I was in a red pulsating void, a distant booming sound tethering me to the world. I was not me, I was no one, just an empty mind floating into the coldness of space.
Boom… boom… boom
Further and further away into the cold emptiness I was drifting, drifting away, but that booming sound wouldn’t let me go.
Boom… boom… boom.
A flash of fire, enveloping me, rushing down my lunges. Skin cracking, blood oozing… boiling. Like a memory from a distant life.
No. This life… I’m thinking. I’m here.
The booming sound, I realized, was the sound of my heart.
I need to get back, now.
“Ah-krah-krah.”
I shuddered a breath and opened my eyes. Cloak sat next to my head, pecking at my forehead.
My head.
Oh, by the gods, my head.
It felt like a split open tooth. My health bar was deep in the red, flashing. My body was cold to the bones and my teeth chattering. I lay at the outer curve of the river, on a small patch of shingle, the icy current tugging at me from the waist down, eager to claim all of me, dragging me back into the cold water to drown me once and for all.
I downed a health potion but my health didn’t crawl up from the red. It was the cold. It was killing me slowly.
I turned on my stomach, tucking my elbows close to my body trying not to retch. My head throbbed hard enough for my vision to fade out at every beat.
Christ… I would almost prefer being dead to this.
Inch by inch I crawled out of the water. I downed a stamina potion to give me some extra push, but it went up with a poof giving me nothing. I was too weak to use it.
After a while I had dragged myself out of the water and downed another health potion. It didn’t do much. Still to cold.
Slowly and with a groan I pulled firewood out of my inventory. It collapsed on the beach like dropped from above. My head was swimming. I was starting to drift away again.
No.
I clamped down with the teeth at the top of my tongue. It had worked at the Gauntlet and it worked now, clearing my head momentarily from fog.
I tried to remember the word for fire. My robe had been burnt to shreds and taken by the river, but I knew the basic spell for fire casting, but the word escaped me.
“Atraxes,” I mumbled and gestured toward the pile of wood, to snap my fingers wasn’t a possibility.
Nothing happened.
“Atlas.”
Nothing. I let my head sink down on my arm, closing my eyes. Think, goddammit. And then it came to me:
“Atra I mumbled, touching the wood with my fingertips. It started smouldering and then it caught fire. I removed my hand and once again let my head collapse to my arm. I laid there, doing nothing more than breath and listen to the crackle of the growing fire, feeling the warmth on the side of my face. I would live.
Later when I sat huddled up as close to the fire as I dared, I surveyed the damage. I had felt my skin peeling of when I ran out of the fort, but it was all back, probably because I had downed every potion possibly when running up the stairs. The decrease damage potion had saved me and the health potion had kept me alive. I was in a pitiful state, still, but I kept on taking my health potions and was slowly working my health back up.
Then it struck me.
The sword.
The goddamn sword!
I opened my inventory and stared through it.
“No.”
I looked over it again, thinking I might’ve missed it, but it wasn’t there.
“No, no – NO!”
My scream echoed in the narrow gorge.
I had held the sword in my hand as I was running up the stairs, and I had dropped it. For Tristan Toth to pick up. I clenched my hands and banged them at my forehead in frustration. Of all the idiotic things to do. Why hadn’t I just let it remain in the inventory? Then I would’ve had in my hand right now.
Because you were scared shitless and was in full panic. That’s why. People in full panic are rarely the smartest people in the room.
I collapsed back on the bed of shingles, my arms up as in full defeat, and stared up at the grey sky of dawn.
“For anyone listening or watching,” I said loud and clear. “That did not go as planned.”
As if they hadn’t figured out that by themselves by now.
Oh crap. I sat back up. In the face of defeat, that’s were greatness grows, or some stupid shit like that, eyh? Back up in the saddle, right?
Right…
I brought up the scoreboard:
Tristan Toth: 1.275.000
Luke Grayson: 850.000
Nadir Hawa: 725.000
Brad Richards: 275.000
Lance Peters: 25.000
William Walker: 25.000
Everyone seemed to have gone for the fortress except the two last guys on the list, and they were probably scurrying about in the wilderness, right now, scared shitless. I wondered what had happened with the other two guys, Luke and Nadir. They had obviously been at the fortress and done a fair share of killing. Guess they must’ve bailed when they saw Tristan with the sword – and when they saw what he had become. Everyone that had the chance to run seeing that, would. I had.
I looked at the number of remaining players, and it was down to six, those displayed on the scoreboard. Could only be a waiting game now. Tristan wouldn’t find either Walker or Peters until the battle area was down to its bull’s eye, and I was determined he wouldn’t find me either.
It looked grim, I had to admit that. Tristan had the ability to transform to the lord of darkness or whatever and he had my mythical sword to boot. I hadn’t been able to defeat him with Orak’s Wrath and simple mathematics told me it wouldn’t be easier without it.
But now at least I knew what to expect from Tristan and could plan accordingly.
I would get my sword back.
When the shivers had left my body and the feeling in my feet was back (and the mad itching had subsided) I roasted some meat and ate it with Cloak in silence. I had changed clothes and thrown my wet ones into the inventory. I was dry and warm, but it was like the chill was still residing deep inside me.
I was turning the problem with Tristan back and forth. There had to be a way of defeating him. I looked at the countdown in the display, 28 minutes before my communication lines would open. Maybe Rick or Sarah knew something that could help me?
“Krah,” Cloak said, nipping a morsel from my pinched fingers.
“You did good back there. Did you sense that he was coming?”
“Krah!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
We had finished our food when the countdown hit zero.
Incoming communication. From: Rick Solomon Accept Y/N?
Rick Solomon: Wow. That was intense. Are you okay?
Brad Richards: Yes. It was touch and go for a while but I’m at full health again. For how long was I out if it?”
Rick Solomon: Close to two hours. You even went down a series of white rapids. Was sure you were dead by then, but the announcement never came. You’re tough as nails, brother.
Brad Richards: Doesn’t feel like it. Can you f**king believe I lost the sword?
Oh, censoring, are we? Blood and gore are okay but not the word fuck?
Rick Solomon: Yeah, I saw that. Too bad.
Brad Richards: S**t, a**, c**p, c*ck, c*nt, f***tard
Rick Solomon: What are you doing?
Brad Richards: Trying stuff. I’m done now. What the h*ll happened to Tristan? You saw that?
Rick Solomon: Yeah. I’ve been talking to people, and I’m allowed to share this with you since it concerns game play mechanics. Tristan used a potion called Demonization, the most expensive potion in the whole game. One vial of it costs as a seaside apartment in Area 3. He has used it once before in the tournament. He can have a third vile, sure, but in a best-case scenario, he’s out of it now.
Brad Richards: And if he isn’t?”
Rick Solomon: There’s a timer one the potion. He can only use it once every 36 hours, and when he drinks it, it last for 5 minutes. So, best bet, hunt him down and kill him in the next 32 hours.
Brad Richards: Yeah. I have no idea even how to get out of this gorge, and no idea where Tristan is. I know you can’t tell me, but right now I need to focus on getting out of this death trap and I’m not looking forward going back into the water.
Rick Solomon: Got it. Go hard at them. All the guys at Anchors are routing for you.
Brad Richards: Thanks.
Rick Solomon: By the way, you looked silly as s**t when you skidded down those stairs on the back of your neck.
Goddammit...
Incoming communication from: Sarah Parsa – Accept Y/N?
Sarah Parsa: I thought you died.
Brad Richards: So did I.
Sarah Parsa: That f***ing Toth clan! That was as close to cheating you can come without actually cheating.
Brad Richards: It is what it is. I live to fight another day.
Sarah Parsa: And are you? Are you going up against that again?
Brad Richards: You make it sound like I have a choice.
Sarah Parsa: I was about to tell you to be careful, but that would’ve been kind of dumb, I guess.
Brad Richards: Careful isn’t part of the plan, unfortunately. I need to at least make a serious effort of taking down Tristan.
Sarah Parsa: But how?
Brad Richards: Don’t know yet, but I know what to start with.
Sarah Parsa: ?
Brad Richards: I need to get out of the gorge, and when I’m out; I’ll head straight for the centre of the battle area. I don’t know exactly where it will be but I can make a calculated guess. I’ll go there, learn the environments and prepare for him to come.
Sarah Parsa: You don’t want to try and draw him out?
Brad Richards: I prefer not to face him on even terms. I spoke to a friend and he told me about the Demonization potion. Tristan can’t use it again in 36 hours but I have no idea what other potions he’s got. I’ll face him again, but it’ll be on my terms, not his.
Sarah Parsa: I’m not going to tell you to be careful, but I can wish you all the luck in the world.
Brad Richards: Thanks. Are you down at Jacob’s watching?
Sarah Parsa: No, I’m home watching it from bed. Now that I’ve seen you’re OK, I’ll try to get some sleep.
Brad Richards: Do that.
Sarah Parsa: And Brad?
Brad Richards: Yes?
Sarah Parsa: I wish you were here.
Brad Richards: Believe me I wish that to.
She signed of and I let my gaze linger where her text had been. Then I started to prepare for my departure. I was interrupted by a third incoming communication:
Incoming communication from: Vinger Toth – Accept Y/N?
I looked at the hoovering blue text for the longest while, then I hit Y.
Vinger Toth: I can feel the stench of fried rat all the way over here to Breaker’s.
Brad Richards: God morning, Vinger. Good to see you up, nice and early, and in your best mood.
Vinger Toth: You think you were lucky, escaping? You’ve only managed to prolong the pain, fool. F**k I laughed when you were limping away looking like a nail cushion, dribbling blood all over.
Brad Richards: Yeah, I’ve had better experiences. But what doesn’t kill you…
Vinger Toth: Oh, but he will kill you. He will only have the pleasure off doing it twice.
Brad Richards: Yeah?
Vinger Toth: Yeah.
Brad Richards: I don’t think so. I think he had his chance and blew it. I think you know that as well, and that’s why I have you shitting all over my feed right now. He’s all bluster when he’s jacked up on hyper potions but his potions will run out and when they do, I bet he’ll prove a coward.
Vinger Toth: You’re in for a surprise, then. He’s a Toth.
Brad Richards: My point exactly. I’ll have him beg for mercy before I’m done with him. I’ll prove to the world what a Toth really is. A coward that will cry and beg.
Vinger Toth: I’ll F***ING KILL YOU MOTHERF***ER!!!
Brad Richards: Get in line, clown.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I signed off, leaving Vinger to rant in silence. That felt oddly good. It didn’t do anything to help me, but then again, if there had been a level for animosity, I’d be at level 100 with Vinger and there was nothing I could do to dial it back. And I didn’t really want to. Hopefully Vinger was ranting with Tristan right now, putting all kinds of pressure on him – defend the family honour, be a true Toth – and all that jazz. Could only work in my favour.
I got up on my feet walking the short patch of shingles, eyeing the rockface on both sides. Water was sloshing and lapping at my feet, and the sound gave me a shudder of imaginary chill. I really didn’t want to go back in there.
The stone in the rockfaces were layered, material of slightly different colour on top of each other in a slanting angle. On of the layers looked softer than the others; it had crumbled, leaving a thin sliver of a ledge that looked big enough for my toes. If I flattened myself against the rock and found grips for my hands, I might just be able to get up from here.
Yeah… there weren’t any other options, except jumping back into the river and float downstream, hoping to find a better spot.
Nah, I would just take my chances with the rock right here.
I clenched my teeth and went into the water, sloshed my way to the place where the bottom of the ledge was and clawed myself up, finding grips for my fingers. Then I started moving sideways, slowly moving one foot to the other, inching my way up from the swirling cold water below. I had my head turned to the right, eying the ledge, scraping the side of my face against the rock. If I lost my grip, or if the ledge crumbled, I could get knocked unconscious before hitting the water. This was dangerous. It wasn’t battle to death, fireballs and flying arrows, but it was dangerous, nonetheless.
My fingers ached, my back ached form the unnatural position, my feet trembled, and ached and my calves was as hard as stone. I downed a stamina potion to keep me going. I was only halfway there. If I only had had one of those increase attack speed potions left, that would’ve gotten me up a bit quicker, but I hadn’t. I had plenty of stamina potions, though, but I had noticed that they gave less and less effect when you drank’em down in quick succession. Sweat stung my eyes. The muscles in my back started to cramp up.
Shit.
I stopped climbing, closed my eyes and just tried to balance my weight on the balls of my feet, reliving my back for a moment. Cloak flew in swooping circles above, as if mocking me with the ease he handled vertical movement.
Dumb bird…
When my calves started trembling and cramp up, I continued. I was completely spent when I could throw my arm over the ledge and grab a tuft of grass.
Moments later I was up rolling over on my back, gasping with closed eyes. There was a muted thud as Cloak landed beside my head, I glimpsed him in the corner of my eye when he came scuttling over.
Bock-bock-bock, when he pecked me on the forehead with his chunky beak.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not dead,” I said flapping feebly at him.
“Kraaah!”
“Yeah, I’m with you, brother. R&R is over.”
When I said it, I couldn’t help thinking off my bright, nice apartment in Area 9. The Italian coffeemaker in the corner of the kitchen, the bridge that spanned the river outside my window. And then I thought about being beneath the silky sheets in Sarah’s bed, having her warm body next to me. That was proper R&R.
I would get back there, soon enough. I did understand why some stopped playing the game, and just lived in it instead. Was I eager to ever do something like this again? Be set on fire? Be swept down a roaring cold stream, almost drowning, fighting a fuckin demon of the dark? No. One had to be completely out of their mind to enjoy this. I could see the attraction in starting a little cafe down by the waterfront, get the business going, hire some NPCs to run it and then do whatever I wanted with my time.
I got up and started walking, Cloak landing on my shoulder for the free ride.
Yeah, I could tell myself that. I hadn’t become a millionaire in the other world by just sitting idle and having a good time. I had that itch in my body, and it never went away. If there was a mountain to climb, I had to climb it. It was as it had been in Nam. When you were out in the bush, pinned down and Charlie was chattering from the tree line, mortar shells exploding all over the rice pads. You had no wish to be there at all; but as soon as you were back at camp, drinking Bud and having a barbeque, the itch came back. When we loaded up the Huey’s, when Tex manned the M60 at the side door and when we flew out to another mission, it was never fear I’d felt. Some guys did, and I had all the respect for that, but what I felt was anticipation.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not one of those twisted fuckers that enjoy killing people. I did nothing of that shit you saw on the TV’s back home, killing babies and burning villages.
No. I don’t like the act of killing but I’m a bit of an adrenalin junkie, admitted and I thrive when circumstances tilt into the extreme, when life’s rev gauge goes into the red. That’s when I feel most alive. And there is no more extreme condition of living than war, when everything is on the line, all the time.
So, yeah, I can grunt in discontent now, but as soon as I’m back in Breaker’s the itch will be back. And, I still want those answers. Who built all this and for what reason.
I was walking downhill, on a path that was well trodden and turned to muck. People moved back and forth here. I reckoned there had to be a village or something close by. The path swerved down into an oak forest. I had my eye on the map while walking. I had marked the spot where the centre of the battle area should be, calculated from the width of the first and second rings of the battle area. It was no exact science, since the outer ring hadn’t been marked on the map but it was close enough for me to at least be the closest one to the centre when the battle area shrunk to the bull’s eye. I needed to go through the forest. It was at least a day’s trek to reach the centre of the battle area and it would be even longer if I tried to walk around the forest. So, into the woods I went.
It was like stepping indoors. The constant wind was shut out, and the shifting light filtering through the leafy canopy above felt like a gentle caress on my senses. There were no patches of snow in here, just crusty old leaves that coloured the ground in shades of brown and yellow.
I followed the path deeper into the woods, thinking suddenly of Hansel and Gretel. Cloak found some raven friends that he sat down on a branch with, having a lively debate. He disappeared sometimes, going out on his own excursions, but he always returned.
I was wondering what Tristan was doing right now, and the other contestants. Were they just out there waiting for the next reduction of the battle area to happen? Or were they also chasing for the centre? I needed to keep my eyes peeled and not get lulled into a sense of safety. And as if my thoughts had the power to control, an announcement came the second after:
Bong!
Contestant number 39, eliminated.
I pulled up the scoreboard. Tristan had jumped another 725.000 points, hitting an even 2 million. He was out hunting, all right, and it looked like had had gotten Nadir Hawa who was now missing from the scoreboard. That was awful news. How many levels had Tristan scored from that haul of XP? I didn’t want to know. Was he over level 20 now? I didn’t want to now. I chose, laugh if you want to, to see this as good news. If he was out hunting for the other contestants, he wasn’t heading for the centre. While I was walking through the woods, the female voice in the sky started talking:
Please enter the new battle area. Fail to do so before the time is up, and you will be eliminated. You are currently, inside the battle area. You are, not in the danger zone.
Great my calculations weren’t completely out of whack. I was walking in the right direction at least. The flashing red outer ring of the existing battle area didn’t show up on my map and I couldn’t see it looking back. Distance had been made.
I reached the village at noon, and it was far bigger than I had expected. Stonewalled pastures appeared and then the path became a dirt road wide enough for two carriages to meet abreast. The road dove down to the village, a huddle of houses with thatched roofs, grey smoke tumbling out of the chimneys.
I let my shoulders drop.
Yes. A table and a chair at the local inn, a bed to sleep in and then I could continue to the centre tomorrow, well rested. That was a well thought out plan if I ever heard one.
Cloak seemed to be anxious when we came closer to the village. He left my shoulder and flew ahead, landing on the wooden roof of the stables. Sidestepping on the ridge looking down at me. There were four horses at the stable, as I could see, but no groom around. I was wondering how much a horse cost? Probably far more than I had in my purse. Another problem; I’ve never been on a horse in my whole life and didn’t exactly have the time to learn how to ride. I had checked my skill trees and haven’t really figured out how skills and abilities was chosen. There was no skill for horseback riding. Either you knew how to do it, or you didn’t, and if you didn’t the game world wasn’t going to help you. But I’d never shot a bow before in my life either, but I could handle it pretty well the first time I picked it up, and after skilling up I could make shots that would make an Olympic archer gasp in envy.
Horseback riding wasn’t on the priority list, but since I planned to spend a lot of time in Windersmyr, I needed to learn how to do it.
I went down the muddy street, lined with houses of stone and wood. A man sitting outside one of the houses was smoking a long-shafted pipe, eyeing me suspiciously. Not to used to strangers in this village, it seemed.
I continued down the street to the inn The Hog’s Belly. It was a log building in two stories, with a balcony stretching over the front porch, acting as a roof. It brought my mind to those houses one could see in the alps.
I stepped in.
The ceiling was low and the light that spilled in through the undersized windows was bleak. The common room was deserted and smelled of cold ashes. I slammed the door shut to make my presence known.
There was a rustle from the kitchen and a portly fellow, bald with grey moustaches, came hurrying out. He had an apron tightly wrapped around his body. The tag above his head read:
Orust Karol – NPC
“Oh! A traveller! How nice! Are you hungry? Of course you’re hungry! And maybe you need a bed for the night?”
“You are right on both accounts, dear sir. I’ve been on the road for quite some time and had hoped to find a burning hearth when I got here.”
“That will soon be arranged.”
He hollered over his shoulder and a kitchen boy came running out. The inn-keeper snapped his finger and pointed to the hearth.
“Usually, we keep the hearth running all day, but business has been slow lately and no need to keep the hearth burning only for the benefit of the crows, yes? But, now, good sir, sit down and have a rest and I will bring you a hot meal.”
“What do you have?”
“Rabbit. Rabbit and cabbage.”
“And?”
He grimaced slightly.
“That’s all, I’m afraid. But the rabbit is really good. Vidun does wonder with the local spices and herbes. I’ll guarantee it will be to your taste.”
“Then I’ll take your word for it,” I said and sat down. “You can bring me an ale to begin with,”
“Certainly.”
He left to fetch my ale, and to my right the kitchen boy had got some teetering flames going in the hearth. Before the innkeeper was back, he had the flames high and slowly dancing. The warmth of them licked the side of my face, giving me a pleasant shiver. The innkeeper put the foaming tankard down at the table. I know, I should’ve probably been sticking to water, being on high alert and all that, but my unavoidable fight with Tristan was at least one day away, probably more and getting comfy and maybe pleasantly pissed would do more for my fighting vigour than the opposite.
“Thank you. Excuse me for asking,” I said, holding the innkeeper away from his kitchen. “What is the name of this village?”
As it was, he needed not persuasion to be kept out of his kitchen. He was clearly a talker.
“Gudjarn, good sir! It means iron of the gods in our northern tongue. On a clear day, if you’re up on the hill outside Roger’s Farm, you can see the Iron Mountains in the distance. One could argue that’s a weak claim for our name like ours but a village caught between nothing but the wind and the wilderness have to claim something for itself, yes?” He said and laughed, his round stomach jumping.
“I guess so. Quite a sizeable village for being out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeees. But the capitol Brina is two days travel no the northwest, Mortar is four days to the north and we have Heckla five days to the south. People do travel in the Kingdom of Warnheim as well. This isn’t the main road from the south to the north, far from it, we can’t even claim to be the second or the third, but people do travel these roads and when they do, they need a hot meal and a bed to sleep in. May I ask from where you’re traveling?”
“I’m not really traveling from anywhere. I’m taking part in a contest, of sorts, and need to travel north-east for maybe a day or two. What can I expect out there?”
“A contest of sorts, that sounds mighty intriguing, but I shan’t ask anything about it. But maybe this contest will bring more customers to my door?”
“I wouldn’t hope for it. The contestants are a rapidly diminishing group. Have you seen any other travellers these past days?”
He shook his head.
“Unfortunately not. But to answer your question. You won’t find much to the northeast. Pine forest and remnants of the old border, before Warnheim was united, crumbling walls and forts and bastions. And witches.”
“Witches?”
“Oh yeah, witches. And wind wraiths and trolls, and all sorts of un-godly creatures. The northwest in untamed – savage lands. No one in their right mind would venture out there, alone.”
“Oh, thanks for letting me know.”
“Really, good sir, I strongly advice against going out there alone, if that is what you’re contemplating.”
“It is, and I’m afraid I’ll be facing worse things than trolls and witches out in those woods.”
“I shall ask no more, only hope that I’ll see you back here on your return trip, and with that I mean I hope there will be a return trip.”
“I caught that, yes. Thanks for your concern. Do you have a blacksmith in this village.”
“But of course we do. Wouldn’t be much of a village without one, would we now? You can find him further down the street, on the right hand.”
The kitchen boy brought in my food, a stew made of rabbit, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots. The innkeeper hadn’t used to large words, they stew was magnificent. I slurped it down, my taste buds aching and then I leaned back on the chair, one hand on my stomach, listening to the crackles from the fire. I took in one more ale before paying and arranging for the rent of a room for the night.
Then I went out to find the black smith. He was out, tall and fair haired, his hair in a braid, hammering iron. I unloaded much of the junk loot I collected in the clash this far, greaves and gauntlets and leather harnesses, while looking through his inventory.
One item in there caught my eye, a leather harness with a healing enchantment, regenerating 2% health every second. I’ve been looking for an item like this. Up till now I’d been forced to ration my health potions, not taking one unless my health dipped below 50%, not wanting to waste the effect of it. With his harness, I could just avoid taking damage for a while and regenerate my lost health.
It was set at a price of 2000 silver. I had 3820 to spare, after selling my junk and paying for the room. It was pricey. Really pricey but considering the fight I was walking into; I needed every fraction of an advantage I could get. Tristan, I was sure, would have vastly superior healing gear.
So, I bought it.
My eyes found other, interesting items. I had visited the merchants in Longbourn many times and had realized they had good gear, but only variations of the same sort of gear. Stamina regen gear, enchanted bows, and other good mid-level weapons. Out here in the woods, the selection of items was different. This black smith had enchanted rings, necklaces, and bracers. I was looking them through. There was a wide assortment of rings, most of them geared towards mages, like increasing max mana or mana generation, rings of max destruction and the sorts, but there were some rings that suited my playstyle as well. Like a ring of enhanced melee, giving 17 % extra damage from one-handed attacks, a ring of max stamina, enhancing base stamina by 800 points; a ring of stamina regeneration, which regenerated 4% stamina every second; a ring of max accuracy, increases base accuracy by 200 points. The necklaces and bracelets followed the same principle, of either regenerate abilities or increasing their base values. I checked the information tab, and it looked like I could equip one necklace, two bracelets and two rings. I had already bought a health regen harness, and I wanted a piece of gear that increased the base value of HP as well. To increase my stamina regen was a no brainer; I didn’t know how much a difference 4% regen would do, since I, like all players had my natural stamina regen, but getting back in the fight 4% faster, or to be able to stay in it for 4% longer, that could be the difference between life and death. The accuracy gear, I wanted, but didn’t particularly need right now. If I had had the resources to, I would’ve cleaned out this blacksmiths inventory but unfortunately, I was seriously strapped for credits
I still had the weapons I looted during the clash. I had hoped to sell them at a bigger city where they would fetch a higher price, but I realized I had to let them go.
I sighed and asked what he could give me for the epic sword of burning and the fire bow; I wanted to keep the bow of slow, it had higher base stats and the slow effect was more useful than the burn damage. Same thinking with keeping the frost bow. It dealt chill damage, but the freeze effect also slowed the enemy.
We haggled, back and forth, and had almost the deal done when I saw the obsidian dagger. It was beautiful, and lethal looking. The blade was as long as the palm of my hand, the tip of it slightly jutted. It looked like a sliver of oily flint, with a bluish black sheen to it. It was a nice-looking weapon, but it was the effect that caught my interest. Banish minor dark souls to Umthar.
“What is this? What does it do?”
As it says, they blacksmith said. “It banishes corrupted souls to the Netherworld. It’s the only way you can kill ethereal beings.”
“Etherals as in?”
“Spirits. Wraiths. Ghosts”
“Ahhh…”
All the nice things the innkeeper had said I would face out in the woods, in other words. The blacksmith, clearly sensing my interest, added:
“When I say its effective against all corrupted souls, that includes the undead, demons and even Lecra.”
“Lecra?”
“Oh, you don’t know about the Lecra? You really need that knife then. Stories say they’re the fallen gods of the Old World, banished to Umthar by the Celestials before the evil of the first men brought them back to this realm. That knife,” he pointed his stubby finger at the dagger in my hand, is the only thing that will send them back.”
“It says minor souls in the description. Nothing you’re telling me about the Lecra sounds like minor to me.”
The blacksmith gave a crooked smile.
“Well, you’re right about that friend, but it’s not the size of the blade that matter when it comes to banishing, it’s the level. That’s a level 2 blade you got there, but this is a blade you can level all the way up to level 100, and then it will send even Derotanan – the dark Overlord – back to Umthar, kicking and screaming.”
He used Umthar and Netherworld interchangeably. I guessed Umthar was the northerner’s version of hell, then.
“That you say?”
“That I say, because it is the truth. Mark my words.”
“What I say is that you seem way to skilled a salesman to be a blacksmith.”
He grinned.
“Well, the merchant packed up and left years ago. We all need to put food on the table for the family.”
“I bet you was the one that put him out of business.”
The blacksmith laughed.
“Maybe you might just be right about that. So, you’re interested in the dagger, yes?”
“Yes, but not at this price. You need to come down, a lot.”
“No can do there, sir. This is a very exclusive item.”
“An exclusive item that will sit in your inventory for years. Can’t imagine that there’s to many travellers showing a keen interest in such a specific item.”
“Oh! You would be ah-mazed, my friend!”
And so, we went at it until he had gotten all my weapons except the sword of chills and the bow of slow, all my magical robes and half of my stamina potions. In return I got the health regen harness, a ring of stamina regen and the Obsidian Dagger. I’m sure he ripped me off and would laugh when the told the family at the dinner table this night, but beggars can’t be choosers and I would feel a lot safer venturing out into the savage lands with this dagger in my belt.
When I came up to my room, the fire was lit and there was a stockpile of firewood that would last me the night. The bed was by the wall, and the nightstand beneath the semicircular window. I walked up to it, looked out on the dark street and the lights spilling out from the houses on the other side. I pulled the curtains shut and sat down in the bed, leaning against the wall.
I pulled out the dagger from my inventory and looked it over again. When angled towards the light of the burning fire, it gave away a kind of purple pulse. That was some kind of contained magic, powerful stuff, according to the blacksmith. The blade held four charges, which meant I could banish four minor souls. If I came up against anything stronger, I could just as well stab away with an iron dagger, the effect would be the same. The blade could be recharged by a skilled enchanter, but at an insane cost. I needed to be very conservative with how I used this weapon, I’ve poured most of my hard-earned silver into it and I needed to get my silver’s worth.
I tucked the dagger back into the inventory, placing it in one of my quick slots.
Next I brought up the map. If there was one thing I’d hoped to get my hands on her in Gudjarn, it was a physical map, drawn by people with detailed knowledge of the surroundings. Maybe if the merchant had still been in business, he could’ve provided, but most likely not. These people, from what I’ve learned didn’t use maps. Everything was like “Follow the stream south until you reach Padrig’s Oak. You’ll recognize from the splintered branch, lighting struck it one generation ago and that’s why it tilts so badly, there you go east heading having your nose pointedly at the second peak of the iron mountains, the first with snow on top.” Yeah, and so it went on. I needed to see where that old wall was, where the defensive structures were, which terrain was possible to traverse. My map showed nothing of the sorts, no rivers, no altitude curves, nothing except a greyish blue space, void of anything. My hunch, though, was that the Game Control hadn’t just thrown out the battle area on a whim; they wanted and exciting arena for the final fight, and if I found it, I would know it. The risk was that I dove straight into the woods, was ambushed by wraiths, witches and Lecra, while being cut of from the centre of the battle area by a gorge, a wild river or what have you. But I couldn’t see another option that to venture out into the unknown, hoping for the best.
I looked at the yellow marker I’d placed on the map. I had done my calculations over and over, and always ended up at the same place. If the centre wasn’t at my marker, it would be close.
I kicked off my boots and pulled the blanket over me. Seconds later, I was pulled down in a heavy, deep sleep.
Daybreak. I shut the door to the Hog’s Belly behind me and walked out of the village, Cloaks swooping down, landing on my shoulder. Then I went northeast, into the bush.
Into the savage lands.