The Forsaken God: The Realms Book Five: (An Epic LitRPG Series) Page 9

  Gryph’s Adventure Group took shifts finishing the few wranglers that lived through the volleys of bolts. The risk was lower, and it enabled them to practice their martial skills. It was during one such sortie, when a pseudopod wrenched Lex off his feet. The creature’s ichor seeped into the NPC’s skin and a look of drunken stupor flowed across his face.

  The gelatinous tentacle pulled Lex towards a hidden crevice obscured by an outcropping of rock. Errat fired a light bomb into the small cave. Inside was a monstrous stone wrangler, by far the biggest they’d encountered. It was a full twelve feet high and had a dozen pseudopods sprouting from each side. Lex’s shared Analyze told them this was the stone wrangler alpha, and its stats were five times greater than any of its brood.

  The alpha roared in pain and anger but didn’t retract its pseudopod. Instead, another pair whipped out, wrapping around Lex’s other leg and his waist. A manic chuckle burst from the NPC’s mouth, evidence that the toxins in the ichor had seeped into his system.

  The creature pulled harder, bringing Lex closer and closer to death. The three warborn warriors sliced at the pseudopods, each severing one of the gelatinous appendages. Kurrag grabbed Lex by the arm and tried dragging him to safety, but more pseudopods exploded from the crevice. Several smashed into the warborn, knocking the warborn back. Another latched onto the Ordonian and pulled. Within seconds the creature would drag Lex into its maw.

  Gryph drew a pair of throwing knives and switched out the quartz phials. The wrangler was resistant, not immune, to cold damage, but Gryph knew he’d only have one shot and was unwilling to take a chance that his cold powered blades would save Lex’s life. Time to test the big guns. The new phials clicked into place and Gryph pushed mana down his arms and into the bracers. The waves of magnetism flowed around the knives and Gryph yelled through the telepathic link.

  Move!

  The warborn shifted much faster and smoother than their size suggested, giving Gryph a clear shot. Not trusting his aim, Gryph did not throw the knives. Instead, he accelerated the blades from his hands with the bracers.

  The blades screamed through the small opening and plunged into the alpha’s eye and mouth. The damage inflicted was small, less than a 50th of the beast’s overall health, but they got its attention. Bellows of rage and pain filled the UnderPass, but still it dragged Lex closer.

  “Dude … hurry the … hell … up,” Lex yell mumbled, fear pushing through his grogginess.

  With a twinge of his will Gryph snapped the thin layer inside the phials. For a moment nothing happened, but then a sound, almost like a melodious song, built at the edge of Gryph’s hearing. The alpha’s inexorable pull on Lex slowed as the main body of the creature began to vibrate.

  A beam of golden light speared through the cut Gryph’s knife had sliced in the alpha’s eye. The beast opened its mouth to scream, but instead of sound, several more bursts of light erupted. The vibrations grew and illuminated furrows splintered across the wrangler’s rocky hide. The sound of cracking stone filled the Underpass and then the alpha exploded.

  Gryph tossed his arm in front of his eyes as shards of stone lanced his face, arms and neck. Despite the flying shrapnel, a large grin crossed Gryph’s face. The phials in the knives were filled with Concentrated Empyrean Tree Sap mixed with common saltpeter and they were the rarest in his collection. When combined, the two components created a massive explosion of pure empyrean light, an explosion that had proven deadly to the chthonic alpha.

  Yrriel and Bruunhilde will be thrilled the design worked, Gryph thought, then pouted. They had distilled and concentrated 500 gallons of Aurvendiel’s sap to make enough Concentrated Empyrean Tree Sap for the two phials he’d just used to save Lex. At Aurvendiel’s current health, they could only risk tapping 100 gallons a week from the massive tree. Gryph hoped he wouldn’t have to face off against another wrangler alpha anytime soon.

  Gryph rushed to Lex’s side. “Are you okay?” Lex’s stupid smile and swaying thumbs up told Gryph he was, and that he suffered from ichor induced drunkenness. A moment later, Lex’s eyes went wide, and the tension surged back.

  “Big ... furfing … spider,” Lex mumbled, his wobbly arm pointing to a spot above Gryph.

  Gryph spun, trying to raise his spear, when a spider the size of an elephant fell atop him, pinning his shoulders with a pair of long, hairy legs. Gryph struggled, drawing the dagger at his waist, but another leg slapped the blade away.

  I apologize for my brother’s roughness Lord Stone. I assure you, we mean you no harm, a gentle click clack of a voice said in his mind. In truth, we need your help.

  11

  After returning to the city, Gryph called an emergency meeting of the Round Table. Their sense of duty overshadowed any irritation over the early hour. Gryph gazed from one face to another, and in each he saw the same thing; anxious anticipation. Even Sillendriel’s luminescent face seemed darker.

  In the weeks since he’d taken control of Dar Thoriim, Gryph had got to know all of his advisory council well. He trusted them, and they trusted him. One and all, they knew he would not summon them unless it was of dire importance.

  All eyes followed him as he walked the circumference of the table to reach his seat. He did not sit but gripped the back of the wooden chair with strong hands. The gravity of the words he was about to speak threatened to drag him down. The others felt his intensity and the tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. He gave a sideways glance to his Steward Grimliir. The sturdy dwarf dipped his head and a few of the muscles knotting Gryph’s back released. He returned the nod and then addressed the others.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Round Table, there is no time to waste with long explanations, so I will get right to it. A neighbor has requested help, and I have agreed to give whatever aid we are able. I hope the next few minutes will show you we have no choice but to extend this aid.”

  “What neighbor?” Thaldrain, the dwarven brewer asked, easing forward, his muscles tense. “We here are all who reside in this valley.” Murmurs of agreement flowed around the table.

  “It will be easier if I show you.” Gryph turned to the entrance of the Nexus. “Escort her in.”

  All eyes turned to the dim passage. It would be another hour before the morning sun, reflected by a complex array of mirrors along the ceiling, would illuminate the grand avenue. For now, the passageway was dimly lit by mana fed lamps, but the lights were, mostly, unnecessary. Nearly everyone present, apart from the humans, had some measure of dark vision. Around the table eyes began to widen in curiosity.

  Berrath’s squad of warborn entered the room and fanned out. As the warborn parted the mumbles turned to gasps of shock. Chairs pushed back from the table, hands grasped weapons and mana danced around fingertips.

  “Easy friends,” Gryph said, his voice calm, but stern.

  A tense silence hung heavy in the Nexus as the first crystalline leg eased from the darkness. Lamp light scattered off the glassine surface of the limb casting a nimbus of multicolored light across the room. Another leg followed and then a bulbous head came into view. Knife like appendages called chelicerae protruded down from the creature’s mouth. They were as long and thick as a dwarven forearm. They clacked delicately underneath a scattering of glinting eyes. Glowing white energy flowed through the translucent head, moving in and out of a glowing blue-white structure that Gryph suspected was the creature’s brain.

  After a moment’s hesitation the spider took several more steps into the room, revealing a body the size of an elephant, the top of its abdomen, what Gryph thought of as the creature’s back, bore a circle and dot symbol that was the identifier of a servant of the Lords of Order.

  “A crystal arachnid,” Eadweanna, the human scholar, said, in wonder. The elderly woman got to her feet with the help of the nearest warborn and ambled towards the massive arachnid. She showed no fear, only reverence. “I never even dreamt that I would one day…” She stopped, overcome with awe and reached a wrinkled hand up. “Ma
y I?”

  The spider chittered and lowered its head. Gently, like a mother touching her newborn for the first time, Eadweanna caressed the spider. A childlike gasp of glee pushed past her lips and she turned towards Gryph. “I will help in any way I am able.”

  Eadweanna’s reaction sent a wave of relief around the table. The scholar turned, motioning for the spider to follow and it moved lithely up to the table. Its front two legs reached underneath its thorax, and with a noise like the tearing of silk, pulled free a crystal ovoid shape the size of a large dog. The spider placed the egg, for all present knew on instinct that it was, onto the center of the Round Table. Blue-white light thrummed inside the crystal egg illuminating the skittering movement of many legs.

  Gryph tried to ignore the primal shudder of fear stirring down his spine and extended his hand to the egg. “May I introduce Akashiri, the new Queen of the Glass Spiders.”

  I apologize if we have frightened you my friends. The gentle click clack of Akashiri’s voice filled every mind in the room. I ask for your aid and to deliver a dire warning. Chaos has corrupted my mother, Sziilloth.

  Howls of rage and gasps of terror filled the room, as a deep and primal fear filled the elders of the ancient and proud cities of Sylvan Aenor and Dar Thoriim. There was no greater horror in all the Realms than chaos. It was infectious, destructive and ever-changing. Not even the demonic entities of the chthonic realm, a hell-like place of fire and suffering, inspired such terror.

  “Calm yourselves my friends,” Gryph roared over the tumult. “Or we have already handed victory to the Princes.”

  “Shut yer damn gob holes ye ninnies,” Grimliir raged. “And trust in his Lordship.”

  The room went silent, if not calm, and Gryph nodded his thanks to his Steward. A part of him chuckled at the Steward’s gruff treatment of such august personages, but the assembled elders respected, and even liked, Grimliir. They knew who he was, what he had done and one and all took their duties, if not themselves, seriously. Gryph could not have asked for a better advisory council.

  “Please continue Your Majesty,” Gryph said.

  Thank you Lord Stone. Before I detail the current threat, I believe you require a bit of history. Please bear with me. My tale is lengthy, but important. Will you grant me that patience? Akashiri paused, letting nods of agreement and ayes flow around the table. Thank you. As many of you know, the Nimmerian city of Xygarrion once shared this valley with Sylvan Aenor and Dar Thoriim. You also know that an apocalypse destroyed the city at the height of the war against the Prime.

  “Damn Prime bastards killed a whole city,” Belgaarm, the Master Smith said in a rage, banging a fist against the stone table.

  That is a falsity bred from the ignorance of your ancestors, Akashiri said. Grumbles flowed about the room, especially from the dwarves who venerated their blessed forefathers and foremothers above all gods. A wave of apology flowed through the mental connection. I mean no offense for they could not have known the truth. It was not the Prime who destroyed Xygarrion, but the Nimmerians themselves.

  Gasps rose around the table, but every one of the elders continued to listen intently. Which is why they are here, Gryph thought. They consider before reacting.

  Gartheniel, who had remained quiet until now, leaned forward. “How did they destroy themselves Your Majesty?”

  Apologies to all gathered here, but in its day Xygarrion was the greatest city on Korynn. A haven for knowledge and a beacon for hope. The Synod discovered many of the advancements made during the war against the Prime.

  “Aye,” Grimliir said. “Much of what we know about the arboleth was discovered by the Synod. Their loss, the loss of Xygarrion, nearly meant the end of the Alliance.” He looked at the egg sac at the center of the table. “But they were rash, often moving tay quickly for their own damned good. Typical of humans if ye ask me.” He glanced at the human elders. “No offense intended my friends.” The humans dipped their heads to say they took none.

  Unfortunately, you are right Grimliir, son of Braigmond. The Synod determined the Alliance was losing the war. They had calculated the chances of an Alliance victory, and they did not like what they saw. So, in secret they began research on an advancement to their Port Gate system.

  “What kind of advancement?” Eadweanna asked, leaning forward. Gryph had tasked the matronly scholar with uncovering anything she could about the Nimmerian Port Gate system. It was already their largest tactical advantage in the imminent war against Aluran. If the Nimmerians had somehow advanced the technology, then Gryph was as intrigued as Eadweanna.

  They were trying to create a Realm Gate. A massive Port Gate that could reach to the Outer Realms. They wished to search for the Prime home world, somewhere out there. They hoped to find it and destroy it.

  “A solid plan,” Berrath, the warborn elder said appreciatively.

  “Why did it fail?” Barrendiel, the Regent of Sylvan Aenor asked in a tone that suggested the answer would come as no surprise.

  Port Gates run on the magic inherent in the aether. While the aether is everywhere, it has a low level of power. Port Gates draw power from a wide area to open their portals, but a Realm Gate would need to cross far greater distances, and even if the Nimmerians had been able to, all the aether underlying Korynn would not be enough to open a stable portal.

  “They needed a greater source of power,” Lex said.

  Yes, the spider queen said. And they found one.

  “Chaos,” Ovrym said, rubbing at the old wound on his left forearm, the one given him by a chaos corrupted dire wolf.

  Even though Gryph had suspected it, the sheer gall, the irresponsible stupidity of working with chaos came as a body blow. He silently cursed the Nimmerians, knowing full well it was a pointless venture.

  “I’m guessing things didn’t go to plan,” Vonn said, the ire in his tone obvious. Vonn was a Templar of the Source, a near religious sect of knights who served a mysterious higher power. They were powerful practitioners of Order Magic, and natural enemies of chaos. The worry layered under his sarcasm was plain for all to see.

  We are not sure what happened. What we do know is that they opened a controlled rift to the Realms of Chaos and sunk a tap to siphon energy for their Realms Gate. They opened their gate, but their control of the tap did not last.

  “Who woulda thunk?” Lex muttered. “Lemme guess, the idjits lost control and blew up their city?”

  Yes, and in the process they lost the Order Lance that protected this region of Korynn from chaos incursions.

  “That would explain the corruption we’ve encountered near the ruins these last few months,” Barrendiel agreed.

  “Not really dude,” Lex said. The others looked at him quizzically. “These Nimmerian douchebags destroyed their city millennia ago. And from what the queen here says, the big order tower went boom at the same time.”

  Gryph saw Lex’s point at once. If the valley had been unprotected by the Order Lance for thousands of years, why had the chaos corruption only just returned? Understanding came to eyes and faces all around the Round Table.

  “So, I ask, why now?” The NPC stared around the table and for once there was no jest in his tone.

  Because, Akashiri sent, her mental voice heavy with pain. As the Nimmerians had before her, my mother grew arrogant enough to believe she could tame the power of chaos.

  12

  After hearing the rest of Akashiri’s tale, the Round Table chose to help. There was no real choice. The Princes of Chaos were primal forces of change and transformation who sought to return all of existence to a maelstrom of unceasing anarchy. The true power of chaos lay not in the physical corruption that had taken animals and beast alike, but the power to unhinge the mind. It was this madness that had taken Sziilloth.

  Not long after the Nimmerians had destroyed themselves, the Lords of Order had sent the crystal arachnid queen to Korynn as guardian and deterrent. Akashiri’s tale told of countless generations of spiders born and sacrificed to pre
vent chaos from spreading.

  “Sacrificed?” Gryph asked in alarm.

  Yes, Lord Stone. Crystal arachnids are natural counteragents to chaos. We exude a field of order energy that brings balance to all things in our presence. Surely you’ve felt it manifest as a clear mind or a more energized body?

  “Aye,” Grimliir said. “My knees dae feel less creaky this morning.”

  “And I feel less snarky,” Lex said. “Had me worried actually.”

  “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Vonn said. “No force in all the Realms can hold back your personality for long.”

  “I choose to take your insult as a compliment,” Lex said. To his credit Vonn grinned, pleased that Lex had returned the jab.

  “But this field of order has limits, doesn’t it?” Gryph asked, bringing the conversation back on topic.

  Indeed, my siblings were nothing but a temporary bulwark, for none of them were strong enough to be a permanent seal. The chaos eventually overwhelmed their fields, and when that happened…

  “Chaos possessed them,” Gryph said.

  Yes. Forcing my mother to kill them.

  “How many times has this happened?” Yrriel asked as she leaned forward. Her voice tight and pained, a far cry from her normal jovial self.

  73,316 times since my mother arrived on Korynn. Each death taught her more about chaos, but each death also tore a bit of her soul away.

  A heavy silence fell over the Round Table as the weight of the horrible, endless burden borne by Sziilloth hit them. And then Gryph knew how the spider queen had succumbed.

  “She tried to seal the rift herself,” Gryph said.

  Yes, and by doing so she played into the Princes of Chaos’ trap. They are endless, patient and corrosive. They knew that eventually the mortal realm would change my mother. My kind are not known for our emotions. We do not make the attachments humanoids do. We do not … feel emotions as you do. This trait makes my kind the perfect front-line soldiers in the war against chaos. We care little for the individual since our young are many. As long as the colony survives, the fate of the individual matters not. But the deaths of so many of her children, over so many millennia, changed my mother.