Chapter 6: Nebulous Language

Reflected moonlight dappled the side of Azwold’s canoe as it glided, unzipping a long V to ripple out across the calm bay. He dipped an oar into the midnight green waters, its blade carving the surface silent as a fin.

He had underestimated how buggy the Gnarlroot questline had become. A player pet with enough agency to push their owner into a trapdoor was unheard of.

Azwold had rushed to the oubliette in spirit form, but the skeleton had already fled. The mage’s submerged corpse was too far below to resurrect, forcing him to float down into the hallway. There, Azwold had discovered the Eld’s secret exit. Once rezzed, he’d swam to the circular portal in the dungeon’s ceiling… with few hit points to spare. The several doses of [Antidote] in his inventory would have helped, but the Eld had stolen most of his stuff.

Azwold slayed a number of Moon Drizzle Crabs while stumbling along the beach. He built a fire and cooked some [Crab Meat], eating it to counteract the poison ticking away at his remaining HP. The annoyance of not having enough mats to level up his Cooking skill dampened his satisfaction at staving off death.

Azwold despised dying, even in game. The normal penalty was only a ghost-run time out. A ghostly walk of shame back to one’s corpse as it lay on the ground for anyone to mock. But Azwold’s minion had looted him like a common mob. His distaste for dying ballooned.

The Eld had the keys to Azwold’s unique motorcar mount. Unfortunate. But he had left the [Hive Scepter] behind, leading Azwold to assume his minion couldn’t break binding rules. Nobody could take it. However, the Eld had the scepter’s ring in Azwold’s purple coat. The ring, when worn, allowed a spirit mage’s minion to travel unaccompanied on side quests. It lent the scepter’s range exponential amplification. The Eld didn’t know that, but desperation leads to discovery. He might figure it out.

Azwold had scried the location of [Grandfather’s Journal] through the icy swirl of a [Hailstone]. The journal was a required item for the next leg of the questline and the [Hailstone] was a favor from a high level Ice Mage. With it, Azwold had pinpointed the journal’s whereabouts. He had snuck into another player’s house while the new owners were offline and found it hidden behind a kitchen tile. All that time. Under normal circumstances, burglary was reserved for stealth classes, but Azwold was so wrapped up in solving the Gnarlroot problem. He was calling in favors, becoming indebted to players, programmers, and NPCs alike. He was using his Gadget Craft expertise to side-skirt the rules on rare, necessary occasion. He had few qualms with unannounced borrowing, especially when player housing was unattainable for most.

He replaced the tile, covered his trail, and left. He wondered where in the realm [Grandfather’s Journal] would spawn next. It roamed from place to place. Finding the book was part of any quest involving it.

Over the course of the next day, Azwold had read the journal. Twice. After much investigation, and a little divination, his path forward had crystalized; Stonesthrow Island. He had concluded that the island was a nexus of Spirit Realm pathways; intersections and potential pinholes thinning the veil. It was speculative, in part, because wards made the island impossible to scry from afar. His [Hailstone] had melted, anyway. There was a 75% for the item to be destroyed when used by a non-Water Mage, and it was too rare to replace.

When he could prepare no better, he’d departed with the journal scanned to his tablet.

Lucky for him, tablets were impervious to theft. A player’s tablet was not a proper item. It was more like a window into meta-game data like stats, abilities, jobs, quests, etc. A player simply thinks of it and it appears in their hand. So worrying about the Eld absconding with one didn’t matter much. The task at hand did.

Stonesthrow Island was a forbidden place. Common law—and higher level enemies—compelled sea travelers in Ostyra Bay to steer wide and clear of the sun-bleached reefs encircling it. But more compelling, perhaps, was the vein of island lore running through the bay’s stories. Believable firsthand accounts took less than ten fingers to count, but they told of hostile or primitive inhabitants. To set foot on their beach meant dodging a hail of spears and arrows. Attacked on sight.

Spirit Mages gained access to an aggro reduction ability at level 35, but Azwold was short on levels, and patience.

The island’s shore was edging closer now. Azwold ceased rowing. Tales advised a craft to remain outside of arrow range. He slid the black rectangle from the folds of his second favorite coat. Opening the leathery cover, he pressed a hidden button on the device’s edge.

His pupils shrank at the tablet’s glow. Chilled, he zeroed out the brightness, blinking away a bit of dazzle. He breathed a calming breath, then whispered words he had conjured on the dull screen. Crushing an oily [Gloomgill Bulb] upon the gunwale, he finger-painted a glyph between the floor ribs.

The [Hive Scepter] clasped to his belt glimmered along its honeycomb of neon grey geometry. A cloak of tenuous shadow enveloped the canoe like a slow marsh mist. Closing his tablet, he grabbed up the oar to finish rowing. Shadows flowed like greyscale watercolor around him.

Hidden yet vigilant, he set boot upon the sandy shore. He peered up through the undulating, tattered shadows of his [Spell: Umbral Veil]. No javelin-like silhouettes arched in front of the near-full moon. No shouts of challenge or trill warning whistles. Azwold dragged the canoe up shore, across to the edge of a bramble patch. He attempted to hide the vessel from view, knowing the cloak of his shadowy enchantment wouldn’t hold much longer. He still had [Gloomgill Bulb]x2 in his inventory, but [Spell: Umbral Veil] would be on a long cooldown.

As Azwold put footsteps between himself and the boat, the last dark wisp unraveled itself from his drab, forest green [Tomb Cloak]. It wasn’t as pretty as his [Grim, Dim Purple Coat], but its stats were almost as good.

He walked on, unchallenged. Still, he moved with caution, staying near the cover of tree line.

The language in [Grandfather’s Journal] was nebulous about the island; misdirection seemed the likeliest reason. The game writers had taken pains to keep the questline as secret as they could. But Azwold felt a power here now. More faint than he had expected, but present. Despite the risk, Grandfather had investigated this place long ago. Azwold needed to know why.

Direct communication with Grandfather was an ordeal. It required time, concentration, and projection of the 'physical' self into the Spirit Realm. Vulnerability, in other words. Not to mention several hard-to-get reagents. Occasional visits to the Spirit Realm were necessary, however. It was the only way to receive unique class training, special quests, or certain rare items.

“Gnarlroot the Eld’s Stolen Bones” quest began with a visit to Grandfather in the Spirit Realm, in fact.

That’s where Ralos came in. He had tapped into the Grandfather NPC’s programming, volunteering to stand in as a sort of portable Grandfather; at least while their investigation was underway. They both knew that the character of Ralos would remain unplayable in game so long as his spirit dwelt within the scepter. But as a victim of the Eld’s [Spell: Plunder Memory], he could not log onto Ralos’s avatar, anyway.

The [Hive Scepter] held a pocket dimension within it where Azwold housed his collection of unruly ghosts. The scepter’s maker had been gifted a crafting schematic by the Queen of Bees. It was an impossible to replicate schematic, granting the weapon’s owner rising power alongside waxing moons. Azwold had factored that in to his plans, preferring to delve into danger at an opportune time over lowering his guard for a Spirit Realm jaunt.

He was a bit late. The moon had passed beyond full while deciding a path. But he suspected the Eld might be drawn to his questline. Stonesthrow Island held step 5 of 11, and was a Spirit Realm nexus; a place for paths to align.

Pines and junipers spiked upward and inland. Not the kind of trees he had envisioned. He suspected that Stonesthrow’s mystique might rely on imagination. He had digested all Island writings he could find, but even simple secrets hid here. Those who discovered any truth had run short on luck. Few escape to tell it.

When Azwold spotted boot prints on the beach, he tensed, hesitating. How fresh could they be? He doubted the island tribe wore boots. He had expected unforeseen problems, more glitches maybe? But not so soon.

He slid a thin pair of night binoculars from a pocket and surveyed the length of beach. His minion should have been harder to find, but there he stood; with one driftwood foot and his skeletal arms crossed over his ribs. And looking way cooler in Azwold’s coat than the mage liked. He quickened his pace.

~<>*<>*<>~

I watched Azwold make his leisurely way across the beach to me. He believed himself stealthier than the reality of it. But it appeared I had been right to think that spirit mages die hard. I had time to ponder the sight of him; a portent of good or ill?

Not long ago, I had emerged from the sea. Waterlogged and hobbling on my vine-lashed driftwood pegleg, I ventured into the woods. The hostility was immediate and thus my foray, short. I had found the lizard-dog-men; and I had retreated, damp and damaged.

Azwold’s determination now was admirable, I had to admit. Inspired, I decided to give the mage a second chance. I had come to the loathsome conclusion that solo progress was a dream world notion.

At long last, he spotted me, hailed, and approached.

“Did you walk on the sea floor?” he asked me. “What have you learned?”

“I did. The night moon was bright. But it would have been worlds easier with both feet! Give it to me, mage.”

“You ran away days ago, Eld,” Azwold frowned. “You killed me! WTF, man! I’m hanging onto your dang foot. Not in the mood for field surgery. All those mats are back at the tavern, anyway. Now, the least you could do is tell me what you’ve scouted.”

“And you said sea beasts ignore skeletal minions. No meat? Well, some were curious,” I kept my arms crossed. “And yes. You had better watch yourself, oh mighty mage. I am to be feared.”

“Hah! What happened to your wrist?” Azwold asked, running a finger along the twining vines which held me together.

When I refused to answer, he said; “Fine. You aren’t to be underestimated. I’ll give you that, okay?”

“Remember it always!” I pulled my arm away. “T’was the lizard curs. Not sea monsters. I’m regenerating.”

“Wait a minute!” he whispered loudly. “You leveled up and picked your own ability?”

“[Spell: Regen I] was the only choice at the time,” I said, which was true.

“How!?”

“Fishies."

He made a strange face. “So, kobold folk attacked you? And where’s the scepter ring?”

“Errrr,” I lowered my gaze. “I was wearing it on the hand they got. I tried to rejoin lefty after learning [Spell: Regen I]. But alas. I am standing here because it is the ring’s radial limit.”

I looked at the pommel of Azwold’s scepter, confirming a suspicion. [Hive Scepter]s must come equipped with an unscrew-able finger ring. It must be why I had a malady-free field trip. I despised lacking true independence, but denying the evidence was foolish. The reality I had found myself in seemed to say: ‘A Spirit Mage’s Skeletal Minion.’

Both the ring and the scepter itself, I had learned, bore enchantments with limited range. If Azwold had spoken honestly, then stepping beyond the range promised unsavory results; ripping a spirit from its golem parts, drawing it through the misty tunnels of unlife, and returning it to the [Hive Scepter]’s miniature prison.

Azwold scanned the dark evergreen tree line through his spyglass device. “Come. I may see a trailhead.”

“Let us avoid yon dark forest?”

“You can’t avoid quest objectives.”

“I shall stand watch here,” I straightened.

“No sentry needed.”

I emitted a wheeze. Azwold placed a hand on the [Hive Scepter]’s pommel, his grave-iron bracelet thunking against the handle. Was he attempting to intimidate me? Azwold was effectively immune to sources of damage I could produce. Immune to damage, mayhap, but not to blunt force. A fact I would never forget.

For now, I bowed a silent acquiescence.