Interlude 1: The Lord of Darkcradle Castle

Name Christie Class Master Potion Maker Marks 11

Guild

Old Guard SD SD961

The Hub sprawled out beneath her as she soared through the air on her skyrider. As the setting sun disappeared behind the horizon the city was coming alive as countless players produced lights to illuminate their way. Houses and street lamps, pubs and inns, palaces and castles which had been built over the last two decades since the fall of the dark lord blossomed with rays both magical and electric. The hub was the only city in all of Esem which was entirely player ran, and as usual Christie felt an overwhelming sense of pride in the assistance she had provided in making it that way all those years ago.

Too bad it’s all a lie, she thought as she directed her skyrider to begin descending. She pointed her vehicle at the largest building just outside of town. The neighborhood of Hardknock had been established by the Old Guard after defeating Lord Oscuro, and the entire guild had built their homes there. The largest and oldest of these buildings was a castle which had become the headquarters of the Old Guard, and it was where Solomon had told her to meet him.

As she crested the outer wall of the headquarters the grounds sped beneath her. Servants, both NPC and player hailed her as she slowed her descent and came to a stop before the front door. As she dismounted a guard, standing at attention before the massive door, raised a hand.

“Lady Christie, welcome home,” said the Guard. He was a player sworn to guard the Old Guard, though from what Christie never knew. Her guild employed dozens of such players who joined their ranks in the hopes of one day becoming a real member.

“Thank you,” said Christie. She left her skyrider where she parked it, knowing that the chances of it being stolen were below zero percent. She brushed off her clothes and removed her riding goggles. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

“Matthew, ma’am,” said the guard, coming to attention. “I joined a month before you departed to Nabonoban.”

“I see. And what is your class?”

“Me?” The guard widened his eyes in surprise. Likely he had never been asked a question by any of the Old Guard before. “I am a knight, Lady Christie. On my third contract.”

“Third contract,” repeated Christie. “You are in the 90th percentile of players yet still you have decided to guard a door. Why?”

“Why, well,” stammered Matthew. “I wish to be apart of the glory Esem’s most famous guild.”

Christie shook her head and sighed.

“You could be out there, in any of the other worlds of Esem, making a name for yourself and becoming wealthy. Yet you want a piece of the Old Guards’s ‘glory’.”

“Yes, Lady Christie, I guess—.”

“Just Christie is fine, Matthew,” she said.

“Yes, lady—I mean,” his shoulders slumped and he looked about to say something when he was interrupted.

“Bothering the guards now, Christie?”

She turned around to find a smug looking man who was nearly seven feet tall. His broad arms were folded before himself and his muscles bulged. He was draped in animal skins and had a great battle axe strapped to his back.

“No, Mack. I was just curious why so many players decide that serving us is more important than serving themselves.”

Mack the Tooth, legendary tank of the Old Guard, roared a laugh.

“Oh, Christie, I’ve missed you. How was your vacation?”

“Rejuvenating,” said Christie as Mack motioned for the guard to open the door. They entered together and stepped into the main hall. There was a large double staircase against the far wall which led to the second floor and long halls to either side

“I was worried you would not come back,” murmured Mack, his bravado had disappeared as soon as the door shut behind them.

“I thought about it,” said Christie. “But then Solomon sent for me.”

“I heard you had a meeting with him.”

“You heard correctly.”

They headed to the main stair case and began ascending to the second floor where the throne room was.

“I will walk you to him. We are taking turns waiting on him these days.”

“Why not use one of the guards?”

“They cannot be trusted,” said Mack with a shrug. “You are correct in us not needing them. Don’t ask me why we employ them.”

“I suppose someone finds it worthwhile,” said Christie vaguely. She did not know what Mack wanted or where his loyalties lay. Without a doubt she believed that he had voted for Spade to be killed all those months ago. It would not do for her to say more than was needed while they were together. Her loyalty to the Old Guard was also suspect to him, she knew.

As it should be, she thought to herself.

“Here we are,” said Mack as they came to the door leading to the throne room. It was wrought iron and stood ten feet tall. Images of battles and mythic beasts were etched into its surface. “After you are done you should come to Samantha’s palace. We are having a get together and can celebrate your return.”

“I am tired from my journey but thank you, Mack.” She managed a small smile and hoped it was convincing. “After this meeting I’ll be going to my house to rest.”

“Very well,” said the big man with a shrug. “I’ll leave you to it. By the way,” he added, glancing at the door. “Solomon has been acting funny lately. Hasn’t left this room for over a week.”

“That’s not so unusual,” said Christie. “He’s always hiding himself away after signing a new contract.”

“That’s not the strange part,” said Mack, lowering his voice. “He hasn’t eating a thing in four days. And we have been hearing strange noises for just as long. Karkren tried talking to him yesterday and Solomon tossed him bodily out the room. You will be the first who has spoken to him in some time.”

Christie cocked an eyebrow and examined Mack. He was not one who was able to hide his emotions well, and whatever subterfuge he was apart of he seemed to genuinely feel concern over Solomon.

“I‘ll be careful,” assured Christie. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Mack inclined his head in thanks, and then without another word headed back the way they had came. Christie waited until he had disappeared beyond the staircase to turn around and open the door to the throne room.

It was a throne room in name only, as Solomon had made it his domicile ever since they had taken the castle for themselves. Clothes and books spread out over the ground, along with countless weapons and trays of rotting food. All manner of mysterious objects, magical and regular, were whirring, beeping, and walking around the floor aimlessly. Near the back, where the old throne of the Dark Lord was, a messy bed was at the foot of the Dias. A pair of luminous eyes opened by what looked like a door ajar, seemingly floating before the bed in empty space.

“Hello, boy,” said Christie. She got to her knees and the wolf got up and trotted over towards her. It was a great shaggy wolf from Killheim which Solomon had trained. There were few people who he would not growl at and Christie happened to be one of them. Anytime Dredman or Samantha got near him the wolf would growl low and deadly.

“Have you missed me, Jet?” Said Christie as she scratched the wolf’s muzzle. Jet, the wolf, panted happily and licked her fingers. Christie laughed as his tongue tickled her. “Good boy. I’ve been gone for a while, haven’t I?”

Jet barked happily.

“Where is Solomon, huh?”

Jet blinked once and then pointed his nose at the open door in the middle of the room. Christie could hear the faint sounds of battle from within, and the occasional explosion or two.

Christie scratched Jet’s neck one more time and then got to her feet and cautiously approached the door. It was hovering in mid air and was unconnected to another room in this dimension. Only a vault key could open it, and when closed was impossible to enter so long as the owner had their key. They were perfect for making small rooms for players to rest safely within, or to store valuable items or money. Christie knew that this vault had cost Solomon more money than most players would ever see in their lives, but he did not use it as a secondary home, or as a giant treasure chest.

BOOOOOM

Another explosion came from the half open door. Christie felt her pulse begin to pound and considered waiting for Solomon’s training session to end.

I’ll be here for days in that case, thought Christie to herself. She looked back once more at Jet who was munching on some forgotten food by the entrance. He seem totally unconcerned by the noise from the door.

Steeling herself, she grabbed the handle. The door was slightly ajar and she could only see a light and some shadows dancing on the ground. She opened the door fully and stepped inside.

Utter chaos. The room was the largest Lair she had ever seen. It could easily have fit half of Darkcradle Castle within its four walls. It was not only wide but incredibly tall, and on the ground along the walls were dozens of urns which Christie had made her self for Solomon. There was a single chair by the door and Solomon’s shirt and also his bag. But the scant decorations were far from the most interesting thing going on.

By her count Solomon was fighting 100 potion monsters.

In the middle of the room was a mass of dark and smokey bodies, the hands clutched weapons made of darkness and their eyes gleamed as they slashed and stabbed and tried to overcome their opponent. Christie could only see the flash of an iron mask amidst the swarm of bodies. The creatures shrieked as they were repelled by Solomon’s fists alone. Despite their overwhelming numbers not a monster among them seemed able to touch the man as he whirled and spun and leaped through the air safely from their blades.

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Solomon was stripped to the waist and upon his skin were dozens of small contract tattoos. He was breathing heavily and his muscles gleamed under the pale light of the ceiling which glowed dully above. A group of potion monsters tried to corner him but he expertly kicked in the air, and the strength was such that a blast of wind knocked them all back, their weapons dropping and uncoiling into smoke.

That would be a Martial Artist contract ability, she thought idly to herself. Christie took a seat and crossed her arms, hoping that none of the creatures would notice her.

Now Solomon leaped high into the air, fist raised. A speck of light appeared clenched in his fist, and then the light became a flame. The potion monsters bellowed and tried to shield them selves from the flame and some even began to run away. At the zenith of his jump, the flame grew and become like a small sun. Solomon shouted a war cry and came crashing to earth, blasting the ground with his fiery fist.

Christie shielded her eyes and was glad her clothes was enchanted against fire. All the potion creatures burst apart, their shadows ripped to pieces by the fire and the light of Solomon’s signature move. When the light was gone, Christie opened her eyes and saw only Solomon, his fist in the ground and some of the floor broken around him.

“Christie,” said Solomon, panting heavily. He tried to pull his fist from the ground. “I’m stuck.”

Normally she would have laughed, but memories of Spade and the meeting he had presided over clouded her humor.

“Then get out,” she said.

Solomon strained, trying to pull his arm out again.

“I can’t,” he said, sounding perturbed. “These vault floors are really not meant to be broken, I think we have a problem.”

“Yeah, I’ve never known they were even able to be broken.”

“Think you can—“ but he was cut off as the smoke began to coalesce around him. His attackers were slowly reforming their bodies. A hand appeared and then a couple heads formed themselves.

Solomon tried to free his hand again.

“What are they doing?” Said Solomon. “I usually have them back inside their urns after I fight them.”

Now there were more arms and bodies of dozens of the potion monsters were appearing, the smokey swirling within their chests. There was a loud hiss from the more complete ones, and suddenly the monsters began to group together. A giant ball of smoke was forming as their essence came together. A giant arm appeared first, and then a chest, seemingly half in the ground formed. Soon a head the size of a wagon came into existence, and with it a pair of giant, gleaming eyes and a mouth tore free like it had been stitched together.

“Christie, what are they doing?” Said Solomon calmly. He sounded like he was inquiring about the weather.

Uh oh, thought Christie. Now the creature was fully formed. It was so large than it had to bend over to fit beneath the ceiling of the vault. It’s massive arms hung limply to either side as its demonic eyes stared at Solomon, fist still stuck in the ground. It’s leg were like two pillars and despite this smoke like nature Christie could see the bulge of muscles.

“Interesting,” said Solomon just as the creature raised a fist.

Christie bolted to the urn closest to her and ripped the half open lid off the top.

“Revertere nunc!” She screamed. Just as the giant monster began to strike all the urns in the room opened and a great sucking air came from each. Smoke from the monsters fist and arm issued from its limb and it bellowed a deep cry. It’s fist dissipated and was sucked into the urns equally, and then came its chest and its legs.

“SPRAAAA!” The creature screamed in pain and frustration. Slowly it shrank in size until it was nothing more than a speck of smoke and then that too flew into the final urn. All about the room was the sound of 50 urns simultaneously shutting as their lids came into place.

“Incredible,” said Solomon, turning his mask to look at her. The iron mask only had a pair of holes where Solomon’s black eyes stared at her, and a grinning slit for his voice to come out of. “Did you know they would do that?”

“In theory,” said Christie, slumping against the wall. “I mean, I’ve read about that, but its a rare phenomenon. I don’t know a single potion maker who has ever seen it happen.”

“How strong was it?”

“Very,” said Christie. “I don’t know if you would have beaten it with your fist stuck in the ground.

He looked again at his hand.

“Yes, I would have had to act quickly to free myself.”

“What would you have done if I weren’t here?”

“Simple,” said Solomon. He raised his free hand, fingers straight like a knife, and held it momentarily. A small glimmer of energy appeared around his hand.

“Hold on—,” began Christie, realizing what he was about to do. But it was too late.

Solomon slashed faster than the eye could see in a sideways chop, and blood spurted from his severed arm. He had cut him self in the middle of the forearm, and without a trace of pain. He stood up and stretched all while blood issued from the stump.

“Why?” Said Christie, sick to her stomach. She had no problem with blood, having seen more than her fair share while with the Old Guard. But watching another self mutilate themselves made her want to throw up all over the ground.

Solomon shrugged and then bent down to retrieve his hand in the ground. He grunted once and then yanked it free.

He can barely feel the pain, realized Christie. One of his many abilities earned over two decades of training. She forget which class had given him the ability but still found the idea of doing such a thing to yourself beyond the pale.

“One must extend themselves in such situations,” said Solomon. He placed his hand on the stump and then muttered a few words. Suddenly the blood stopped and the hand reattached itself to the stump. He gave a rare sigh of contentment and then flexed the hand a couple times. “All better. My time as in the Surgeon class comes in handy yet again.”

Solomon looked at her again and she could feel he was expecting something.

“What?” She said.

“It was a pun.”

“Yes,” said Christie, rolling her eyes. She hid a small smile by shaking her head. “It was stupid.”

Solomon gently chuckled and then walked towards the door. He reached for his bag and retrieved a skin of water. As he did so a dogs nose appeared behind the door, sniffing the air, then Jet padded within and licked Solomon’s hand. He absentmindedly patted his pets head. When he was done drinking, he turned to face Christie, his chest was slick was sweat and she could nearly count the many contract marks upon his body.

“How was Nabonoban?”

“What? Oh,” said Christie, unable to keep her voice from sounding worried. “It was fine.”

“I thought perhaps you would not return.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Now she noticed that besides the chair Solomon was standing beside was also a table strewn with papers and pens. It looked like someone had been writing furiously.

“Was that Mack outside with you?” Said Solomon suddenly.

“Yes,” she said, eyeing her leader. Mack had been right, Solomon was looking bad. “He said you haven’t left this room or eaten in days.”

“His worry is born of ignorance, not concern.” He then bent over the small table. There he found a pen and parchment and began writing without sitting, leaning over the table.

“Why not leave, Solomon?”

“Huh?” He looked around at her as though he had forgotten she was there. “Oh, this contract has seized me, that’s why.”

“I heard you had a new one,” she said. She crossed her arms and watched his write for a moment. “I guess fighting the potion monsters was just a pleasant diversion.”

“I signed for the Writer class a two months months ago,” he said, returning to the parchment. He scribbled some more before placing the pen down with a sigh. “I decided that it was time to record the many events of the Old Guard. Mercant thinks I am insane.”

“I see,” said Christie with surprise. Solomon had often taken jobs of late that had no fighting components, but this one surprised her. “And what events are you writing about?”

“All of them,” said Solomon. “From the beginning. I start with the day I spawned in Esem and how I met every one. I just got to the day I met Dredman. He was on another guild, and tried to kill me.”

“I remember that,” said Christie. They had met Dredman over twenty years before. Solomon and Karkren had killed his entire Wandering Poisoners Guild but Solomon had decided to spare him, such was his remarkable abilities. “Spade argued that he was better joining us than being tossed off that mountain.”

Solomon stared at her, his mask emotionless and void of expression.

“Our thief argued for mercy that day,” said Solomon hollowly. “One of the rare times his first instinct was not to kill our enemies. Ironic that it was his undoing in the end.”

Christie felt a cold sweat come over her, but she tried to keep her voice neutral.

“Loyalty should be foremost concerning one’s guild,” she said.

The mask only stared at her, unblinking and inscrutable.

“You are probably wondering why I asked you to return.”

Obviously, she thought. But only shrugged in response.

“There are ears everywhere,” he muttered. He then placed a hand on the vault door and slammed it shut. It sounded like a death knell. This was the first time she had seen her leader since Spade had died and he had allowed the hit. Suddenly her nerves felt on edge and she wish wondered whether saving his life had been the right decision only moments before

“These vaults are quite useful, no?” Said Solomon, obviously smiling behind the mask. “I always fancied Karken’s use of one and decided to get my own. They make remarkable training places as well, of course.”

“Then why did you?” Said Christie, feeling exasperation overriding her fear and ignoring his small talk. “I was having a wonderful time in Nobanabon until I got your message.”

“A wonderful time,” repeated Solomon. “That is good to hear. While you have been having a wonderful time I was preventing a mutiny down here.”

“A mutiny?” Said Christie in shock. “What do you mean?”

Solomon sat against the wall and laced his fingers together in his lap. He gestured to the ground.

“You’re going to want to sit for this.”

She did as was asked, never taking her eyes off the leader of the Old Guard. She walked over and sat herself before him. Years ago, when she was a newly joined member, Solomon had asked to speak with her alone. At the time, she thought perhaps he was interested in her romantically, that was until she realized that he was incapable of such things. Solomon had a one track mind, and only thought about progress for himself, and for the guild. Whatever this conversation was going to be about Christie knew nothing good was about to be said.

“I killed Spade,” he said simply.

“I know that,” she responded, looking away for the first time. Her heart began to pound. To hear it said so blatantly was like a strike of lightening to her heart.

“I didn’t do it myself,” continued Solomon slowly. “But I gave the order. If he had been allowed to go to the AION post, or the Esem Monitor with that information, the legacy of our guild would have been in shambles.”

“Alright.”

“I know that you were close to him.”

“For a time, yes. We almost got married.”

“Married,” repeated Solomon in that annoying way of his. It was as though he forgot what the word meant. “Yes. Very close. Do you have ill will towards me?”

“As I said before, loyalty towards the guild is first and foremost in my mind,” she said, staring directly into the eye slits of his mask.

“Was it loyal of us to kill one of our founding members?”

Christie felt a trap. She decided to only shrug her shoulders again.

“He wanted to betray us,” she said. “You did what you had to do.”

“I see,” said Solomon, staring off into space. He did not respond for some time, and when he did, his voice sounded distant. “I suppose that is the right answer.”

“Solomon, what did you mean of a mutiny?”

“Ah, that. I believe the others are not satisfied with Spade’s demise, and now want me to step aside. They do not like the direction our guild has been going.”

“But a mutiny?” Said Christie in disbelief. “Is that even possible? You could level the entire hub in your sleep, surely.”

“Mutinies come in many forms,” said Solomon, gently tapping his mask in thought. “I do not think any will try to directly incapacitate or imprison me.”

“I guess you should not have killed your most loyal member.”

“Ah hah,” said Solomon, pointing annoyingly at her face. “So you are upset. As I suspected.”

Christie cursed the slip of her tongue to herself.

“So I’m mad,” she said through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have killed him. What are you going to do about it?”

In her mind she went through ever single ability she had. Even with 11 contract marks which made her stronger than 99% of other players, she was still a guppy compared to Solomon. She wondered wether the vault room gave her any advantage, and then remembered the time Solomon had popped a mans eardrums by clapping his hands.

“I have a mission for you, Christie.”

“Say what?”

“A mission,” he repeated.

“The kind I don’t come back from?”

“No, just a regular mission. I need you to find someone.”

“Who?” She said suspiciously. This was not what she expected. “And why me?”

“I am being watched. As for who, I cannot tell you their name, but I may be able to put you on the correct path.”

“Okay,” said said, still confused. “Tell me what to do.”

For the next ten minutes Solomon outlined his commands. Christie listened intently, just glad that she was seemingly going to be walking out of Darkcradle Castle alive.

“Okay” said said after he was done talking. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you, Christie,” said Solomon. He now seemed very tired and he sighed. “It is hard to know who to trust these days. I had always thought you might still be loyal.”

Christie wanted to avoid any talk of loyalty with him, and so instead repeated a question about her mission.

“You really want me to go there?”

“I do,” he said, nodding.

“Someone is there?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know who?”

“Correct.”

Christie shook her head in exasperation.

“I haven’t even been there in years.”

“Then consider it a trip down memory lane.”

Christie rolled her eyes, not caring if he saw.

“Fine, I’ll leave tonight.”

Solomon seemed content with that but began to stare off into space. Christie thought it was the signal that their meeting was over and so rose to her feet and made for the door. Just as she passed him Solomon grabbed her wrist. She stifled a sigh and looked down at her leader, his iron mask staring at her. She was close enough that she could see his brown eyes.

“Do not tell the others,” he whispered. The grip on her wrist increased until it nearly hurt. “I do not know what you will find there, but report back immediately. I think you will understand when you see.”

Christie only nodded and then shook herself free of his grip. As she left the vault she massaged the place on her wrist which he had gripped, and ruminated on the empty pit that she felt was threatening to swallow her whole.

For the first time in her life she had seen a foreign emotion in Solomon’s eyes.

Solomon, leader of the Old Guard and most powerful human player to ever spawn in Esem, was terrified.

Of what, she did not know.