunder rips me out of my contemplation sometime around midday. My ears ring for a second from the boom. I jump to my feet, the fires in my hands disappearing as all eyes turn toward the hovering figure just in front of the entrance into the building.
A radiant woman, dark skin seen through the gaps of her dress composed of fig leaves, floats on winged silver boots. The metallic sheen of the woman’s elven hair falls in waves over her chest, gold in the light of the sun, but it is her eyes, a pupiless and pure silver, that draw the eye. I do not even need to see the twin sabers attached to her hip to know who she is portraying.
The vision of divinity before me has been drilled into me every week for the better part of my life. The elven goddess, Exeter’s firstborn, Glis’Merinda is given flesh and hovers above the heads of all the hopeful competitors. Easily capturing everyone’s attention, the magician portraying the god, raises a supple hand and the entire sky responds to her motion, the color blue darkening to a charcoal gray as the clouds overhead begin to swirl and mix.
“You have done well to get this far,” the woman says, pulling the clouds overhead into one large mass.
I flinch, a drop of water striking my cheek. I look up, shielding my eyes from the deluge of water that begins to sprinkle down upon us, leaving the almost two hundred hopefuls drenched in just a few moments.
Metal armor and weapons send up a clinking chorus from the drops of water plinking off of them, but the woman’s voice cuts through all of it, as clear as if she spoke directly in my ear. “My name is Dessa Coril, and I have been granted the honor of commencing this leg of your journey. Prepare yourselves now ye hopeful, for within the hour, your wishes will either begin to bear fruit or lead you into despair.”
The goddess, Dessa Coril, holds up something in her hand that hadn’t been there just a moment before. I’m not the first to notice what it is, but I gasp when the realization dawns on me. “To whet the kiss of temptation, we shall be offering a challenge to the lot of you, a dungeon that has been crafted and designed by the Willian guild. Teams of five shall enter, searching out the treasures housed within this dungeon, fighting the lethal monsters that have been cultivated. I show you now one of the prizes available, a soul cage.”
The soul cage that she so casually spins in her fingers looks to be made of a blue metal that I have never seen before. Embedded gems in the surface of the circular orb promise a taste of magic, and with my eye, I can see a magical aura that lazily floats about the thing, stranger and more distinct than any aura that I have seen before.
“Capturing such a prize will make succeeding in this Passage far easier I imagine. Having a friendly rank two among your group will empower everyone,” Dessa’s voice whispers in my ear. “You have six minutes to create your teams. Begin.”