The gates spilled open, its wedges lamenting with a heavy sigh. I stopped in my tracks as the light bore its grace. A chill licked my neck as the fragmented memory of what once was, waved its limp hand. Dried out decrepit building cried out in sadness as the winds blew, unburdened. “What?” I looked to Jah’Ir. “What happened here?” Quiet and quaint didn’t cut it. He said it so casually before, but this?
His jaw tightened. I could see a wave of dread wash over him as he sighed. “There was more than just one spider den.”
The roads were littered with potholes and collapsing homes. Their roofs were caved in, the walls split open like cannonballs had run them through. Brick pillars had somehow warped into avant-garde art projects.
“This wasn't all spiders, surely.”
He laid his hand on a crushed smithery, its only reflection of the past being the forge. “Neglect.” His hands ran along the charred wood of the roof, collecting soot. “Spiders rampaged for months, killing people and livestock alike, but without the Guild, no one ever came to save them.”
The Guild? All Riptide players were enlisted in the Guild upon character creation. You couldn’t play without going through their trials, unless you picked Necromancer, which 100 percent swayed my choice.
"Guild?"
"You must have lived deep in the country.” He tossed a plank onto the snuffed out flame. “Truly, you’ve never heard of the Guild?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead carrying on down the street monologuing. "They’re mercenaries, sanctioned by every kingdom on Mura, and certified in every line of work. Unfortunately, they became too relied upon and eventually led to the inevitable downfall of it all.”
I wasn’t surprised. Most players who hit the top of leaderboards had risen to lead their own sovereign land. I only managed to collect a handful of small settlements and managing the economy while being hated was a nightmare. "Where’d they go?”
“On the first light of Blooming, the Guild members vanished without a trace. No one knew what to make of it, but before long, war had settled Mura in a pit of brutality.” Oarmouth was a starter zone, this kind of damage was unheard of. To be at this level with only Jah’Ir’s intervention, the grand cities must be in far worse condition.
The contorted road lead us across the maze of: Oarm, a broken signpost on the corner read. Three buildings across the street caught my eye, seeming to be the only undamaged shops around. I broke away from Jah’Ir and attempted to peek through their glass windows. A pulse ran from my fingertips to my chest, knocking me to the floor. “Magic shield.” Jah’Ir helped me to my feet. “Owners put it up during the invasion. They didn’t make it.” He dispelled the shield and joined me at the base window. “Used to be apothecaries.” But now they were vacant shells of wilting herbs and cobweb ridden shelves. Shattered glass adorned the floor like shimmering diamonds.
I wondered if any of the potion vials remained. I tried for the door, it of course, was locked. There were red and blue crowns wilted on the floor in their glass beds, their vivid color fading. "Healing potions?” Their info boxes flooded my vision the longer I looked.
“Was their main source of trade. Another issue befallen to the town before the spiders.”
“I take it with the war, the roads aren’t as safe?”
“They were. The only other way is riding the river downstream and I don’t have to remind you how dimwitted that is.” He had a way of making me feel like I chose to do it. “They traded with their motherland; potions for supplies.” War obviously drove the demand up. I followed his gaze to the gate on the other side of town, before we slipped between two buildings. “But a group of bandits caught wind of it. Military couldn’t afford to send troops to stop it.”
“That seems idiotic. It’s your only source of healing potions.”
“All able bodies are actively on the frontlines. Even the guards stationed in Blythe are teenagers manning ballistas and orbs.”
“Then you’ve taken on the job? Are you part of the Guild?” I held a semblance of hope he had come from Earth as well, but knew it to be far removed from the truth.
He stopped near the town square fountain, its water a rustic brown. “No--yes--well.” He huffed and looked at the tavern. “I am a mercenary, the Guild does pay me, but they do not employ me, which means I do not follow their strict regulations.” Meaning he didn’t have to spare a penny to the Guild, whatever he found or received as payment, was his.
“I get it.” I followed him up the stairs to the tavern, its entrance swallowing us beneath gray and blue wood. More a haunted house than a welcoming inn. The door opened to a dimly lit lobby, doing its damnedest to fit the theme. A lone counter watched and welcomed our entry. The faint shadow of a woman dashed across the corner of my eyes. Her marching stomps came like the spiders. I prepared my fists. When I opened my eyes I found Jah’Ir to be the victim.
He was being constricted by the arms of a woman a foot shorter than he. She wore yellow clothing that looked like it was ripped straight from the curtain covering the door behind the counter. It bore a striking resemblance to the crown herb, only green. The stamina potion does exist, I quipped. Her struggling grasp fought against jovial cheers of angst and relief.
A man crept from out the curtain. He stood a giant, dwarfing even Jah’Ir. He had to have been no shorter than 7 feet and much like the woman, his clothing was straight from the drapes. He stood over Jah’Ir’s shoulder, sporting a cold stare rivaling that of a skeleton and a bald head to match.
“The spiders have been removed. Bandits next.” He politely removed himself from the woman’s grasp. The man’s cold eyes sparkled momentarily as his chapped lips cracked into a warm smile. “Oh! And this is an acquaintance of mine, found him in the woods--lead me to their final bastion.” He trailed off. “I never got your name did I?”
I chuckled. In all that craziness, all the world-altering knowledge, I forgot I could have one. “You did not. It’s Sage, though.” A sobriquet bestowed upon me in high school when I was 16. It just stuck. Didn’t hurt that it boosted my ego as well, as small as that was.
“Sage, this is Norman and Bertha.” He stepped aside.
“Pleasure,” I said, greeting them both.
Bertha clasped my left hand and kissed the back of it. A crushing vice grip befell my latent hand as I stared off into the ether. It crushed with the power of an anvil, shattering my bones. I found myself on the end of the man’s bolstering strength. “You have our thanks.” He said, his discerning smile strangely comforting and though my hand had bid me adieu, I felt safer than ever. “You two must be famished.” He opened a swinging door to the mess hall, showing us to the empty dining room of lonely chairs and resting tables. “Set your things down, we’ll make you a meal.”
Jah’Ir hung back, whispering something as I moseyed to the back corner, finding it the only table and chairs not broken in some aspect. I could see the hundreds of people sitting in their own chairs, jeering at a bad song from the bard, booze spilling as steins clinked together in jolly. I was never a drinker, in fact I detested alcohol, but the fantasy of it here was transcendent. People truly enjoying their lives together through struggle and a nice pint. This was not a lively tavern Jah'Ir.
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He sat across from me, setting his regal bag down. With a click of its golden buckles the contents spilled out. A metallic pen rolled to the center of the table, I stopped it with a finger. Yellow-stained parchment fell alongside. The entire bag was worth more than the entire tavern. I tried scanning it, but to no avail. His hand squeezed the pen so firmly I could hear the metal scrunch like rubber. It birthed a magenta ink that he cut and scratched across the parchment. It was a mess of gibberish, an illegible writing like that of Russian cursive.
I twiddled my thumbs, absent of a familiar and likeminded habit to guide my hands and mind. I reached for my phone several times, reminding myself that it was an unthought future here and my unknown past. The sound of sizzling in the kitchen drew my ever wandering eyes, finally something to consume my mind. I caught Norman chopping vegetables, their finely cut bodies slipping into a large skillet. A large hunk of meat, he grabbed from the wall fell to the cutting board all the same, dealt with in a fine slice.
Jah’Ir grumbled. “Told them not to use the meat. They’ve only so much left.”
“It’ll be fine. Once you get rid of the bandits, the supply trade will start anew,” I said.
“It’s not simple as that, but yes, I’ll deal with the barbarian thugs in due haste.” He raised a brow, followed by widening eyes. “Actually, could you assist me?”
I choked on the food I salivated at the though of, hoping it was truly in my gullet. “W--” a cough took its place, “What?” It wasn’t as if I could refuse. He had saved my life two-fold, from the rapids and the venom.
“They’re deeper in the forest. I can handle their execution, but I need you to scout them out.”
“Execution?” Two plates cut the conversation short. Juicy steaks flooded with cut steaming veggies, their herbal and gamey aroma sent me to a plane of existence beyond heavens and earth.
“Thank you Norman.”
“Yeah thank you,” I added, diving into the meal. A scalding potato clung to my tongue, I tried scraping it off with my teeth. “Gueth I’ll wait.”
Norman chuckled, resting a pair of steins down, before returning to the kitchen.
Jah’Ir grabbed my hand. I jerked back, but relented as he had me pinned. A cold, smooth object slid caressed my palm. “You may not know any spells, but as you performed with the wicker basket, you know how to control your mana. And that is the key to this.”
Eagle’s Lens -- A small glass lens with the power to see a detailed view of the user’s surrounding area.
It was a translucent circular lens that could’ve been from someone’s glasses. Laying it on the table, I could see right through it, but when brought to my eye, it was a tinted black.
“Pool your mana,” he said, his finger circling the air.”
I put down my wooden fork and focused on the lens, exerting the mana. The mana-filled tendrils encased the glass. My muscles tensed, both my neck and arm stiffening. The residual vertigo reared its head. The world expanded sharing an experience of 2D map builders. I was staring at the dining hall from above. Flat squares of brown and gray filled the mystifying pattern I was bearing witness to. I cut the threads and gasped.
"You saw it." He smiled.
"Yeah, hurts like hell every time though. Same with the basket”
"It’ll vanish with practice. Keep at it. With your scouting I'll be able to focus entirely on their incineration." There was a glimmer in his eyes as he explained his exorbitant plan, one, that amounted to two sentences. “We commandeer a wagon and once we’re stopped, you use Eagle’s Lens to point them out. I’ll leave them to fertilize the soil.” He spoke quickly, his usual stoic manners going out the window, as in its stead there was the passionate, almost psychotic idea of killing. I jokingly scooted away, but stayed in my seat.
Who was I to judge?
“Shouldn’t we scout on foot??”
“They’ll only show for certain if there’s a caravan and we don’t know where they’re held up. Frankly, the prospect of walking for hours holds more weight in my decision than anything.” His eyes widened as if asking if that was something I was keen on.
“Right. Still, we’ll be sitting ducks.”
“That’s why the lens is important. They’ll try to convince us to exit and leave the caravan. ‘We won’t harm you!’” He mocked. “Then you can pinpoint their position.”
“How exactly is that going to work?” Pointing them out wouldn’t amount to much. He’d become a pin cushion on sight. At best it would be a desperate exchange of fire and arrows and I doubted the barbarians' ignorance to be great enough that they wouldn’t just kill him before he had the chance.
He beckoned me. “Put the lens on again.” He stood up. “Practice with me, won’t you?"
What was the point?
I did as he asked anyway, bringing it to my eye again.
He walked to the center of the room. “Point out a chair or a table, either one. Don’t tell me which one.” The pattern of squares below me each had their calling voice. I focused on the one centering behind him, a tag of mana stuck to it, like a dagger wedged in the stone. He turned around and placed his palm down. “Here, correct?”
“Y-yeah, how did you?”
“Excellent. Go again.”
“Alright.”
We did it over and over, eventually turning it into some gaffe as I placed down multiple tags and lied that he had found them. It fell well into the night, the dim hall becoming clouded by the outside dusk protruding in. Our meals had gone cold. We scarfed it down. My head had become a bursting melon, no amount of rubbing my temples alleviated the tension splitting my skull.
“You’re a natural,” he said, tilting the last bit of his stein to his mouth. “We’ll set out at dawn.”
“Will my head recover or is my final resting spot sooner than I expect?” I felt drunk, unable to stand without stupor.
He helped me across the room, thanking Norman on our way out and asking Bertha for the keys to his room. “A good night's rest will cure all ailments,” he told me. “And a sprinkle of magic might help.”
There was mold lining the walls. The steps were shattered in several spots, causing my body to recoil at the thought of splinters. The inn wasn’t passing the health inspectors' eyes. We got to our room and he set me down on the bed closest to the window. I was relieved to have my own bed, but the immediate itchiness across my body begged for a transfer.
He set his gear down and undressed to his undergarments, a spell shielding my eyes from his pale bare skin. He wore a luxurious white nightgown, while I, myself, had only Xeron’s Robe and everything in my inventory. Setting Genta down on the dresser was a funny proposition, but I resisted. I leaned on the window sill, staring into the night, the blue moon above soothing my pained temples. I raised the lens a final time, looking upon the destruction I missed prior. My eyes twitched.
“Did everyone go back to Blythe?” I asked.
“The barracks. East side of town,” he answered. Strange dust spread over the two beds, their materials becoming a light, soft, silk. “Most won’t come out. Traumatized. But, with regards to the recently deceased arachnids,” he stretched his arms wide and laid in the bed, “they’ll hopefully learn to walk the streets carefree again.”
I crawled to the newly renovated bed. “How many people are left?”
“A little over a hundred.”
“And their food sup--”
“Fret not.” He waved. “You need to rest. Injuries seldom heal through angst.”
I relented, covering myself in the weighted blanket. My mind traveled home, the nostalgic material as soft as the body pillow I once held as comfort. Again. I did not buy it. The second one, though. The moon branded the night sky, resting high above, larger than the two suns. I couldn't help but stare, but even through my protesting wishes, its light coaxed me into a warm rest.