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"Could you pick a fucking gloomier place?" Darlia said as she walked up, arms crossed.
Bast was leaned against a withered tree, and he looked over, giving a sheepish grin to his erstwhile friend, "It's not that bad!"
But the berserker was obviously downplaying things. Nevergarden was a crossroads, a meeting point, of the pathways between worlds. These worlds, or planes as they were called, were as different and chaotic as snowflakes in a raging storm,
Their current plane was called Styxx, and it was a cold place where things whispered in the night. Even the skies seemed to reflect the oppressive atmosphere with rolling black clouds and an angry, biting wind. Off in the distance, flashes of crimson lightning flickered across the landscape.
It held no promises, no hope, beyond the slow creeping entropy of everything underneath.
Deep trenches were gouged into the earth, as if scratched out by the claws of some massive monster. Whatever vegetation that managed to take root was twisted and gnarled; a reflection of the creatures that called this plane their home.
This was a place that hated the living.
"So, how's the newbie doing?"
"Take a look for yourself." Bast gestured down the gorge as Darlia joined him at his vantage point. The woman followed his motion, down to the gathering of gigantic bones and refuse at the base of the gorge that served as an entrance to the newbie area of this plane.
A single figure faced off against two large skeletons clad in broken, mismatched armor. Each monster held a pair of wicked axes that were even now slicing toward Meliadol. The newbie managed to dodge a pair, twisting his body to the side, but the maneuver brought him in line with a vicious swipe from the other.
Crimson blood spurted, so very bright in the dull greyness of this place.
The skeleton didn't stop there, kicking out and clipping Meliadol under the chin, sending him sprawling to the ground. Tireless and without mercy, the pair advanced on the fallen adventurer.
"Aren't you going to help him?" Darlia asked.
"I offered. But he shot me down. He wants to learn by fire, it seems."
"Tch, stubborn newb." Despite her words, Darlia still winched as one of the skeletons backhanded Meliadol again to the ground. "If this continues, he's gonna die."
Bast sighed, shifting his weight, "Yeah, he's died eight times since he logged on today."
"Shit, really?"
"Mhmm, and twelve times yesterday, and sixteen times the day before that."
"Fuck, he should be glad he isn't level twenty yet!"
Bast chuckled at her words. She wasn't wrong. Once you were level twenty, every death carried the penalty of gold, chance of equipment drop, and a massive experience loss of fifteen percent of current level. You could even lose levels this way. Players would occasionally complain about this harshness, but the developers had been adamant about not budging on the issue, stating that Nevergarden was a game of choices and consequences.
It made the battles in the game nerve wracking at times, yet, to Bast, it was only during these times that he felt true joy. With nothing on the line, with no danger looming over your shoulder, how could one feel truly alive, game or no game? Nothing compared to the hand shaking bliss of disaster barely averted. Nothing compared to the sweetness of victory snatched from the hands of defeat.
High risk, high reward.
The sound of metal hitting metal filled the air as Meliadol launched a fury of attacks. These skeletons were not the stereotypical slow, awkward ones of fantasy staple. No, their red sockets glowed with a malevolent intelligence, and they matched Meliadol blow-by-blow. The pair worked in tandem to turn the tides of the fight against the beleaguered adventurer.
Darlia suddenly gasped, leaning forward, squinting her eyes, "Bast! That sword that he's using…is it–"
"Yes." Bast saw no point in lying. He had been dreading this moment, and he knew what his friend would say next. All player made equipment was unique, right down to the name. Wasn't like he could hide his gift to the newbie forever.
The swordswoman was silent. But it was the loud silence of heavy implication and unspoken words between comrades that had shared many adventures together. In the long moments that passed between the pair as they watched Meliadol's losing fight down below, an entire conversation had taken place.
Finally, it was Darlia that broke the uneasy silence. "Bast, that poor newbie can't replace him…"
"I know."
"If he ever finds out that you're using him like this…"
"I know."
"I don't approve of this."
"I know."
Meliadol managed to deflect a blow, sliding the heavy axe down the length of his blade toward the ground. At the same time, he sidestepped a downward chop of the other skeleton, stepping in close and bringing the pommel of his sword up like a bludgeon to the chin of the parried skeleton. The skull tipped back, and even the red light within its eyes dimmed slightly.
From her low whistle, even Darlia was impressed.
"He's getting better." Bast said, trying to clear the awkwardness.
But even as the words escaped his mouth, the skeleton recovered, driving his head down and crashing head-to-head with Meliadol. The blow rocked him back, stunning him. In that cutflower moment all four axes descended and with no further ceremony Meliadol collapsed in a shower of blood.
"Better, but still not good enough."
"I guess that makes it nine times." Bast sighed.
Meliadol's corpse was already disintegrating, flaking away like ashes scattered in the wind.
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