Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

(Whoo, now we‘re getting somewhere! This is starting to heat up! It looks like we’re about to see what Asteria, AKA WildRoseOfTheWest, the pro stream-gamer, can really do! I hope this chapter is as fun to read as it was to write. Anyway, let’s get ready to rumble!)

 

 

 I blink in shock. Asteria was a streamer?? And, judging by the reactions of the crowd of other players, she’s kind of a big deal. I watch, not sure what to do, as one of them waves me over. “Hey, miss? You wanna bet on this? I’ll give you good odds on WildRose!”

Swallowing, I pause, then dig out my coin-pouch and produce the dozen gold coins I have left from the purchase of my new armour, handing them over and receiving a scrap of parchment with my wager inked on it. The crowd surges, following, as Asteria and the nasty guy head towards the clearing where the battle was to take place.

Ten minutes pass, and the clearing is reached, with Asteria and the jerky dude taking place in the centre. Several mage players position themselves around the edge, raising their hands and chanting softly, forming a sturdy bubble barrier in a ring around the clearing like a huge doughnut, allowing the crowd to watch in safety. In a strange inversion, things could EXIT the bubble, but not enter; allowing spells that called on bolts of lightning, or other weather-based projectiles.

Asteria’s glowing sphere hovers around her, and she produces her spellbook, the tome opening and hovering before her. “Ready, you scumbag?” she taunts, and her opponent swears, producing a round shield made of solid, dark metal from his inventory. Next, he draws a sword, but not some basic, plain blade.

No, the weapon in his hand is… beautiful… but terrifying. A metre of silvery, harsh ore, a straight, double-edged length of honed metal. The grip is wrapped in black leather, banded with gold, with a hilt that looks like gnarled, twisted bone, with an additional hilt made of the same strange metal, in curved spikes, beneath. The hilt isn’t the only thing that’s organic. On each side, the flat of the blade has… a skull… affixed to it. The skull is goat-like, with curled horns entwining with its counterpoint on the opposite flat.

Runes engraved along the midpoint, closer toward the hilt, glow with a dull bluish light, where the fuller would be.  The whole blade emits an icy mist, the foggy haze of vapour curling along the whole length of the weapon. It looks… dangerous.

Several of the nearby spectators groan in disbelief and angrily mutter about foul play. One of them, the Andromal from yesterday, the one arm-wrestling the human, notices my confused look and moves closer to explain.

“WildRoseOfTheWest is playing an Alv, right? Well, in AO, Alvs are considered a type of Fae-folk, which means that swords like that one, made of Cold Iron, do twice as much damage to them. The same is true for Pictsies, Fairies, Half-Alvs, and a few others. And armour made of it reduces the effectiveness of a Fae-folk’s magical attacks by half…. That bastard’s blatantly using a weapon that’s designed to kill her. Ugh…”

My bottom lip quivers, surprising even myself with the sudden wave of intense fear. Was my friend going to lose?? No, she’s been so confident, so assured of her victory! But… I couldn’t interfere. If I did, the whole mess could turn into a riot. What else can I do, but stand here and watch?

Finally, the fight is about to begin, and as the faint sound of a church bell rings out over the still clearing, the sword-wielding cheater charges, sprinting towards Asteria, shield up in a guarding position as he closes the distance. She waves a hand over her spellbook, and it flashes with vibrant, rainbow light, causing him to skid to a halt.

Asteria begins lifting off the ground, the light splitting from her book and forming into two separate entities behind her. When the glow fades, a pair of huge, stunningly iridescent butterfly wings have attached themselves to her shoulders. “Faeflight!” she chuckles, zipping a few dozen feet straight up, leaving her erstwhile opponent spluttering in impotent fury at his inability to hit her with that ruinous sword.

“Get down here, you bitch! Fight fair!” he shouts, spittle flying from his lips as he shakes his sword in Asteria’s direction. A cold laugh floats down at us as she calls, “And let you use that Cold Iron sword on me? Yeah, no thanks.”  In response, he stabs the air, aiming the point of his sword at the flying mage. A shadowy energy builds along the blade’s edge, coalescing at the tip.

“Hell-shot!” At the roared command, the eerie power discharges, blasting from the sword-tip and rocketing towards my friend. She raises her hand and conjures a magic barrier, the dark magic slamming into the translucent pane of energy with a sound like breaking bone, before detonating with a hideous shriek. However, upon the explosion of foul, black fog clearing, the magical barrier is unharmed, before flickering out of existence.

“My turn, you degenerate sack of filth.” Asteria’s hair whips wildly in a sudden wind, her eyes starting to glow a hot orange-yellow, before a ball of flame ignites from nowhere, about the size of a basketball, whirling and vibrating. “Get ready, I’m about to really turn up the temperature! Come forth, Flicker Laser!”

The fireball begins to emit a loud roaring sound, and, when Asteria thrusts her hands forward, the ball ruptures, a ray of intense, blistering flame slicing down and carving a deep, narrow slash into the soil. The swordsman yells in outrage, dodging as the ray gouges towards him, over and over, inflicting many burns, the smell or charring, burnt earth overriding the stench of seared flesh.

Eventually, the spell ends, and Asteria begins leafing through her book, smirking, as the swearing, spitting misogynist glares upward, panting and wild-eyed. He stabs his sword down into the ground and hauls a massive repeating crossbow out of his inventory, firing a hail of bolts, each one tipped with a vicious shard of the same Cold Iron, causing Asteria to jink and weave, her wings fluttering as she flits around him, up, down, diving and swooping to avoid the rain of crossbow quarrels from her incensed opponent. “Just! Fucking! DDDIIIIEEEEEE!!!” he bellows in frustrated rage, the huge bowgun jamming and letting out a whirring crack.

Another beam of incandescent flame lashes out, carving further gashes into the soil as fresh burn marks cover the swearing, frantic jerk. His shield manages to keep the worst of the damage to a minimum, though. Once the beam cuts out, he dives for his sword, using the same horrific black energy to wreathe his weapon, swinging it and launching sharp blades of dark force, managing to clip one of Asteria’s magical wings, causing the spell to fail.

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Asteria falls, managing to land on her feet in a crouch, darting back to avoid the next swing, raising her magic barriers when necessary, blocking or avoiding as many of the blades of fell energy as she can. A few narrow cuts appear on her pale skin, a few thin trickles of blood running down her body. Narrowing her eyes, I watch as she begins muttering, reaching a hand out, and gripping the air as a scythe forms out of ice, the blade clear, perfectly smooth,  and glowing with a gentle white light.

 

My eyes widen as Asteria twirls the scythe like a baton, the air humming as the keen edge whirls through it, before she begins… dancing. Strange, flowing motions resembling a ballroom dance, the haft and blade being swung in stately, erratic motions, light glinting off the rime of the blade as she slashes and twirls, spinning and pirouetting  as the shield gripped in her opponent’s hands starts to creak, a layer of hoarfrost gradually forming across the metal.

He lashes out with his sword, the sound of his blade clanging against the frozen sickle. Asteria taunts, “What’s wrong, you jack-off? Can’t handle the Rimeblade Dance? Poor- YOU!” with a savage swing, she strikes the shield, dead centre, and… it shatters into pieces, the ice having weakened the material enough for brute-force to fragment it.

The swordsman staggers back, swearing in shock, with… fear etched on his face. The Rimeblade’s edge hooks around his throat, as Asteria darts behind him, placing a small, high-heeled foot on the back of his leg, bringing him down onto his knees.

Above, a loud roar echoes, accompanied by the sound of loud, leathery booms, growing louder and closer. Something is approaching, something that can be seen breaching through the clouds and descending at a frightening pace. It’s impossible to make out what exactly is coming, but it’s a pure, gleaming silver.

In mere minutes, the shining being lands. Huge, the size of an 18-wheeler, with immense wings, like the mainsails of an ancient 16^th-century galleon. A long tail, a ridge of spikes down the spine. Four legs, each ending in a scaled appendage with six hooked claws as sharp and keen as death. A long neck, sinuous and serpentine. And a huge head. Reptilian, with blazing, yellow cat-pupiled eyes, an enormous maw, filled with daggerlike teeth. The creature’s entire body is entirely covered in gleaming metal scales. A colossal silver dragon.

 

It opens its jaws… and speaks. “GREETINGS. I AM TANWEN, OF THE WHITEFIRE. I AM A SENTINEL, AN ADJUDICATOR; SOME CALL ME THE ‘JUDGE-BEAST’. BUT YOU, THE ARGONAUTS, THE… PLAYERS… MAY UNDERSTAND ME AS A MODERATOR. I, AND THOSE WHO SERVE THE SAME PURPOSE, MAINTAIN THE LAWS OF THIS WORLD. WE ARE ALWAYS WATCHING, AND WE WILL INTERVENE IF NECESSARY.”

Tanwen rears its head back, looking down at us, and then the barrier. With one massive claw, the dragon touches the magical shieldwall, and, with a tinkling sound, the arcane barrier disintegrates instantly. With a lot of gasps and exclamations of shock, everyone huddles together. The dragon settles back on its haunches, looking curiously at Asteria as she maintains her execution-hold on the kneeling swordsman.

“YOUNG ALV, ARE YOU GOING TO KILL THAT ONE? I AM AWARE OF HIS ACTIONS, YET, IT’S CLEAR YOU ARE SUPERIOR IN COMBAT, DESPITE YOUR LEVEL BEING SEVERAL LEVELS LOWER THAN HIS.”

Asteria reluctantly releases the humiliated man, delivering a boot to his rear and allowing her Rimeblade scythe to melt into fog and dissipate. “Killing him isn’t the point; it was teaching him that he’s not as tough as he thinks he is. Although, this was a fight to the death…”

Dipping its head, Tanwen enacts a shrug. “AS YOU WISH. I WILL NOT STOP YOU.” the huge beast rumbles, and regards her steadily.  Asteria gestures one final time, and another ball of flame flares into existence, which she hurls at the target. The swordsman scrambles, trying to flee, but the fireball impacts, consuming the screaming victim in a localized inferno.

However, Tanwen simply waits till the flames die out, before exhaling a thick white mist over the corpse. The swordsman returns to life, unharmed and freaking out. With one claw, Tanwen pins the warrior to the ground. “NOW, LISTEN. HEAR MY WORDS! I AM HERE TO PROVIDE ALL PLAYERS HERE A VARIETY OF GIFTS, AS A SYMBOL OF GRATITUDE. FIRST, ALL EXPERIENCE EARNED FOR THE NEXT WEEK WILL BE DOUBLED, FROM COMBAT TO PUZZLE-SOLVING TO QUESTS.”

 

“SECOND, ALL PLAYERS WILL RECEIVE ONE WEEK’S FREE BED AND BOARD WHENEVER THEY SLEEP, TO ENABLE THEM TO PROCURE FUNDS TO PREPARE BETTER EQUIPMENT AND ITEMS. THIRD, EVERYONE WILL RECEIVE A SMALL STIPEND AS AN ADDITIONAL GIFT. THIS TOTALS 10,000 DUCATS.”

Everyone breaks into cheers and celebration, and the swordsman even calms down and cracks a smile. Tanwen shifts, waiting, and, eventually, everyone settles down, watching the mighty silver dragon. Once again, it opens its mouth, and resumes speaking.

“FINALLY, THERE IS ONE LAST GIFT FOR EVERYONE. YOU HAVE ALL BEEN ENTERED INTO THE MONSTER-EGG LOTTERY. LOOK UP AT THE SKY, ARGONAUTS, AND YOUR GIFT WILL COME TO YOU.”

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