The Labyrinth, page 2
part #2 of The Gods' Game Series
Traits
Nature’s Guardian, Long lived, Player's Mark, Vow of Binding, Player’s Interface, Commander Interface, Player’s Map, Inventory, Insight, More Skills, Multi-lingual.
Combat Specialist, Skilled, Beast Master, Magical Prodigy.
Combat Skills (21 SP available)
Beast Bonding: 17.8 (7 base)
Body Control: 16.3 (8 base)
Light Armour: 8.4 (7 base)
Psionics: 10.2 (5 base)
Psi Armour: 0
Telekinesis: 14.3 (7 base)
Telepathy: 16.3 (8 base)
Will Regen.: 0
Air Magic: 17.9 (7 base)
Earth Magic: 17.9 (7 base)
Essence Regen.: 0
Fire Magic: 17.9 (7 base)
Supportive Magic: 7.7 (3 base)
Wands & Staffs: 0
Mystical garments: 0
Spellcasting: 12.8 (5 base)
Water Magic: 17.9 (7 base)
Longbow (Racial): 0
Longsword (Racial): 6.4 (8 base)
Civilian Skills
Commander: 1.4 (2 base)
Feudal Lord: 0
Governor: 0
Mage Lord: 2.4 (1 base)
Scrying: 2.2 (3 base)
Travelling: 2.2 (3 base)
Nature Lore (Racial): 3.6 (3 base)
Vassals & Minions
Maximum allowed: 7 (10 base)
Current: None.
Combat Abilities (4 AP available)
Novice:
Beast Bond, Extend Bond, Confusion.
Truesight, Fire Dart, Slippery Ice, Grasping Roots, Fire Shield, Ice Wall.
Base:
Calm Beast, Mind Over Matter, Teleport (Self), Mind Shock.
Blend, Barkskin, Flaming Hands, Restore Health (Self), Water Armour.
Civilian Abilities
Novice:
Travel (Self), Basic Scrying, Gather Plants.
Base:
Inspiring, Channel Essence, Show Hostiles, Show Portals, Show Plants (map).
Equipped Items
Full set of Chitin armour (20 base armour).
Basic longsword (6-10 base slash damage).
Bone shaman necklace (+2% earth magic).
Active Effects
Unconscious!
Bleeding (-1 HP damage/minute).
Concussed (-1% will regen. rate).
Part One
Chapter 1
06 Jul 2603 AB
Retired champions are nearly unheard of. Usually a champion only escapes the game through death. There have however been a few recorded exceptions, where champions have escaped by completing a greater boon. But the two most famous exceptions were not made thus. To this day, how Zarr, the lich king, and Aveyad, the vampire lord, lost their championhood remains a mystery. Some conjecture that Eld’s destruction was responsible, others that it was their curse of undeath.
But in one respect, all retired champions are the same; all have lost their divine skills. – from The Gods’ Game by Marcos Aurclasy, Silenheim Librarian.
Aveyad was puzzled. It was too easy. Even though the champion fought valiantly he was undoubtedly losing. And yet he had not called upon his god. This was what he and Tyeliss waited for, why they stood back. The skeletal warriors’ task was to wear the champion out, to drain his internal pools of energy until he had no choice but to call upon divine aid.
So why did he not? He watched the champion leap nimbly between the skeletons, dodging blows and landing more than a few of his own. But it mattered little, the skeletons were relentless. The outcome was foregone. Inevitably the tide turned and the champion began exhibiting signs of strain—dulled responses, exhausted buffs and sporadic spellcasting. The end was near. Any moment one of the skeletons would land a fatal blow.
He reviewed the course of the battle. There was something strange about it but he struggled to put his finger on it. Stubbornly, he worried at it. The champion sprang backwards and cast another fire dart. Why, he wondered, did the champion persist with fire spells, instead of casting holy fire or turn undead, which were far more—
That was it. That was what was strange about the battle. The champion had not employed any divine spells even though they were the most effective against the undead. Was he mistaken? Was this elf not a champion? No, that did not make sense. If that was the case, his insight would not have failed so completely.
Absorbed by the mystery, the vampire lord nearly missed Kyran’s eventual defeat. A skeletal warrior circled the champion while he was distracted parrying the blows of the two before him. The skeleton executed an overhead blow, his battle axe striking the champion’s helm crushingly hard. Too late, the elf sensed the incoming strike. He attempted to dodge, failed and fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
The undead swung back his weapon to deliver the final blow. The abrupt silence shook Aveyad out of his reverie. Taking in the scene before him, he commanded, “Stop!” Mid-swing, the skeleton wrenched to a halt.
Tyeliss turned and gazed curiously at his companion. Striding swiftly towards the fallen champion, Aveyad answered Tyeliss’s unspoken query. “There is a strangeness here that disturbs me. Why did the champion not call upon his god for aid?”
Tyeliss shrugged. “Is that what has been eating at you?” he asked, exasperated. “It could be for any number of reasons, Aveyad. As you well know. Maybe the champion is out of favour, maybe his god realised the battle was doomed or maybe he was too arrogant to request it.”
“And why did he not cast any divine spells?” asked Aveyad.
“You are mistaken, he—” Tyeliss paused. He perused his own recollection of the battle. Finally he said, “You are right, that is curious.” They both fell silent, mulling over the champion’s strange behaviour as they covered the remaining distance to him.
The ring of skeleton warriors parted silently before the vampire lord and death knight. Reaching the champion, the vampires peered intently down. The champion was young, of average build and size for one of his kind. He was armoured in basic chitin leathers and bore only one magical item, a worthless trinket that provided a meagre boost to earth magic. A steel longsword lay besides him and blood pooled out from the wound to his head. He was still alive. But likely not for much longer.
Aveyad grunted. “Worthless gear. All basic items, probably scavenged from Crota itself. And he is a wood-elf, strange choice for a champion,” he observed.
“Maybe he is a vassal?” suggested Tyeliss.
“How did he arrive through the portal then? With it sealed, the only access is from Godshome,” replied Aveyad.
“A mystery, I agree. But what does it matter? Let him die and we can return to our rest.”
Aveyad considered this. “No,” he decided. “There are too many pieces to this puzzle that do not fit. We shall take him to Zarr.”
“But why bother? He will probably die before then. Neither of us can heal him. And what if this is an elaborate ploy? A trap by the gods? If that is the case, dare we risk taking him to the citadel?”
Aveyad shrugged. “If it is a trap, it is one I cannot fathom. If it materialises, we shall deal with it. But you are right, he will not survive the trip back without healing.” He pondered. “The kobold village. Take a few skeletal warriors and go fetch its shaman.” He knelt down besides the champion. “I will try to keep him alive until then.”
Tyeliss stared in surprise at his companion. He said, “Aveyad, I don’t –”
Not looking up from his ministrations, Aveyad interrupted. “Trust me, my friend. There is something different about this one… perhaps something that may even lead to our salvation.”
Tyeliss was astonished. “What? How—”
“Peace, Tyeliss, let us see if he lives first and hear what Zarr has to say.”
Troubled and yet intrigued, Tyeliss hesitated, considering the ramifications. He trusted Aveyad. He always had. Six hundred and fifty years ago when Aveyad first approached him, Tyeliss had gladly made the vassal's vow and given Aveyad his unconditional trust. And in all that time, never once had he cause to regret his decision, not even that fateful day when Zarr cursed them all with undeath. If Aveyad said he saw hope for them in this elven wretch, well then, Tyeliss would take him at his word. With a much lighter step he set off to do the vampire lord’s bidding and for the first time in ages, a spark of hope kindled within him.
✽✽✽
A few hours later the undead party was on its way, retracing its steps to the citadel. Aveyad had searched deeply within his ancient mind for long-unused skills of mundane healing. Over long hours he had fought tirelessly to keep the champion from death’s door, all the while cursing his lost magics. How much simpler this would have been if he could still practice divine healing. Nursing the champion made Aveyad remember the days that he had been alive—truly alive. Days spent in the warm light of day and dozing beneath the trees of the Elder Forest. When he had still been full of passion and afire to bring justice to the world.
But was it the trivial act of healing that conjured such thoughts? Or had they been spurred by the insidious spark of hope raised by his wild conjecture. Conjecture that he dared not look at squarely, lest he succumb to hope of the impossible.
In the end his efforts sufficed to keep the champion alive long enough for the shaman to attend to him. The terrified kobold had been easily captured and more than eager to heal the invader in return for his life and freedom.
To keep their prisoner alive but unconscious the vampires extracted herbs and other supplies from the shaman. They decided this was the safest manner to transport the champion. Healed but kept forcibly unconscious, Kyran was slung over the back of one of the skeletons for the journey.
It would be days of tireless marching before the undead made it back to the citadel.
✽✽✽
Kyran groaned, his head pounding. Did I drink too much last night? he wondered. Blearily, he opened his eyes. He lay on a threadbare pallet rolled out on a stone surface. He brushed aside stray bits of straw that clung to his mouth. And why am I sleeping on the floor? He sat up gingerly and tried to make sense of his surroundings. At his movement, pins and needles shot up his arms and legs in protest.
He shook off his stupor and gazed around him. In a rush, his memories flooded back. The fight with the kobolds, the undead hunting party’s arrival, the blow that knocked him unconscious…
Wincing, he removed his helm and lightly felt the back of his head, expecting matted hair and blood. Surprisingly, it was whole with no trace of the injury he had surely sustained. The only remnant was his pounding headache. Why was he still alive? Who had healed him and how had they escaped the undead?
He was in a stone cubicle, dimly lit by two balls of arctic lights fixed to the ceiling overhead. The chamber had the musty odour of a room long unused. In one corner was a bucket of water and what looked to be a bowl of food. Opposite him, in place where the wall should be, was a shimmering curtain of energy.
He laboured upright and after taking a moment to still his dizziness, stumbled towards the energy field and looked beyond. A corridor stretched away in both directions. He spotted two other cubicles, both bare of occupants. He was alone.
With his mind he reached out and probed the curtain of energy.
Containment field (VI).
Containment fields dampen or prevent magical and psionic abilities. This is a level 6 field and requires an effective magical or mental skill of 180 to overcome.
Insight revealed it to be a containment field that blocked magical and psionic abilities and a powerful one at that. He reached out and warily laid a shaky hand upon it. It was cool to the touch and sent a gentle tingling through him but did not otherwise react. He shoved forcibly against it but could not push through. It was a physical barrier as well.
Methodically, he tested the field’s effectiveness. First, he tried a simple spell, calling his essence forth. It answered his summons as eagerly as ever. He channelled the essence into a skein of fire that was flaming hands but the spell fizzled out before it could be completed, an arc of energy from the containment field disrupting him.
Spellcasting interrupted. You have failed to cast Flaming Hands.
Next, he tried a psionic ability. He willed energy from his mind into his body to create a circuit of flowing psi through all his extremities but was interrupted by another spike of energy. The backlash from the failed psicasting jolted him painfully, adding to his already-pounding headache. Right, I don’t want to do that again.
Psicasting interrupted. You have failed to cast Mind Over Matter.
He staggered to the pallet and tried to clear his head of its painful buzzing while he called up the construct of his player map but his location was no longer indicated, blocked by the containment field.
Player’s map disabled. Knowledge of your location is blocked by the containment field.
Kyran sat back, perturbed. The conclusion was inescapable. He was a prisoner. He had adamantly ignored the possibility, keeping himself occupied with the minutiae of his explorations. But with nothing left to hold his attention he could no longer deny the truth.
Who were his captors? It could only be the undead. He had not been rescued as he hoped but taken captive. Why though? Why not simply kill him? Or were their reasons more nefarious? Did they plan to torture him? For revenge? There was no way to know.
Worriedly he paced, fear bubbling to the surface. He had not expected to survive the battle. On awakening, he had thought himself lucky to still be alive. Now he reconsidered. Alive and captured, his future could hold things far worse than mere death. He tried to shy away from such thoughts but old terrors clawed for attention.
He had been tortured once and could not—would not—let himself be subject to it again. Unwillingly his thoughts skittered back to darker days, of the oftentimes casual cruelty of the street and of things left unsaid. Gregory Bennet had been a sadistic old man. The bastard had kept Kyran in his clutches for weeks.
He panted heavily and his breath spewed out in short gasps, the lid he kept on old memories threatening to break open. He stopped short his pacing and braced his back against the wall, fighting to keep emotions in check. Shuddering with the effort, he wrenched his mind back from the abyss. He would not fall prey to those thoughts again.
He resumed his fretful pacing. He had to escape. He scrambled desperately for a solution. He rummaged through his inventory; he pounded on the containment field; he gritted his teeth against the pain and cast and recast teleport; he tapped the walls for hidden exits; he even tried scaling the walls to reach the lights; all to no avail.
Escape was impossible.
Defeated, he huddled down on his pallet, trembling in the grasp of old terrors.
✽✽✽
Chapter 2
12 Jul 2603 AB
Vampirism is a trait displayed only by humans and elves. Vampires are created, not born. No other sentient race has been successfully ‘turned’, the term commonly used to describe the making of a vampire. To be turned, the victim must be bitten by a vampire and then partake willingly of its blood. Not all turnings are successful however. The transformation is said to be torturous and can take days to complete. – excerpt from The Underworld and its Creatures by Necromancer Talys Madisine.
Kyran had no recollection of how long he remained in the grip of his nightmares. At some point, despite his painful anxiety he nodded off and fell into a troubled sleep, tossing and turning. Eyes red and swollen, he woke feeling not in the least rested.
The date is 12 Jul 2603 AB.
Exhausted from spent emotions, he considered the game message, eager for any distraction. Six days had passed since his battle with the undead in the lake cavern, and it had been at most a day since he awoke in the cell. That meant he had been unconscious at least five days. Long enough to make the journey back to the citadel.
So, he was back where he first started.
Despondently, he gazed around. Nothing had changed. Everything was as he had left it. What to do? A faint stirring of complaint from his gut reminded him that in all the distractions of yesterday he had not eaten. He dragged himself to the bowl of food, inspecting it.
Found: Mati fruit, nuts and berries.
Type: Food.
Weight: 0.7 kg.
Special properties: None.
Description: Edible source of food.
Nature lore revealed the contents of the bowl to be an edible mix of fruits, nuts, and berries. All fresh and unpreserved. He doubted these had been grown underground. His journey in the subterranean world had shown that but for the occasional fungi and lichen, it was barren of vegetation. This had to have come from above. A world he was yet to see. Listlessly he picked up the bowl and ate, waiting upon his captors’ pleasure.
✽✽✽
The day passed and nothing happened. His captors, undead or otherwise did not appear. As the hours ticked by, anxiety turned to boredom. To pass the time, he paced his cell, exercised and checked his gear. All his items were accounted for. He wondered if this was a sign of his captors’ carelessness or their contempt for him. He suspected the latter.
He looked around searching for something else to do but nothing caught his attention. With a resigned sigh, he lay down on his pallet and closed his eyes, waiting upon either sleep or his captors’ arrival.
✽✽✽
Day three. Morning arrived, bringing with it another day in captivity. Kyran did not get up. Still abed his pallet, he gave his cell a cursory inspection. Nothing had changed.
No. Wait. The bowl of food and water bucket had been refilled. He bounced upright and rushed for a closer inspection. Sure enough, the bowl brimmed with fresh vegetables and the bucket with cool water.
And that was it.
There was no other evidence of his captors. Disappointed, he returned to his pallet to wait out the day.
✽✽✽
Day eight of captivity. One day had bled into another in an unceasing monotony. Most days he did not bother getting up. Only doing so when the pangs of hunger were too vicious to ignore. His will to live had not yet forsaken him but he began to despair that his captors had abandoned him and would let him waste away, going crazy from isolation. He had feared torture but wondered if this was not worse. Day after day of nothing. He would go mad. He was halfway there already.
